Page 49 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘If he argued against you being hired on the night of the wake, like you say, how did he then not know who you were, days later? That’d definitely land someone in your mind even if he didn’t know you from school.’

‘Uh. He’d objected … then forgot he’d objected?’

‘Even if he’d forgotten, the sight of you would trigger the memory. He wasn’t pissed at the wake?’

‘I don’t think so, no. He seemed fine. He accused his brother of being drunk, but he seemed in full possession of his senses.’

‘A bit of styling things out and acting cool going on, with this lad, I think.’

Lucas was feigning not to know me? Twice? He’s a magnificent actor, if so. I don’t think this is right, at all, but it pleases me so much I play along to hear more.

‘Why would Lucas pretend not to know me, though?’ I ask.

‘Duh, to impress you. To maintain the upper hand by acting indifferent. And why didn’t he want you hired?’

‘He said I was an unknown quantity and it wasn’t Hooters and hiring blondes that caught his brother’s eye.’

‘Haaah, he thinks his brother might bang you,’ Clem cackles.

‘Oh no, Devlin’s married and clearly devoted. I’m not just saying that. Dev’s not got a hint of that about him and he was over with his wife every chance he got at the wake.’

‘If he’s complaining about you as temptation then, he must mean for himself,’ Rav says.

My heart beats faster. This is all misbegotten and total fantasy, but so glorious to hear.

‘I don’t think he was saying I was tempting. More … superficial.’

‘Well something had fired him up,’ Clem says. ‘You hardly put people through three interviews and a PowerPoint to get a bar job. His reasons were bull. Is Lucas hot?’

‘Mmmhmmm?’ I say, noncommittally, nodding and wrinkling my nose to indicate both yes and no and maybe.

‘You’re a sweet and innocent soul around the opposite sex, really, George. Jo, are you leaving that bit of chicken …? Good-oh, heft it over.’ Rav shakes his head at Clem and Jo and adds: ‘This is how she ended up dating Robin McNee.’

I guffaw at this. ‘Oh, come on. He was a mistake but my judgement about men’s wiles is not that bad. Is it?’

‘I didn’t mean your judgement so much as you’re modest. Not to be shallow, George, but it was obvious to bystanders that Robin was punching,’ Rav says.

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Together, you looked like Cinderella and an enchanted rat coachman.’

16

In the early hours of Sunday morning, I wake up with a startle from a nightmare. I’m in a brutish medieval village and the members of a baying crowd are taking it in turns to fire arrows at me.

The missiles pepper the board I’ve been tied to, zooming past my face with athwiiiiiiiick, planting their pointed ends perilously close to my flesh. The anticipation of being skewered any second makes me cry out.

As I come round, I realise the arrows were a figment but the noise is not. I raise myself on my elbows, waiting for it again.DWACK.It’s something hitting my window. I struggle out of the bed covers and vault across the room. Opening the window and leaning out as far as I can go, I see a mop-headed man across the street, shading his eyes as if looking up at the sky in direct sun. Hang on, is that …?

‘Robin?’ I call.

He looks up at me, his face pale in the darkness.

A female voice:

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you hooligan shitbag?’

Oh, no. That’s Karen. Her bedroom is directly below mine and her window must be open.

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