Don’t You Forget About Me(51)

‘Brilliant!’ Jo says. ‘What have you written?’

I feel snakes move in my stomach. I loved that half hour spent at the kitchen table, scrawling in my notebook, so much. But I have to read it out? To strangers?

‘I’ve had a go at something about a bad day at work. The format is so loosey goosey I have no idea if it’s what they want or not. I’m right at the end of the running order so I’m going to avoid seeing anyone else’s piece, and work downstairs until they call me.’

‘You’re so brave,’ Clem says.

‘Or mad as a wizard,’ I say.

‘I remember when you used to read me your diary entries out at school,’ Jo says. ‘They were so witty. I’m really pleased you’re doing this. We’ve always known what a star you are. Now other people get to find out.’

‘Oh … thanks! Let’s hope that’s what they find out.’

‘Isn’t your challenge in writing about a bad day at work, mostly going to be in whittling the shortlist down? Start with that,’ Rav says. ‘Like judges do at awards. “In an exceptionally strong field with some stunning candidates, it was hard to choose, but choose I must …”’

‘Hahaha. Yes, true,’ I say. ‘I am queen of the shitty McJob.’

‘Oh, God, G. Remember when you had to dress up as a giant chicken to advertise that rip-off KFC-type place?’ Jo says.

‘I’d repressed that!’

‘I’m not sure I remember this one?’ Rav says. I groan.

‘It was a disaster. The kids they’d invited to the opening had mobbed me like I was The Beatles and I got bundled into a store room while they calmed down. They left me alone for ages and eventually I got bored and had a fag and then the door swung open and the kids saw a disembodied chicken with a woman’s head, smoking, like some really horrifying creature out of Greek mythology. And the company went apeshit that I’d ruined the image of “Captain Cluckee”. They were encouraging the kids to make friends with Captain Cluckee and then eat him, which is quite fucked up. Pointing that out didn’t help me.’

I am wheezing with laughter now as I recall this episode and so is everyone else.

‘There’s your story,’ says Rav.

‘Oh no! There’s been much worse,’ I say, insouciantly, confidently. And then I think: what a really sad boast to be making, Georgina.

Perhaps my problem is, I keep confusing the difference between making jokes, and being the joke.





21


That thing Clem said about working against your own nature, on purpose: it preyed on my mind. My nature has been a pretty terrible sat nav so far, so with this in mind, I went even further with Share Your Shame, and invited Mark and Esther. You don’t mess with people who need babysitters. I’d have to do it then.

‘Stay and drink afterwards and you can see my new workplace!’ I say, ‘And Mark can say hi to Devlin.’

Without having boxed myself in, I might easily have backed out.

‘Hey, Georgina. Still doing the writing thing? You’re my hero,’ Dev says, as I hoik my bag over my head, arriving for my shift. The pub seems to have more of a buzz than usual. Is it because of the event upstairs? My skin prickles with danger. I’d told myself it’d be half a dozen people.

‘Uhm, yeah,’ I mumble.

‘You’ve really stepped up here, I appreciate it. I see the theme tonight is Your Worst Day At Work. Hope it wasn’t here, hahaha.’

‘Hah. Yeah, don’t thank me when you don’t know what I’m talking about yet. Or maybe it’s about soiling myself on a rollercoaster …’

Devlin guffaws as he departs. I am grateful for how easy Devlin is, compared to his brother.

‘Have you soiled yourself on a rollercoaster?!’ Kitty squeals, as Kitty has never met a figurative type of speech she understood as such.

Kitty is the new hire – twenty-three, slim as a whippet, with extravagant, drawn-on eyebrows and long brown hair, and a sing-songy OH MY GAWD! vocal cadence I could swear comes from watching lots of series about ditzy American girls with inherited fortunes.

‘Oh, you don’t look scary at all, I was worried you’d be scary,’ Kitty said when she met me, leaving me puzzled and possibly offended.

‘Were you told I was scary?’

‘No but you’re, like, thirty?’

‘I don’t think that makes me Dame Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey.’ I toyed with definitely being offended.

‘Hahaha! Lucas said you’ve worked at loads of places.’

Great. I sound like a raddled old scrubber.

‘And you’ve got a posh name, hahaha.’

‘Oh … is it?’

‘I thought you might be stern.’

I smile, completely confused. Then, after the first hour of knowing her, I gathered that Kitty operates very few security checks on what’s coming out of her mouth. She’s not unpleasant company, in fact she’s very entertaining, but I have to adjust to the scattershot workings of her mind. A chat about politics and her crush on ‘the last one, President Barry O’Barner’ leaves me reeling.

Rav, Clem and Jo arrive with Esther and Mark, who they ran into outside. Jo is smiling, post Phil, and it’s not just brave-soldier-smiling. Last time I checked in with her she said now she’s made the decision, she feels better for it. Limbo is always the killer. ‘Knowing I had to do it but not facing it,’ she messaged. ‘THAT was the shittiest part of this. At least I’m not pretending to myself any more.’