‘Let’s summarise our findings,’ Clem says. ‘Jo’s kicking an obsession with a commitment-phobe. I am a commitment-phobe, but lacking anyone worth being phobic about. Rav’s too picky for his own good. What about you, George? What is your fatal flaw that stands between you and happiness with another person?’

No burning food to save me now. I hem and haw.

‘I don’t know.’

‘More positive way of looking at it,’ Rav says, ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Hmm. I think I’d like someone who cares as much about me as I do about them. That might sound a low bar. But it’s pretty much everything, and I’ve never had that.’

‘Amen to that,’ Jo says, as Beagle nudges my plate out of the way with his head and clambers onto my lap, and I pretend this is an intrusion, but I’ll allow it.

‘Oh, by the way, I’m taking part in a writing competition at the pub! Will you come?’ I say. ‘I’m terrified of being crap and you all bearing witness but on balance I’m even more terrified of there only being a portly dog called Keith for an audience, so you need to come fill some seats.’

‘Brilliant!’ Jo says. ‘What have you written?’

I feel snakes move in my stomach. I loved that half hour spent at the kitchen table, scrawling in my notebook, so much. But I have to read it out? To strangers?

‘I’ve had a go at something about a bad day at work. The format is so loosey goosey I have no idea if it’s what they want or not. I’m right at the end of the running order so I’m going to avoid seeing anyone else’s piece, and work downstairs until they call me.’

‘You’re so brave,’ Clem says.

‘Or mad as a wizard,’ I say.

‘I remember when you used to read me your diary entries out at school,’ Jo says. ‘They were so witty. I’m really pleased you’re doing this. We’ve always known what a star you are. Now other people get to find out.’

‘Oh … thanks! Let’s hope that’s what they find out.’

‘Isn’t your challenge in writing about a bad day at work, mostly going to be in whittling the shortlist down? Start with that,’ Rav says. ‘Like judges do at awards. “In an exceptionally strong field with some stunning candidates, it was hard to choose, but choose I must …”’

‘Hahaha. Yes, true,’ I say. ‘I am queen of the shitty McJob.’

‘Oh, God, G. Remember when you had to dress up as a giant chicken to advertise that rip-off KFC-type place?’ Jo says.

‘I’d repressed that!’

‘I’m not sure I remember this one?’ Rav says. I groan.

‘It was a disaster. The kids they’d invited to the opening had mobbed me like I was The Beatles and I got bundled into a store room while they calmed down. They left me alone for ages and eventually I got bored and had a fag and then the door swung open and the kids saw a disembodied chicken with a woman’s head, smoking, like some really horrifying creature out of Greek mythology. And the company went apeshit that I’d ruined the image of “Captain Cluckee”. They were encouraging the kids to make friends with Captain Cluckee and then eat him, which is quite fucked up. Pointing that out didn’t help me.’

I am wheezing with laughter now as I recall this episode and so is everyone else.

‘There’s your story,’ says Rav.

‘Oh no! There’s been much worse,’ I say, insouciantly, confidently. And then I think: what a really sad boast to be making, Georgina.

Perhaps my problem is, I keep confusing the difference between making jokes, and being the joke.

21

That thing Clem said about working against your own nature, on purpose: it preyed on my mind. My nature has been a pretty terrible sat nav so far, so with this in mind, I went even further with Share Your Shame, and invited Mark and Esther. You don’t mess with people who need babysitters. I’d have to do it then.

‘Stay and drink afterwards and you can see my new workplace!’ I say, ‘And Mark can say hi to Devlin.’

Without having boxed myself in, I might easily have backed out.

‘Hey, Georgina. Still doing the writing thing? You’re my hero,’ Dev says, as I hoik my bag over my head, arriving for my shift. The pub seems to have more of a buzz than usual. Is it because of the event upstairs? My skin prickles with danger. I’d told myself it’d be half a dozen people.

‘Uhm, yeah,’ I mumble.

‘You’ve really stepped up here, I appreciate it. I see the theme tonight is Your Worst Day At Work. Hope it wasn’t here, hahaha.’

‘Hah. Yeah, don’t thank me when you don’t know what I’m talking about yet. Or maybe it’s about soiling myself on a rollercoaster …’

Devlin guffaws as he departs. I am grateful for how easy Devlin is, compared to his brother.

‘Have you soiled yourself on a rollercoaster?!’ Kitty squeals, as Kitty has never met a figurative type of speech she understood as such.

Kitty is the new hire – twenty-three, slim as a whippet, with extravagant, drawn-on eyebrows and long brown hair, and a sing-songy OH MY GAWD! vocal cadence I could swear comes from watching lots of series about ditzy American girls with inherited fortunes.

‘Oh, you don’t look scary at all, I was worried you’d be scary,’ Kitty said when she met me, leaving me puzzled and possibly offended.

‘Were you told I was scary?’

‘No but you’re, like, thirty?’

‘I don’t think that makes me Dame Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey.’ I toyed with definitely being offended.

‘Hahaha! Lucas said you’ve worked at loads of places.’

Great. I sound like a raddled old scrubber.

‘And you’ve got a posh name, hahaha.’

‘Oh … is it?’

‘I thought you might be stern.’

I smile, completely confused. Then, after the first hour of knowing her, I gathered that Kitty operates very few security checks on what’s coming out of her mouth. She’s not unpleasant company, in fact she’s very entertaining, but I have to adjust to the scattershot workings of her mind. A chat about politics and her crush on ‘the last one, President Barry O’Barner’ leaves me reeling.

Rav, Clem and Jo arrive with Esther and Mark, who they ran into outside. Jo is smiling, post Phil, and it’s not just brave-soldier-smiling. Last time I checked in with her she said now she’s made the decision, she feels better for it. Limbo is always the killer. ‘Knowing I had to do it but not facing it,’ she messaged. ‘THAT was the shittiest part of this. At least I’m not pretending to myself any more.’

‘Good luck!’ they all chorus, having loaded up with drinks and heading upstairs to bag the best seats. Please, God, let them hog so many that other people can’t fit in too. I can tell my sister and brother-in-law are politely perplexed as to exactly why I would do this, yet trying to be encouraging about a new avenue of interest for me. It beats a life of only reciting which flavours of crisp we stock.

Minutes ’til the event starts. I have no idea how long other people’s readings will be. I need to keep my mind occupied. Luckily Kitty is exactly the tension valve release I need.

She asks if she can call her car insurer back, I say sure, and flit around cutting limes into wedges, while Kitty at the end of the bar discusses the premium on her Fiat Cinquecento.

Kitty says: ‘Oh, what? K for kilo. Oh I see …’

I don’t normally listen in on phone calls but I catch her expression at this moment and Kitty looks so perturbed, it’s impossible not to be intrigued.

‘I … I mean, Insect. Tits.’

I frown in startled confusion at her.

‘Tits again. Yellow. From the start? Kilo, Insect, Tits, Tits, Yellow.’

I stuff my fist in my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

Kitty mutters a few more words, and goodbye, and rings off.

I cry: ‘What THE HELL was that about?’

‘Oh my God, he said to spell my name with the police alphabet and I didn’t know it! Oh my GOD! I said tits!’

I am nearly bent double laughing.

‘Tits Tits Yellow?!’ I gasp.

‘I couldn’t think of anything beginning with T! Oh my life.’

‘Strangely enough, Tits Tits Yellow is my porn name,’ I say, and as the words leave my mouth, realise Lucas is in earshot, approaching.

‘What if they cancel my insurance?!’ Kitty wails.

‘What for?’ I say.

‘… Lewd wordness?’

‘I don’t think “lewd wordness” is an official cause of invalidating insurance.’

Kitty gets her phone out and starts Googling. ‘Oh no, Georgina, it should’ve been kilo India tango tango Yankee.’

‘Yeah that sounds more likely than “tits”. Or “insect”, to be honest.’

‘I can never call Direct Line again!’

‘Imagine how boring his day is usually, Kitty, you did him a favour.’

We can’t help corpsing again. Ah, the bonding power of shared laughter. I’m safe to tell Devlin I approve of setting Kitty on.

‘Georgina,’ Lucas interrupts. ‘Upstairs? They’re asking for you. You’re on.’