Don’t You Forget About Me(28)

‘How’s Robin?’ my mum asks, a note of disapproval high in the mix.

‘We’ve split up,’ I say, hoofing half of another spectacular roastie into my mouth.

‘Oh!’

Just when I think my singlehood is about to be dissected with the same sensitivity as my unemployment, Nana Hogg interrupts: ‘I’ll have some of that meat, please. I’ll suffer for it but I don’t want to go home hungry,’ and Esther pushes her chair out with a loud scrape and announces I’llgetmorewine.

As I help clear the table after dinner, Esther leads Milo back in by the shoulder, the pout on his face visible from twenty paces.

‘Auntie Georgina, Milo has something for you, don’t you, Milo,’ Esther says.

‘Do you, Milo?’ I bend down.

He puts a finger in his mouth and hands over a folded piece of paper he had behind his back. I open it – a drawing of a female stick figure in a triangle dress, with thatch of yellow crayoned hair. She’s in front of a house with a smoking chimney in the background, and there’s a male stick figure in brown, in an outsize hat.

‘This is brilliant! So that’s me … that’s … my house?’

Milo nods.

‘Minus the marauding maggots,’ says Geoffrey, back in Geoffrey mode.

‘And who’s this? In the hat? Mr Hat?’

‘Dat’s your husband.’

‘But I don’t have a husband.’

‘When you grow up and get married.’

I can’t help but laugh, which is fortunate as everyone else is. ‘I am very pleased you don’t think I’m grown-up as I think it means I look young.’

I lean down and give him a kiss and a squeeze.

‘I will put it up in my room to fill me with hope for the future.’

Milo nods emphatically and putters back to the living room to his Ewoks, while Mum mutters to Geoff and Esther.

As I get ready to leave, Esther jerks her head backward as she hands me my coat to indicate I’m to step into The Situation Room, where we can’t be heard. I coined the name for the understairs loo when I noticed it was always used for tellings-off. It seems to be some sort of ‘Try not to make it obvious how much you hate Geoffrey’ caution but I decide to head her off and pursue my own agenda. She’s also better forewarned if I do end up at The Wicker.

‘Hey I don’t know if you heard over lunch, I’ve had a full-time job offer. Last night, the wake? Mark’s client has offered me the chance to run the bar.’

Esther’s face drops. ‘Well that’s good but be careful, Gog. Remember Mark’s reputation is on the line if it goes pear shaped.’

‘The wake went well. Thanks again for the vote of confidence!’ I say jokily, but I’m hurt, and make short shrift of leaving, the drawing of Mr Hat in my hand.

I wipe hot tears away on the journey home and wonder how much is my sister’s lack of faith, how much is my mum’s observation that I’m passing my shelf life, and how much of it is what happened last night.

Five minutes later, my phone pings. She really does think I’m an embarrassment, as much as everyone else.

The pub job. Good luck with it. BUT DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT, ACCIDENTALLY SHAG ANYONE.

If Esther’s going to make it clear her opinion of me is this low, I don’t owe her reassurance.

What if it’s my ‘Mr Hat’ though?!

Milo drew that after seeing a photo of Tommy Cooper so I wouldn’t get too excited x

My phone pings again, this time a text from Robin, this’ll perk me up. I noticed I had four missed calls from him during lunch. I’m not sure why he’s bothering: it’s not as if there’s a talking cure for having overheard the noises he makes when he’s inside someone else. Maybe when you tell stories for a living you think everything’s negotiable.

Hello. Ignoring me now, is it. I appreciate Friday’s encounter was a sub-par experience but let’s meet like civilised adults to discuss where we go from here. Lou & I aren’t a ‘thing’ in any way, it should be possible to get past it. We had something good, shame to throw it away on hurt pride & misunderstandings. R

Sub-par??! I shudder that I ever let him touch me.

Also, quite something to be lectured on civilised adulting by someone last seen with caramelised pecans in their pubes.





12


I have the attic, in this narrow house with its rotted window frames, grease-covered light fittings, squeaky lino and poky spaces piled on top of one another. Karen is on the first floor, opposite the bathroom, where she can better monitor and control that shared territory.

I used to wonder why she signed off my moving in, but strongly suspect she’d either vetoed or scared off so many potentials prior to me that the landlord lost patience.

I like feeling out of the way up here, though it’s a mixed blessing that myself and anyone I bring home have to tiptoe past Karen’s den and up and down a vertiginous flight of shallow stairs. I’ve developed the stealth of a jewel thief however as, if I disturb her, the very furies of hell in ‘Homer Simpson’s head’ slippers will be unleashed. If I had a deadly serious temperament and lost my temper a lot, I might not wear novelty banana-coloured footwear, but Karen obviously has no fear of the ironic juxtaposition.