Don’t You Forget About Me(85)

Before I can blink the water away or catch my breath, my head goes back under the tap. This time I can feel it flowing over my neck and spattering my chest, the shiver of bare flesh in direct contact with the air. What on earth, why make me even wetter? It runs down me in rivers and into the top of my jeans and I scream: ‘Stop, it’s cold!’ like a child.

I’m jerked out of the sink and upright again like a rag doll and I feel warm hands on either side of my head and Lucas’s voice saying: ‘Can you open your eyes?’

I tentatively unstick the lids. The kitchen comes blurrily into view, through a lot of H2O, tinted grey by displaced mascara. I blink. Water trickles warmly out of my nose.

‘Blurgh, what happened?’

‘Can you …’ Lucas trails off. ‘Can you see me?’

I focus on him and say: ‘Yeah, course?’

He pushes gently at my temples, face an inch from mine, as he moves my head left and then right. He holds me at a slight distance, looking down, running the fingertips of one hand along my collarbone, watching me to see my reaction. I gulp and mentally save the sensation to remember later, and look down too.

Like an anxiety dream made real, I’m only wearing my bra on my upper half. The Fair Isle cardigan I was wearing is lying discarded nearby on the kitchen tiles with my t-shirt dropped soppily on top. Thank God this bra is an opaque black balcony, if there were actual nipples in the room I’d have to kill myself. I didn’t dress this morning expecting Lucas McCarthy and I to be jointly inspecting my cleavage today.

‘Er. Why am I not wearing my top?’ I say. Thinking: this is an enterprising move, Lucas. I got something thrown in my face, didn’t I?

‘Are you alright? You feel alright?’

I blink more water out of my eyes and smile and say: ‘Yeah? Apart from being half naked and very damp and completely freaked out.’

I sniff and cough and wonder whether to cross my arms and decide styling it out and not acting embarrassed is better, while discreetly holding my stomach in. I pick up my wet t-shirt from the floor and hold it against myself.

‘Oh, God,’ Lucas stands back and slumps against the microwave. ‘God, that was … Let me get my breathing back.’

‘What’s the matter?’ I say.

‘I thought it was acid!’

‘Oh!’ I exhale and Lucas’s eyes widen.

‘You mean you didn’t think that?!’

‘No. Does that make me stupid?’

Suddenly everything in Lucas’s response makes sense and I feel a heady combination of immense naiveté and wild relief that it didn’t occur to me.

‘It’s a blessing, I guess. Lucky you. I’ve just had forty or so seconds of my life I never care to relive.’

‘Classic man! I’m the drowned rat here, in my bra.’

‘Hah! Oh God, sorry. I thought your skin possibly peeling away with a corrosive fluid was more important than modesty.’

Lucas reflexively glances down at my chest, and away again swiftly, and I cross my arms and then both of us want the ground to swallow us.

‘Oh I’m so relieved, Georgina, I can’t tell you. I thought we were straight to A&E …’

‘You were quick with the water. Impressive.’

‘I’ve done some health and safety on burns. I can’t believe you didn’t consider it was acid. I saw it happening in slow motion.’

Lucas shakes his head and I see that he’s been genuinely quite traumatised by it. I am touched. I’ve also been touched. I can feel his fingertips on me …

‘Why did she do that?’ I say. ‘Who’s “Bob”?’ We stare at each other utterly mystified, until the realisation clangs. Who – related to this workplace – might want to throw a noxious substance over me? ‘Hang on. Wasn’t the Thor stripper called Bob?’

‘I’m not sure …?’

‘Yeah! When he left he shouted: “Bobby does not forget!” This must be his revenge. Why throw water?’

‘Uh, I doubt it was water.’

I pull a strand of my hair round to my nose and inhale. ‘You did such a good job of hosing me down there’s not much left. So we suspect … stripper’s piss? That’s one for the craft ale names, if you run out.’

I gurgle with laughter.

‘You will honestly find the dopey lols in fucking anything, won’t you?’ Lucas says.

Before I can respond, he traps me in a completely unexpected hug. The t-shirt falls from my hands. I surrender to it, caught tightly in the right angles of his elbows, hesitantly wrapping my own arms around his back. I can feel his heart still pounding. Lucas mumbles into my hair: ‘Of all the faces to destroy.’

What? What?

We pull back and gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, mere centimetres apart, and I think, Christ alive: are we going to kiss? In shock and stripping and fear and shared crisis, everything between us is up in the air. What’s been revealed, other than a quarter of my breasts, is that Lucas cares about me. Electricity crackles between us.

The door opens, and Devlin peers round. He takes in the embrace, and his eyes travel down to my exposed abdomen. I automatically start to pull away but Lucas’s grip tightens fractionally and I stop.

‘I’m presuming the lass is alright if my brother’s jumping on her. This is a food preparation area, Luc!’