Page 9 of Don't You Forget About Me
A pause. Yes. Yes, I am.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Tony continues, entire dining room riveted by this spectacle.
I open my mouth to reply and no words come out.
‘Oh right, you are! Tell you what. You’re fired!’
‘What?!’
I think he must be joking, but Tony points at the door. Across the room, Callum is shocked, mouth hanging open and hands frozen round a giant pepper pot.
‘Oh, hang on, this seems excessive …’ says Mr Keith, looking suddenly chastened. This is why Tony’s done it. It’s the only way to get the upper hand again, and hope his write-up doesn’t focus solely on the gusset-flavoured carbonara.
You could hear a pin drop – apart from Dean Martin crooning about Old Napoli.
I untie my apron, chuck it on the floor, find my handbag behind the bar with clumsy hands.
I dart out, without looking back. Incipient tears are stinging my eyeballs, butno wayare they seeing me weep.
When I’m round the corner, fumbling for a tissue as my non-waterproof mascara makes a steady descent, I get a text from Tony.
Sorry, sexy. Sometimes you need to give them a scalp. We’ll have you back in a fortnight and if critic fuck finds out, tell him your mum died or something so we took pity. Call it a holiday! Unpaid though.
That’s Amore.
Then another realisation.
For fuck’s sake, I forgot my coat!
3
First thought: it’s a prisoner of war. They can’t torture it, so leave it behind. Second: damn it, it’s the bubblegum-pink faux fur. It’s armour, it’s my personality in textile form. It’s up there in sentimental value after my ancient tortoise, Jammy. Also, I’m shivering already.
Wait, wait – I have a man on the inside: Callum. I message him to ask, thinking he’ll surely feel sorry enough for me to do it.
Insta-ping.
I will give you your coat if you will go on a date with me
I blink, twice. You’ve just seen me get sacked in the most public, humiliating way and now you’re holding me to sexual ransom? I consider a blunt response saying, ‘I’m washing my nipple hair that night.’ Or pointing out it was only £50 in the Miss Selfridge sale three years ago so definitely isn’t worth that, concluding with the insult of a cry-with-laughter emoji.
But the objective is to get my coat back, not a load of middle fingers and a photo of it in the scraps bin.
Hahaha if I’m not too unemployed and skint to stand my round
See you at the front door in 1 min?
I would pay. Is that a yes lol?
Is there anything less charming than someone trying to push you into something unwillingly and acknowledging they are pushing you into it, and carrying on anyway?
OK, lying it is.
Sure
… LY NOT. And he knows I’ve got a boyfriend. We had a conversation where he said ‘Lol his name is Robin do you ever call him Cock Robin’and I said no and he saidhahaha, wicked bants.
Outside the door, there’s no sign of Callum. I wait for five minutes which feels like five hours and then text him a question mark. Another three minutes and he appears round the door.
