Don’t You Forget About Me(81)
‘“Not if you want children, they’re not,” my mum said, and at that point I decided I was trapped in a simulation designed by Satan. She continued, “Georgina’s fertility is going to fall off a cliff at thirty-five, I sent her a clipping from the Telegraph about it only the other day.”
‘“Thanks for that, Mum,” I said. “I don’t really see what Kate Middleton has to do with me, to be honest.”
‘“Ugh, the Royals?!” Dave’s face twisted into a mask of contempt. “In my revolution, Kate Middleton would be in a dungeon.”
‘“With three beautifully dressed children as a comfort to her though,” my mum said to me, as if it was a scold, at which point I collapsed in hysterics at DaveWorld meeting MumWorld and trying in vain to make sense of each other.
‘“In those velvet and bibs! Those posh kids are dressed like ghosts that died in a fire!” Dave bellowed.
‘Ten minutes later, my boyfriend nodded off during my stepdad discussing his allotment, and did a sleep-fart.’
I look up.
‘My boyfriend Dave and I are no longer together.’
I fold my notes and feel it’s gone well. Everyone is clapping and whooping and someone’s even whistling. I’m awash with pleasure and relief.
Until I see that the person whistling is Robin McNee.
33
Before I have time to react, I’m being herded from the stage by an excitable Gareth.
‘I have a treat for you tonight, guys. There’s a special guest here who has asked to be added to our line-up, as a one-off guest appearance. We’re honoured to have him. Put your hands together for Robin McNee!’
Shaking, I trace my way back to my seat and share ‘WTF’ looks with my table mates. How the hell did he get up here without one of the McCarthy brothers spotting him and chucking him straight back out?
Robin is raking his hand through his hair, doing his ‘aw shucks’ sort of moves: little dip of the head, bashful expression. He detaches the microphone from the stand.
‘Good evening, drinkers of The Wicker and fans of sharing shame. And congratulations, ‘Georgina …?’ he feigns uncertainly picking me out, ‘I loved that.’
No really, how the hell has he got in here? I feel rage well up and even as it does, I know I’m being unfair. Barring someone, unless you have a bouncer, isn’t foolproof, and it looks like Robin had help, a man on the inside. What the fuck is he going to do?! After the havoc and misery he wreaked last time, I am vibrating with the potential malignancy.
I catch a movement by the door and, unnoticed by everyone but me, see Lucas, his brow knitted, taking in Robin and scanning for my face. I don’t know how long he’s been there.
When his eyes meet mine, Lucas makes a neck slashing gesture at me and I do a subtle head shaking, ‘leave it,’ two handed, palms down wave. Dragging him off stage now would end up being a scene. A bigger scene than the one Robin has in store? I don’t know.
‘Have you heard the phrase “teachable moment”? It used to be one for education wonks, now it’s something that comes up in Ted Talks, and political long reads,’ Robin says. ‘The idea is that it’s a window of opportunity, an unplanned event or experience which provides the chance for growth. But for the moment to teach you, you have to be open to its lesson. You have to recognise that it is one.’
Robin unscrews the cap on a bottle of water, handed to him by Gareth, who thinks he’s booked Ricky Gervais here. He isn’t using notes.
Why did I talk about Robin, WHY? I’ve left myself so compromised by it. In the middle of a mess, saying it’s not my fault, making excuses. This is me. There’s no longer any denying it. God, the idea that Robin fucking McNee gets to bring me to this point of utterly deflated self-awareness. Just when I thought I might be turning things around.
‘It made me wonder: what have been the teachable moments in my life, which I missed?’ He sets the bottle down. ‘I was dating a girl who came up to me after a show, and told me she liked my work. She was smart, interesting. A cynical under-achiever who has seen my act and is still prepared to sleep with me, just my type. Aaaaand she was way out of my league. I hate that phrase, makes you sound like you believe in eugenics, doesn’t it? Use your own shorthand here for: “People would think I won her in a competition.”’
Everyone laughs, in a gentle, beguiled way. Like they’re squirrels and he’s feeding them nuts. ‘Cynical under-achiever’, you shit. Look at how he slipped the knife under the rib cage there, with a flick of the wrist so small and fast that it goes unnoticed by everyone but its intended target.
‘We went on an early date to see the new Blade Runner. We settle down to watch it and will inevitably discuss how sequels are always inferior, afterwards. Five minutes into the film, we hear a man, somewhere behind us, say “HE’S A ROBOT!” We glance at each other, ignore it. Again, someone is on screen, he trills: “ROOOOOW-BOT!” like it’s a spoiler. Followed by giggling. We glance again. Uh oh. Is this a ringtone irritant, a sodcaster, a chattering millennial who thinks he’s in front of Netflix at home? Or is he someone with mental impairments? The doubt is landing your woke lefty with a conscience here in a tricky spot. So I do what all middle-aged, middle class men do in such situations, I silently panic and hope a proper adult comes along and deals with it.’