Don’t You Forget About Me(102)

‘It’s not your fault,’ I say. ‘And it’s not your character. It’s a shitty thing you were caught up in and I know for a fact, your character is the instinct to stand up for people. Look at how you’ve been since we’ve worked together.’

‘Now it’s like I’m pushing you into reassuring me it wasn’t my fault,’ Lucas says, rubbing his forehead. ‘It was, Georgina. It was partly my fault. Let it be.’

‘Hah, you sound like my counsellor. I didn’t tell her the whole truth either. I told her I’d gone with another boy and hated myself for it. I think I believed it. It’s taken me so long, Lucas, to say: it wasn’t my fault. When you say it was your fault, I know you mean it, and that means a lot. But I think it’s only one person’s fault, and he’s not here worrying about his blame, whatsoever.’

‘I have such an overwhelming urge to pay Hardy a visit in a rusty Bedford van in the middle of the night, with Dev’s friend of a friend, “Dean The Cunt”, you know.’

I laugh, I actually manage a big hoot.

‘You never considered going to the police?’ Lucas says, quietly.

‘No. His word and my word. Everyone would’ve backed Richard’s version up. And the hotel, that would’ve come out, and imagine how that would’ve been used against me.’

We glance away from each other, awkward for the first time.

‘I wish I’d gone to you,’ Lucas says, haltingly. ‘Not for that. So I could’ve been there for you, listened. Everything could’ve been different.’

Could’ve been.

I shrug. ‘That’s nice to hear. For me, not reporting it means I’ve felt guilty that he might have done it again, and by not speaking up, I dropped those women in it.’

‘Once again, that is not your fault. At all.’

‘I bet he’s not thought about it once since it happened, you know.’

‘I think you’re right. Scumbag. And his band was shit.’

I smile and Lucas smiles back. I want to hug him but I don’t know my rights.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something I always wondered?’ I say. ‘It’s a bit personal so no worries if you don’t want to say.’

‘It’s the night for personal, shoot.’

‘As I said, it would’ve been my first time, that night of the party. If we’d stayed over together. Would – would it have been for you too?’

‘Oh. Yes. Quite pleased that wasn’t already obvious, to be honest.’

He smiles and I smile and blush and I think honestly, Georgina Horspool – you’re thirty.

‘I’m sorry what we had got destroyed. My memories of you are really great memories,’ I say.

‘Same here,’ Lucas says.

‘Whatever you thought,’ I say these words rapidly, before I can chicken out, ‘I was head over heels in love with you and only you, Lucas.’

‘Same here,’ Lucas says. ‘And what you said about protecting me, when he was attacking you. The shame that I didn’t do the same for you will stay with me forever. I wish I could’ve saved you.’

I smile. I once thought I’d never hear the words I wanted to from Lucas. ‘It wasn’t for you to save me. It never was. And you coming here tonight, it’s enough, Lucas. I’m not just saying that.’

We gaze at each other. There is an obvious question about whether there’s anything left, but I don’t have the strength or will to ask it. Tonight has restored so much decency and dignity. Putting Lucas in the position of saying: That doesn’t mean I want to resurrect anything now, would ruin it. Oh God, and imagine if he pretended otherwise out of pity, or guilt. I reason with myself: you threw yourself at him, and he passed. If he’s not offering anything now, then assume his views haven’t changed since that night.

There’s a long pause.

‘You’re not coming back to The Wicker, are you?’ he says, eventually.

‘No. I’m not. Sorry. I love it, but I feel like I’ve drawn a line now. I’ll go back, on the other side of the bar, see Dev, see Kitty. And you’re going back to Dublin?’

‘Yeah. The plan was always I’d help out at the start, to launch it, and then we’d hire a manager locally.’

There’s my answer to the previous question. Of course Lucas doesn’t want to throw his lot in with me, anyway. Look at who he is now and look at who I am. We made sense in a very different era.

‘Right. Devlin said you didn’t like Sheffield much,’ I say.

‘It’s got its good points,’ he replies, with that smile, that bloody bastard heartbreaking smile.

I put my hand out for Lucas to shake. He gives a small, sad laugh, and accepts it. Even just touching him now feels like a hole opening up in my gut, ready for me to fall down as soon as he’s gone.

‘I’m glad I’ve known you,’ I say to him.

‘The feeling is entirely mutual,’ he says.

I open the kitchen door and Lucas walks back into the sitting room.

‘Is that a hutch?’

‘Yeah it’s my tortoise.’

‘Oh my word, Jammy’s still going?’

‘You remember his name!’

‘Yeah. Imagine how many times I was trying not to catch myself out by referring to something I knew from when were at school.’