Page 99 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘“I’ll date you if you fetch my coat,” alright, Lady Penelope,’ Lucas says, with a grin.

‘I didn’t say that …! Oh my God, I’d been sacked, they threw me off the premises, he tried to hold my coat hostage in return for a date. Oh my God!’ I splutter, while Lucas laughs heartily. ‘For the record I did not offer to go on a date with him.’

‘Given your current predicament with the writing competition, that might’ve been a mistake. Speaking of which,’ he looks up at the clock, ‘I think it’s about to start.’

‘Then she said, “I’m sorry, that’s actually my Mooncup.” I can’t drink ruby port to this day. The End.’

The thin man in the flat cap takes a small bow amid much laughter and applause and I feel a ripple of fear that I’m going to end the night with a damp squib. The date story I’ve decided on is more of a slowly unfolding disaster than bam-bam-bam jokes.

Once again, I’m last in the running order at Share Your Shame and unlike last time, I’ve decide to watch the other acts first. My shift downstairs is also over and I arranged to finish early so I could concentrate on my craft and get drunk after.

Kitty is working the function room bar this time and the brothers are downstairs.

I sip a white wine with my friends, sister and brother-in-law and wait to be called up. I was touched when Esther went out of her way to inquire when the next event was.

When I say so, she said:We honestly loved it! I admit I was doubtful beforehand but I was very proud of my witty little sister. I told Mum and she says you can say anything you like about her as long as you make it clear her house is always clean and tidy.

That’s handy as I did want to direct some satire her way with my date story. Omelettes and eggs.

The other contributors are an uneven bunch, some jittering, some speaking for ages, some barely speaking at all. A couple are really good: a date with a sensitive man onGuardianSoulmates, who it turned out was only working with disadvantaged kids because of his community service, and the girl who ended up going home with the date’s divorced dad. The latter was very likely invention, but it was hilarious – you were right again, Lucas McCarthy.

‘Georgina, is Georgina here?’ Gareth calls from the stage, sheaf of papers in his hand. My eyes involuntarily move to Mr Keith among the judges. I’m feeling more buoyant about his presence though – surely when news reaches his ears that That’s Amore! was running a petting zoo, he’ll see it my way. (It’d be awful if anyone were to email their news desk.)

I step up to the microphone, noting that having done this before doesn’t make it one bit easier.

‘My Worst Date,’ I clear my throat. ‘Wasn’t a first date. My parents asked to meet my boyfriend of three months. Let’s call him Dave. My mum said she’d throw a “fizz and picky bits evening.” Fizz and picky bits is mumspeak for prosecco and olives, dips and so on, with some breaded things from the oven. Shortly after arriving, my mum offered Dave breadsticks and a pot of hummus. Strike one.’

‘He said: “I’m afraid I’m both a coeliac and a chickpea refusenik, Mrs Horspool.” It would’ve been helpful if he had told me he was coeliac, and it was news to me too, given he’d seen off several Hawaiian deep-pan pizzas in my company. I wasn’t aware Papa John’s catered to gluten intolerants. Later he said, “I’m not acoeliac-coeliac. I just find wheat doesn’t agree with me and people prefer labels don’t they? They’re easier to grasp.” I’d have thought it was easiest to grasp the breadstick.’

Some laughs.

‘I could already sense that he was becoming sillier in the face of stern social pressure, imagining it would jolly things up, when actually it was going to go very badly. Like a pilot recklessly grabbing the controls and pitching into the sea when he should ignore the dinging lights and turbulence, and let the aircraft steady itself at that altitude. Then we had the “and what do you do for a living” chat.

‘Dave was a comedian, sometimes on the television.

‘My stepdad said: “And what might we have seen you on?”

‘“Ketamine?” he quipped. I don’t know if you’re keeping track of the strikes but I count this as strike two.’

I glance up, more laughter. They’re a half cut and eager to be pleased group, but I’m still gratified.

‘“Does it keep the wolf from the door, as it were?” my stepdad said, offering a sour cream Kettle Chip.

‘“More or less,” Dave said. “I have other gigs on the side too. Social media stuff. Twitter.”

‘“That pays?” my stepdad said.

‘Dave said, “It can do. I write tweets for humorous accounts.”

‘My stepdad sniffed. “Other comedians?” he said. “Can’t they write their own?”

‘“No, corporate ones,” Dave said. “The PG Tips monkey, that’s me. Sorry to ruin the illusion.”

‘Dave grinned at their blank faces.

‘“The chimps’ tea party?” my stepdad said.

‘“The knitted one,” Dave said. “With Johnny Vegas. You know: MUNKEH!” He bellowed this, spraying shards of soggy crisp.

---