Don’t You Forget About Me(99)

‘I’d told my parents I was staying at Jo’s to cover for my hotel room stay and I couldn’t go home instead and face their questions. I went to the Holiday Inn and lay on the double bed in my red dress and cried myself to sleep. I hated myself.

‘I have, in some ways, been hating myself ever since that night. I never admitted it, so there couldn’t be any forgiveness. And I needed to forgive myself. Not the boy who did it, he can go to hell. But myself. I have been so hard on myself for not being stronger, for not seeing it coming. For being so weak as to want to be liked. For not thinking of the right words to stop it, sooner.

‘Tonight’s show is called Share Your Shame. But this story doesn’t qualify. Because it’s his shameful secret, not mine. It wasn’t my fault. If any part of this experience is familiar to you, then please let me tell you – it wasn’t your fault either. Thank you for listening.’

I close the notebook, in a shocked silence, as a tear rolls down my cheek. One clap, two claps, it builds and bursts into thunderous applause and everyone stands up.

My friends come up to the stage and hug me, in tears too.

Over their shoulders, I see Lucas McCarthy bound to the door to the stairs and wrench it open, without a look back at me, and disappear. I don’t care.

I feel a light-headedness, and a newfound lightness. I’m not carrying it anymore. I spoke the words aloud, used my words, and broke the curse.





42


The only downside to discussing what went on with Richard Hardy is that my friends, especially Jo, are stricken that I never felt I could tell them. I’ve tried to reassure them that I could’ve been friends with Oprah Winfrey and I still wouldn’t have spoken about it. ‘Why now?’ they asked, not unreasonably.

I told them: the writing contest theme, almost like a challenge from the universe. Robin, and his exploitative invasions, ventriloquising me. Richard Hardy, and him having a little girl I have no doubt he’d never want treated that way. The fact he emerged unscathed to have that happiness. And Lucas McCarthy. Rejecting me a second time. The price of keeping the secret, it was too high to keep paying. I had snapped.

As much as they were appalled at my ordeal, Clem struggled to cope with the raw drama and intrigue of Oh my God that gorgeous bar bloke is the ex-boyfriend? Oh MY GOD – before Rav gave her a look that could turn her to stone.

Esther, make-up streaked down her cheeks, came up and clung to me like a koala. ‘Why didn’t you tell me!’ she said, while poor Mark hovered in the background, eyes to the floor and hands folded, as if he was a kindly vicar with his parishioners.

‘I’ve not told anyone, honestly. I wouldn’t tell myself. I had to tell myself, first, and that has only just happened. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.’

‘Oh don’t be a dick.’ Esther paused, wiped her eyes again. ‘We joke around with you and chivvy you, George, but we all think the absolute world of you. We want the world for you. Sorry if that got lost.’

‘I know,’ I say.

I didn’t win the competition. It went to a man called Tom with a man bun who told a story about vomiting Kendal Mint Cake on a geography field trip to Mam Tor.

But I did win. For the first time, I’m not scared of the future. I want to use its potential. Words saved me. My words.

At ten, the following night, the front doorbell goes. Kids running past sometimes ring it, I’ll ignore it unless it sounds twice.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings again.

Either Karen ordered a pizza, or we have a visitor who’s never been to the house before and doesn’t know to knock at the kitchen at the back. Karen’s spark-out, I can hear the snoring from the stairs, so I hope it isn’t a twelve-inch thin crust margarita with extra jalapenos, as I’ll have to risk waking her to see if she’s responsible, or letting her go nuts that I didn’t. I also really fancy eating it.

I poke my head warily round the side of the curtain and see a tall, dark-haired man on the other side, his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets, his chin buried in his chest. My stomach does a queasy revolution.

I can feel my heart beat in my neck. I take a very deep breath, and open the door.

‘Hi.’

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘Sorry to turn up like this. I wasn’t sure how to word it, on a phone. Can I come in?’ Lucas says.

I stand back to let him past.

‘Let’s talk in the kitchen,’ I say, pretending to be steady. ‘The door closes on that room.’

Lucas nods and follows me. I click the door shut. We position ourselves either side of the dining room table.

‘I saw you do your reading, at the pub.’

‘I know. I saw you. You left straight after.’

‘I …’ I realise he’s momentarily unable to speak, and it shocks me. I stare at him, as a moment stretches between us. Lucas’s eyes fill up. He blinks back the tears and clears his throat.

‘… I had to leave as I needed to think, and I didn’t want to speak to you in company. I hope you didn’t think I was flouncing or anything.’

‘Well. I wasn’t sure. I was kind of in my own head space, really.’

Lucas nods. ‘Please, please believe me when I say that I had no idea what happened to you, Georgina. Not the slightest clue. I know that’s bad in itself.’