Page 42 of Don't You Forget About Me

He’s in a black shirt covered with dust and stands looking at me, a giant hoop of gaoler’s keys in one hand. I’m eighteen years old again, and Lucas McCarthy is staring across a room, eyes penetrating, expression unreadable.

For a moment, I can’t remember any standard British words of greeting.

‘Can I help you?’ Lucas says, eventually. ‘We’re closed.’

Uh yeah I sussed that. I wasn’t about to say half of mild, thanks and can I borrow a torch.

‘Dev—’ I cough, nerves a-jangle, clear my throat again. ‘Devlin told me to come in, he wanted to show me around.’

‘Ah, right. Dev’s gone to the shops, he’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Ah. OK.’

A strained pause as we each wait for the other to say something.

I feel like Devlin’s bottoming, as it were, of my being here, isn’t as bottomed as I might’ve hoped. It might even be entirely unbottomed.

I stand around uselessly, until Lucas says:

‘Sit down if you want. Would you like a drink? Nothing’s working on tap yet but we have stock. A Coke? It’s not chilled I’m afraid.’

Much like me haha.

I nod and mutter thank you and drop heavily into the nearest chair, feel the now-intensified layer of stuffy heat trapped between my skin and clothes, my nerves buzzing like faulty electrics.

Are we going to have to make conversation? For how long? Why did I say yes to this, why didn’t I tell Devlin something had come up in the meantime? Why would I want Lucas McCarthy to be my boss, does life not contain enough humiliation? There’s an answer to this question, hovering just outside of my consciousness.

Lucas has temporarily ducked out of sight and I glance around.

I hear funny rapid heavy breathing panting behind me and the clatter of toenails on timber and suddenly, at my table, looking up expectantly, is the world’s most appealing, low-bellied dog. I recognise it from the wake. Its hind quarters are so hefty, when it’s sat down, it’s like it’s squatting in a puddle of a russet-coloured fur. It has kind eyes and an eager expression. The sort of dog whose face conveys HELLO I AM DOG WHO ARE YOU I LOVE YOU.

I couldn’t be more pleased at the unscheduled canine intrusion. I am a friend to any animal at the best of times, and this isn’t the best of times.

The dog slaps its paw into my lap, and I lift and shake it.

‘Hello! Very nice to meet you! Who are you?’

It has such a friendly face it honestly looks like it’s grinning at me, and I laugh.

Lucas reappears, with the swish and clink of ice in a metal bucket as he sets it on the bar.

‘Should’ve said there’s a dog. This is Keith. No allergies or anything?’

‘Hello,Keith!’ I cry. ‘Aren’t you lovely? Is he yours?’

‘Yep.’

Petting Keith is a very welcome displacement activity.

‘Keith,’ I say, as Lucas puts my Coke in front of me. ‘Unusual name for a dog. Funny coincidence, the incognito restaurant critic forThe Starbooks tables as Mr Keith.’

I was going to carry on and explain it’s a coincidence because I’d recently met him in my last place of work, but it’s such a stupid conversational gambit, I pause, midway.

Lucas looks at me as if I might be simple and says: ‘Not that funny a coincidence, unless you’re implying anything? I’m fairly certain this Keith isn’t a secret restaurant critic.’

‘Hahah, no, I just meant …’

I trail off, as I didn’t mean anything.

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