Page 69 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘This incredible woman here, is called Georgina,’ he points at me, unsteadily. All heads turn. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

‘Yes!’ Kitty squeaks and I shake my head at her while she mouths ‘Sorry.’

‘Robin, stop this now,’ I say to him, with all the restrained ferocity I can muster without raising my voice too much. ‘I’m not joking. Get down.’

I feel helpless in a way you don’t often experience beyond childhood, like when I let go of my helium shark balloon in the city centre, circa age seven. As it soared up and up I tried to believe it was going to miraculously snag on something and be returned to me, when in fact I knew, as it bounced on air currents, that I was spectator to it dancing away forever. Robin is that sodding balloon, except right now I’d happily see him electrocuted by a far-away pylon.

He addresses the room: ‘I need you kindly patrons of The Wicker to back me up here.’

I don’t remember Robin ever talking like he’s a character inBlackadderthis much before. Maybe like so much else, I tuned it out.

‘Myself and this’ – he gestures towards me – ‘incredible woman had a blissful six months together. Then the other week I ruined it by sleeping with my PA. Georgina caught us together. In the act. In flagrante delicto.’

I can’t look left or right, I’m so viscerally embarrassed. Utter, utter bastard. He’s buzzing from this. Lucas is staring at me, frowning. I read his expression as:What should I do?

Oh God, the disgrace of it.

I look over at my friends, and my sister. They are watching, mouths agape. Two shows this evening, for the price of one.

A murmur goes round the pub and I detect the odd stifled laugh. Jesus, is Al filming this? He has his phone out and held aloft, silly grin on his face.

‘This sordid act meant nothing to me. It even involved tying each other up and ice cream, like we were the Budgens version of9½Weeks. Let me tell you, I’m more Mr Nine And A Half Minutes really.’

Gasps, laughs. Bastard.

‘I’m ashamed of how stupid I was to risk what I had with Georgina. I’m not afraid to admit I was wrong, and beg forgiveness. Georgina,’ Robin turns to me, chair legs wobbling, Al following the action through his phone with shaky pan round, ‘I’m in love with you—’

An audible ‘awww’ echoes at this. What the hell? They’re actually buying this as a Richard Curtis scene, rather than a horror movie?

‘I’ve begged her for a second chance, to no avail. Please can I enlist your help to try to convince her? Who here thinks she should give a man prepared to lay himself bare like this a second chance? Put your hands up if so.’

A pause, and every arm appears to be thrust into the air, apart from mine and the table with my friends and family. And Lucas’s.

‘Thank you, thank you!’ Robin bellows. ‘You are wonderful! Look Georgina, look.’

Kitty’s arm is in the bloody air and she’s grinning wildly.

‘What do you say? One drink! One small chance.’

I shake my head and aboooooorolls around the room.

‘Think about it?’ Robin says, palms pressed together in prayer. Will acquiescing end this faster?

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say, with straight face. I recognise this feeling, I know it of old: accepting my fate with a determined indifference, acting as if words thrown at me haven’t left an impression, and my God, I hate it.

‘Yes!!’ Robin pumps his fist. He’s only pleased to have some sort of result because he has an audience. If he thinks coercion by humiliation will work, good luck to him. The whole room now knows I caught my ex inside someone else. It was his fault, so why do I feel so exposed? He’s trying to drag me down with him. I was someone else here, but now I’m that woman who Robin McNee double-timed. I’m unclean, I’ve got Robin’s words all over me.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Robin says to the room. He gives a small bow, chair threatening to give away, and jumps down. There’s a smattering of applause. Someone male shouts ‘G’wan, Georgina!’ and whistles.

A murmur of chatter restarts and Robin walks back up to me, flushed with triumph.

‘There you are. It’s the will of the people, like Brexit.’

‘Get out,’ I say, through a ventriloquist dummy’s smile, for the benefit of onlookers. ‘Howdareyou …’

We’re interrupted. Lucas has walked over from the kitchen and is stood next to Robin. He taps him on the arm.

‘Can I ask you to leave, please?’

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