Don’t You Forget About Me(56)

Fifteen minutes later, and Robin’s up and swaying for round five, pumped up with this impromptu demonstration of his celebrity, and hoppy ale. As I pull his pint, he leans dramatically on the bar, head in hand.

‘George, George. One drink. Just go for one drink with me, that’s all I ask. That’s all the time I need. If you decide against after that, then I will never bother you again. You have my word.’

Kitty’s Bobbi Brown-lipglossed mouth falls open as she witnesses this exchange. I put the glass down.

‘Can you serve him?’ I say quietly to Kitty. She frowns as I excuse myself to the ladies.

She pounces on me as soon as I’m back.

‘Robin McNee’s asked you out? And you’re saying no?’

‘Yup.’

‘You’re not tempted?’

‘Nup.’

‘He’s not your type?’

On the periphery of my vision, I see Robin moving around, and when I risk a proper look, he’s dragged a chair into the middle of the room and is clambering atop it.

I’m going to kill him. God help me, I’m actually going to commit a murder.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention,’ Robin says, struggling to balance himself, while waving his arms as if flagging a passing motorist for help. I feel a contained rush, a moment when I should be galvanised to Do Something. But what? I glance at Kitty, who’s rapt.

The pub falls instantly silent. ‘Thank you. I want your help with something …’

Lucas appears out of the kitchen, holding his phone, and stops short at the sight of a man doing stand-up on a chair.

I feel sick. I want to run at Robin, shrieking, and force him down. But I can’t afford to become part of the tableau. If I start pushing and shoving with Robin, it’s a rerun of Thor the stripper, without the hammer and the thong.

To have one physical fight with a man in your workplace might be unfortunate, two is careless.

‘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 in Blackadder this 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 of 9? Weeks. 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 a boooooo rolls 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.