Don’t You Forget About Me(67)

We’ve made that error of going to a new bar in town for a special occasion, because new = special, forgetting that new also = untested. And in this case, disappointing. There’s an inhospitable lack of seats and the music volume is necessitating shouting.

‘Fucking hipsters,’ Clem says, surveying the diner-style stools and squirrel cage lightbulb candelabra, blowing steam out of the side of her mouth, the tampon-holder of her vape stick caught between two slender fingers with blood-red nails, like a modern day Bette Davis.

To be fair, it’s not as if Clem looks unhipsterish herself.

‘We need somewhere we can hear ourselves drink, but where we’re not going to feel total arseholes for being dressy. Think homely but with some style,’ Rav says.

Rav is in his amethyst wool trousers and I agree we can’t go to a Bull & Badger type place where they’re going to shout PONCE.

‘Hang on …’ Jo says, looking at me, ‘What about The Wicker?’

‘Oh bloody hell, it’s my night off!’ I say. As the words leave my mouth, I think: I’d get to see Lucas. When I’m dolled up. Sparks in my stomach. You can tell yourself all kinds of longform lies, but split second reactions reveal the truth.

‘Waaaait, that is actually a very strong notion,’ Clem says. ‘It’s nice there and we’d be treated VIP, because Georgina.’

Rav clasps the lapels of my coat. ‘Two rounds, maximum, George. Just to achieve lift-off.’

I roll my eyes, make a performance of conceding, and Clem starts tapping at her phone for a taxi. Ten minutes later, we’re at my place of work.

‘I’ll get the drinks, go sit down,’ I say, as they clatter off.

‘I thought you weren’t working tonight?’ Lucas says, frowning, taking in my extravagant hair and make-up.

‘My mates wanted to come here,’ I say, pulling a ‘yuck, sigh’ face. I’m rewarded with an actual Lucas laugh. ‘It’s my friend Rav’s birthday, we’re going on to the Leadmill.’

‘Alright. I’ll bring your drinks over. You can have table service, unless we get a rush on.’

‘Thank you!’

I smile. Lucas smiles back. And for the merest second, his eyes flicker from my face down to my outfit. It’s a claret lace prom shape gown with a deep V at the back, the zip starting so low it almost hits the knicker line and made underwear a headache. I’m wearing a strapless boned corset that’s so constrictive it feels like it’ll have reshaped me for good.

When I shoehorned myself into this, I didn’t for a second think I’d have to parade the results in front of Lucas. It makes me self-conscious in front of him in a new way.

It reminds me of another night, another red dress.

Kitty zooms over, squealing: ‘Oh my God, Georgina, you look like a film star! Doesn’t she, Lucas?’

I writhe.

‘You looked so fit I didn’t even think it was you at first,’ Kitty concludes.

I burst out laughing. ‘Uhhhh … thanks.’

‘Nice hair,’ Lucas says, mildly, as he starts pouring Rav’s lager and I mutter that my friend is a hairdresser. Is your hair real … real colour, that’s what I meant …

‘Where are you going? Leadmill? The men are going to be on you like pigeons on chips,’ Kitty says.

Lucas and I automatically meet each other’s gaze, and I don’t know if we’re saying anything to each other with this look.

I pick my way to the table, conscious of the air, and possibly eyes, on my bare skin, sweeping from neckline down my spine, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. Am I imagining it?

Jo’s phone is on the table, it goes brrrrrrrrp with WhatsApp messages from Phil.

She flips her phone over and says: ‘Don’t let me reply.’

Then adds: ‘I’m doing the right thing, right? I am ninety-nine per cent sure and then I think, “You chucked him for inviting you to a wedding.”’

‘No, you chucked him for wanting the rights and time and emotional space of a boyfriend while insisting he wasn’t ready to be a boyfriend, wasting your energy and stopping you finding someone who does want to play that role in your life,’ I say.

‘You are very articulate for one so party ready,’ Clem says.

‘That’s true,’ Jo says. ‘But … do you think someone can change?’

Clem meets my eyes with a ‘uh oh’ expression.

‘Rav, you know the answer to this sort of thing,’ Jo says.

‘Hmm, well. Professionally my answer is yes, people can address behaviours, and choose not to repeat them, if they’re willing. I’d be out of a job if they couldn’t. Personally, I’d say no one ever changes in essentials. Your character is your character.’

‘So I have to figure out if Phil’s problem is behaviour or character.’

‘You have to pull someone else and move on,’ Clem says.

‘Hi. Whose is whose?’ Lucas counts out the drinks, as everyone looks up at him with interest.

‘Clem,’ Clem says, shooting a hand out to shake his, after the last drink is set down. ‘I don’t think we met at G’s stand-up night. What do you think, Lucas? Join our philosophical conversation. Can anyone ever change?’

‘Can anyone ever change?’