Page 50 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘Two Rapunzels for the price of one!’ Robin says, grinning, then lets go of a short scream and starts dancing around, pelted repeatedly with small objects which are being launched from Karen.

‘What the fuck was that?! Ow! Ow … stop … what are you doing?!’

‘Don’t like it when the boot is on the other foot, eh? Piss off before I call the police.’

‘I just want to talk to Georgina!’

‘Georgina—’ Karen’s disembodied voice rings out below me, ‘You know this fucking joker? He’s nearly broken my window.’

‘Er yeah. Wish I didn’t.’

‘Five minutes of your time,’ Robin says, hand on chest, ‘Five, I promise. Or I’ll start singing. What should I serenade you with? The Smiths?Georgina, it was, really nothing… OW! That seriously fucking hurts you know?’ Robin glares up indignantly at Karen, as if he is in a position to complain. Robin and his innate entitlement all over.

‘Plenty more where they came from, shit stain. I’ve got whole tins of Cadbury’s Mis Shapes, I don’t pay for them. No skin off my nose.’

‘It’s taking literal skin off my nose, Bewilderingly Angry Lady Who Lives Underneath Georgina.’

‘I’ll come down, five minutes and that’s your lot,’ I bellow. I don’t wait for any further Karen contribution, close the window and hammer down two flights of stairs to let Robin in the back door.

He seems to take unnecessary time to appear down the ginnel, making me think he and Karen are still picking over differences of opinion.

Great, it’ll be me who gets the Karen blowback from this stunt.

Robin eventually rounds the corner, brushing atomised milk chocolate from his navy Harrington jacket with the tartan lining.

He smells of the wind chill outside, and a pub. I can tell from the swagger as he enters the kitchen that he’s very pleased with this performance, and that he’s thinking it might even make something for a routine. To think I was hitherto impressed by this am-dram bollocks.

‘What do you want?’ I say, folding my arms, suddenly conscious I’m braless in my pyjamas and resenting this intrusion.

‘I wanted to talk to you and you won’t answer the phone to me, which I’m finding quite hurtful, to be honest.’

This man is priceless.

‘And you decided the obvious next step was lobbing stones at my window at gone one in the morning, and waking up my housemate too?’

‘Oof,’ Robin makes a face. ‘Jesus wouldn’t want her for a sunbeam, eh. Has the look of Angela Merkel.’

I shush him while making a furious scowl.

‘I was doing something romantic and unexpected, as a gesture. The kind of thing you want in a man. To show you I’m that man.’

I’ve never told Robin this, so I assume he’s either being sexist or he thinks ‘not sleeping with other people’ is some near-unattainable Mills & Boon ideal.

‘What do you want?’ I ask bluntly, to shake us out of this infuriating semi-ironic, artificial tone he’s trying to set. I would be amazed if this isn’t the first draft of something he’s working on.

‘I want a second chance.’

‘You’re not getting one. Why would you even want it? What happened to the whole “monogamy isn’t my bag, man” thing?’

‘Exactly!’ Robin says, eagerly, and I hiss ‘SHUT UP!’ as we are seconds away from another Karen explosion.

‘That’s what I mean. That’s not been me, it’s never been me and I thought you knew it wasn’t me …’ I grimace. ‘And then I thought: whyisn’tit me? You’re an incredible girl. You’re fit, you’re smart. You make me laugh. Look at our repartee! And you know. I’m forty soon, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Wow, how inspiring. You’re running out of energy for dirty food play.’

Robin looks at me, with what I think he thinks is an intense, earnest longing.

‘Let’s try this. Let’s do it your way. I’m all yours.’

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