That he thinks he can do self-righteousness at this moment absolutely astounds me.
It also makes anger overtake my shock. I’m back in some control of myself.
I purposely let him watch my line of sight go slowly back to Lou in the bed, who looks like she’d really like to be untied now; squirming against her bonds, red in the face, then back to him, and lastly down to his wilting member. I give it a good withering stare.
‘I did. I wasn’t heard over the music. You pathetic, treacherous piece of shit.’
I descend the ladder fast, jumping the last part so that my knees and ankles jar as I hit the ground. Robin gives chase, which means he has no time to dress himself, so as I near the door I’m confronted again by a stark bollock man.
I hate him even more for it – not enough shame to scramble to cover up. He’s to some extent performing, even now. Look at my vulnerability. Look at my unconventional lack of artifice. I’d like his unconventional artifice to be behind a towel, thanks.
‘George, George, wait, I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Yeah so am I. It’s not every break-up that comes with a therapy bill. I feel sick.’
‘Break up …?’
I turn to look him in the eyes.
‘You don’t seriously think I’m staying with you?’
‘No, not tonight, obviously.’
I blink, taken aback. ‘Are you clinically insane? It’s over, Robin, we’re done. I don’t know how you can think we could have a relationship after this.’
Robin pauses and says: ‘Relationship? I … I didn’t think we were going out?’
I’m so stunned by this it takes a moment to assemble my expression, and form a response.
I only manage:
‘… What?’
‘I thought we were “seeing each other”.’ Robin makes air quote marks. ‘I didn’t think we were exclusive … as in, forbidden from seeing other people? That whole scene is not my … scene.’
My blood feels like it’s caught fire. It’s one thing to do this to me, it’s another to blame me for it – to pretend this is a product of my unreasonable expectations.
‘Are you fucking serious?! You’re going to handle this by pretending our relationship didn’t exist? That’s like a CHILD’S level of lying. Will you put your hands over your eyes next, so I can’t see you?’
Robin pantomimes more exhaling, shaking his head in incredulity, rubbing at his hair as he thinks what to say next, a tic he uses on stage. God, the insolence of still having his gingery cock and balls on show.
‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ he mutters.
My jaw, once again, drops. ‘Do I need to point out what I’ve never seen before, either? Are you for real?’
He puts his hands on his hips, Mr Reasonable But Aggrieved now, as if we’re discussing an inflated quote for lagging the loft.
‘What was it I’ve ever said or done that’s made you think I believed in monogamy? I’m pretty sure I said I didn’t?’
I splutter, momentarily stalled. It’s as if someone’s been caught with their hand in the till and their defence is nothing is as it seems and theft can’t exist because we’re living in a false consciousness created by the CIA. It’s not a comeback you’ve planned for. Fuck me, I’m raging.
‘This is it, this is your excuse? You thought we were both free to have sex with other people?’
‘Uh, yes I did, Georgina. The terms and conditions of our liaison were never discussed. I’m not sure how you’d expect me to know otherwise.’
‘Then why hide it from me by switching your phone off and doing it behind my back?’
‘It’s poor manners to shove it in your face, isn’t it? I didn’t expect you to put up with a running commentary of who else and when.’
‘OH HOW EXCEPTIONALLY FUCKING CONSIDERATE OF YOU!’
I have to get out of here, mentally process it, escape this toxic weirdness.
I throw the door open to the hallway. A thirty-something couple and sixty-something parents are passing outside, their attentions already focused in our direction due to the cacophony.
True to his self-described not-sensitive, not-bashful nature, my ex not-boyfriend stands staring back at them, full frontal in their faces.
The dad says, ‘Excuse me! Do you mind covering your private area? There are ladies present.’
‘I’m in my private area. This is my flat. That makes you Peeping Toms.’
‘Peeping Vom more like,’ says the son, aka Jet Lag Man, who’s suddenly my new hero.
‘Having your toilet part on show really is unnecessary,’ says Jet Lag Man’s dad.
‘My toilet part! You want to get less uptight about the human anatomy, mate,’ Robin says. ‘It’s a beautiful thing.’
‘I can assure you, not from here it’s not,’ says Jet Lag Man.
‘Give my best to Lou,’ I say to Robin, stepping in to the hallway. To the disturbed-looking group, I add helpfully: ‘That’s the woman I just caught him having sex with.’
‘Oh, he finally got you a key cut?’ says Jet Lag Man.
‘Yeah but apparently we were never in a relationship,’ I throw my hands up in ‘silly me’ way.
‘It’s never his rubbish in my bin either,’ says Jet Lag Man. ‘He’s full of shit. Much like my bin.’
I vigorously shake Jet Lag Man’s hand.
‘It’s been a pleasure.’
‘Am I going to have to say it? Oh you pair of …’ Clem shakes her head in dismay at Rav and Jo, who are both mute and awkward.
Rav tweaks at his expensively pre-frayed navy cuff and Jo has an expression like a sad farm animal in a cartoon.
‘What?’ I say. I know they all think I’m gutted-but-fronting, but actually, I’m oddly calm. Shiraz is helping. I’ve found my safe harbour in rough waters. It’s a scarlet leather booth in a pub called The Lescar off Hunter’s Bar.
It turns out that you can get your friends out for a drink at no notice of a weekend if two of them had got out of the cinema with a thirst, one of
