The Ex-Boyfriend’s Handbook Page 5

  ‘Tell you what,’ says Dan. ‘Why not come round later, and I’ll give you a hand? Two heads, and all that.’

  ‘Sounds good. What time?’

  Dan looks at his watch. ‘Well, I should be finished here about fìveish, so lets say about six?’

  ‘Six o’clock it is.’

  Dan glances back towards the make-up girl, who’s gazing adoringly in his direction.

  ‘On second thought make that seven.’

  7.00 p.m.

  I’ve spent the best part of the afternoon getting the flat back into some sort of a liveable state, which really just meant spreading the remainder of the furniture around a bit, buying some batteries for the portable stereo I find in the cupboard under the stairs, and hiring a TV and video combination from the shop at the end of the road and resting them on a stand that I made from the cardboard box Dan’s mirror came in.

  By early evening I’m bored, and it’s a relief when seven o’clock comes. When I press the buzzer for Dan’s flat, and he answers the door wearing a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves, my first thought is that little miss make-up is still there.

  ‘Dare I ask?’ I say as he shows me in.

  Dan looks at his Marigold-clad hands as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Oh, these? Cleaning the flat, would you believe.’

  Dan lives in what I guess is known as a loft development: a converted perfume factory that’s now all stripped floorboards, chrome fittings, and exposed brickwork. It’s very modern, very flashy, very trendy. Very Dan, in fact.

  ‘Really?’ I almost don’t want to know why.

  ‘I was just about to defrost the refrigerator but,’ he nods towards the huge stainless-steel Smeg appliance in the corner, ‘a fridge too far, and all that.’

  ‘What happened to your cleaner?’

  ‘Christina? Went the way of the others, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You didn’t…?’

  Dan has a habit of employing stunningly attractive Eastern European cleaners, and then does his usual trick of trying to sleep with them. He feels so guilty about this afterwards that he invariably has to sack them.

  Dan grins sheepishly. ‘Afraid so.’ He peels his rubber gloves off and dumps them in the pedal bin. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  But the truth is, I’ve been worse as well. I can’t quite rationalize it; I feel lonely, I feel hurt, I feel cheated, even. But I also feel motivated to do something about it.

  When I tell Dan about my conversation with Natasha, he just laughs it off.

  ‘Typical female response. It’s not all about marriage, you know.’

  ‘No, Dan, I don’t know. And that’s the problem.’

  Dan checks his watch. ‘Come on. You can buy me a drink and we can go through some strategies. Set out some guidelines.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, why don’t you start by trying to remember what it was Jane fancied about you in the first place?’

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘She was attracted to you once, right? Well why not try and remember what it was about you she liked, and then see if you can’t reproduce that?’

  In the absence of any other ideas, this one seems as promising as any. ‘Should we take a pen and paper?’

  Dan walks over to his couch and picks up an expensive-looking silver laptop.

  ‘No need, mate. Modern technology.’

  7.10 p.m.

  We’re in the Admiral Jim, sitting down at a table by the window. I’ve bought us both a drink and ordered something to eat—my usual, fully loaded ‘Admiral Burger’, and a somewhat healthier chicken salad for Dan. As we wait for the food to arrive, Dan fires the laptop up and then sits there, fingers poised above the keyboard.

  ‘Right. Here we go. Start, Programs, Excel…’

  ‘Am I going to get a running commentary of every key you press?’

  Dan ignores me. ‘File, new, save as “Edward Middleton. Spreadsheet”. Or should that be “Middle-Age Spreadsheet”. Get it?’

  ‘Yes, Dan. Hilarious. Can we just get on with it, please?’

  ‘Suit yourself. Okay—cast your mind back. What was it Jane said first attracted her to you?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘Come on, Edward. Don’t be embarrassed. What was it?’

  ‘She always used to say that I was a good listener.’

  ‘Er…Okay. That’s something, I suppose. But what else? I’m thinking physical characteristics, rather than rubbish like that.’

  ‘She said I had lovely eyes.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good start. You’ve still got them, although they’re a little bloodshot, and hidden behind those awful NHS reject pieces of plastic that you call glasses.’

  ‘Bugger off. They’re designer. Or they were when I bought them.’

  Dan rolls his eyes. ‘Mate. They, unlike you, have dated since then. What else?’

  I think back to when Jane and I started going out, which seems like a long time ago, especially now. ‘My smile. Jane always said I had a lovely smile.’

  Dan peers at me closely. ‘Let’s have a look, then.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Smile at me. Give us a grin.’

  ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘Edward, we’re trying to conduct an objective assessment here. Come on—give it your best shot.’

  I glance around the pub to check no one is looking in our direction. When I beam at Dan, he makes a face.

  ‘Blimey, mate. What have you been trying to chew through? Apart from a lifetime of coffee and cigarettes.’

  I can feel myself blushing. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, look at these,’ says Dan, flashing me his perfect TV grin. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘I can’t see much. I’m too dazzled. They’re like piano keys.’

  ‘Exactly. Whereas yours are more like the sharps and the flats. Have you never heard the word “dentist”?’

  ‘Bloody cheek. Of course I have.’

  ‘When was the last time you went for a check-up?’

  I think about this for a moment. ‘Just after we came back from holiday. Thailand, I think it was. I’d chipped a tooth trying to open a beer bottle to impress Jane.’

  ‘Classy,’ says Dan. ‘And when was that, exactly?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Thailand? Nineteen…’

  Dan holds up a hand. ‘Let me stop you there. What year is it now?’

  I look at my watch for some reason. ‘Two thousand and—’

  ‘Exactly,’ interrupts Dan. ‘So nineteen-anything is bad. You, my friend, need some serious assistance in the dental department.’

  ‘But I hate the dentist.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m scared of the injections.’

  Dan laughs. ‘Go and see mine. You won’t feel a thing. Anyway, it’s just a little prick.’

  ‘So my flatmate tells me,’ interrupts Wendy, depositing our food on the table in front of us.

  ‘Right,’ continues Dan. ‘What else? She can’t just have fallen for your personality. As winning as it is,’ he adds, as an afterthought.

  ‘Well…she said I was a good kisser.’

  ‘Whoa,’ he says, sitting bolt upright. ‘That’s as far as I’m prepared to advise you.’

  ‘And she always used to say I was funny.’

  ‘Funny ha ha or funny strange?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Dan pretends to be confused for a second or two. ‘So anyway,’ he says. ‘Let’s recap. Eyes, smile; two things that fundamentally we should be able to get back to somewhere near their former glory. As for your sense of humour, well, I suppose that’s still there. Just not much in evidence at the moment.’

  I peer at the laptop screen—it seems like a very short list. ‘Is there anything you want to add to that? After all, you’ve known me for as long as Jane has.’

  Dan scratches his head. ‘Er…Good point. Well, you…you’re very, er…’ He looks
at me blankly.

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  ‘Hold on,’ he says. ‘There’s got to be something.’

  ‘Which is?’ I ask, after he’s left a silence a little too long for my liking.

  ‘Well…You’ve got me as a friend. How many people can say their best mate’s a TV star?’ He sits smugly back in his chair.

  ‘Dan, try to remember. This is supposed to be about me.’

  ‘Ah. Okay. Well, you’ve…got a good personality.’

  ‘Thanks. Isn’t that always what they say about ugly girls?’

  ‘You’re generous,’ chimes in Wendy, who’s obviously been earwigging from behind the bar. ‘And you’re kind. And reliable. Unlike a certain somebody.’

  I manage a tight-lipped smile. ‘You see,’ I say to Dan. ‘I have hidden depths.’

  ‘And, unfortunately, not-so-hidden widths,’ he replies.

  As Dan sits there, tapping furiously at the keyboard, I cover my chips in ketchup and eat them hungrily. Eventually he stops typing, and looks up at the screen.

  ‘Can we get on to your bad points now?’ he asks, folding his arms. ‘I’ve got a few for that one.’

  I brace myself. ‘Go on then.’

  “‘Appearance,’” he says, reading through his list. “‘Body”. “Car”. “Diet”. “Exercise”. “Flat”…’

  My jaw drops. ‘You’ve done this alphabetically?’

  Dan nods, without a trace of guilt. ‘Well, I didn’t know how else to rank them.’ He turns the screen round to face me, and I scan down it with growing disbelief.

  ‘Car? What’s wrong with my car?’

  ‘Edward. You drive a Volvo. And a Volvo estate at that.’

  ‘So? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Dan ignores my question. ‘Anyway. The good news is that the physical things are all superficial. Easy to change. However…’ His voice tails off.

  ‘However?’

  ‘It’s just that, as we know, where relationships are concerned it’s not just about the physical stuff, is it?’

  ‘It is for you.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re talking about Jane. Look at what she wrote. It’s obvious that there was other stuff too.’ He spins the laptop back around. ‘For example, “Job…’”

  ‘Job?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve been doing the same job since college. She hasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, well. Most relationships only have room for one career person. In ours it was Jane.’

  Dan spears a piece of chicken and pops it into his mouth. ‘Well, maybe she wanted it to be you.’

  ‘Are you going to spend the whole evening picking holes in me?’

  Dan puts his fork down and hits the ‘save’ key. ‘Listen, Edward. You asked for my help.’

  ‘I know. But I was hoping for more of a character assessment, not a character assassination. And besides, I’m just not sure your views are valid. After all, you’re a man.’

  ‘Well, if you won’t take my word for it, we need to get a second opinion. And seeing as Jane’s in Tibet…’

  ‘Any suggestions?’

  Dan considers this for a moment or two. ‘Listen. Hard as it is for me to believe, there was a time that Jane found you attractive. Unless, of course, you got her drunk. Or pregnant. Or both. But she obviously fancied you once.’

  ‘Back at college.’

  ‘Exactly. So what we need is someone else who knew you then. Someone who maybe even fancied you. And someone who hasn’t seen you since, if possible.’

  I think back to my college days, working through my pre-Jane student love life. Sadly, only one name springs to mind.

  ‘Sally Hall.’

  Dan frowns. ‘Sally Hall? Who’s she?’

  ‘You remember. Sally Hall. Accountancy student. Year above us. Dark hair. Huge…’

  ‘Breasts?’ asks Dan, hopefully.

  ‘I was going to say “fan of the Cure”. But now you mention it…’

  Dan takes a mouthful of salad. ‘Can’t place her. Unfortunately.’

  ‘She was the girl I went out with before I met Jane.’

  He looks at me blankly. ‘Still nope.’

  ‘The one you “consoled” the night she and I split up. On the grass outside the student union. In full view of the hostel TV lounge, as it turned out.’

  Dan smiles as he retrieves that particular memory from the archives. ‘Ah. That was Sally Hall, was it?’

  I nod. ‘I wonder what ever happened to her.’

  Dan shrugs, ‘Probably still pining after me. Like the rest of them.’

  ‘But how on earth do I get in touch with her? It was ten years ago.’

  Dan puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Let me worry about that. Right now you’ve got more important things to think about.’

  ‘Exactly. Getting Jane back.’

  ‘Nope,’ he motions towards his empty glass, ‘getting the drinks in.’

  I head off to the bar as instructed. When I get back to the table, Dan is staring intently at the screen, and seems to be typing in his credit-card number.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Shush. Tell you in a moment.’

  ‘Can I…’

  ‘Shut up for a second, will you?’

  I do as I’m told, and chew my burger quietly. Eventually, Dan puts his wallet away and looks up from the keyboard. ‘Yes, Edward?’

  ‘I just wanted to ask how we find Sally Hall?’

  ‘Already taken care of.’

  ‘How…What…When?’

  ‘Edward, Edward…’ says Dan. ‘Let me introduce you to a recent invention called “the internet”.’ He spins the screen round so I can see it. ‘Ta-da!’

  ‘I know what the internet is, Dan. How come you can get online here in the Jim? I didn’t know it was a hot spot.’

  Dan smiles, ‘Anywhere around me is a hot spot. Especially my trouser area.’

  ‘Please, Dan. I’m eating.’

  He taps his laptop affectionately. ‘The joys of wireless technology. The girl from PC World came round and set it up for me.’

  I can sense a story coming on. ‘Oh yes?’

  Dan nods. ‘Yup. I can now access the internet from my living room, bathroom,’ he breaks into a grin, ‘even in bed, as it turns out.’

  I take the bait that he’s dangled in front of me. ‘In bed?’

  ‘Well, we had to test it. But in fact it’s got a range of about three hundred metres, which just happens to be the approximate distance from my flat to this pub.’

  On the screen I recognize the ‘Friends Reunited’ logo. Beneath it is the heading ‘University of Brighton, 1995’, and a list of vaguely familiar names, including, of course, a recently updated entry for a ‘Dan Davis’.

  He clicks on the ‘previous page’ button, and reads off the screen. ‘Here she is. Sally Hall, class of ’94. No photo, unfortunately. Living in London, working in Pimlico as a finance director…blah blah blah. Quite the career girl, it seems. And she was interested in you?’

  I nod. ‘I was quite a catch.’

  Dan looks at me pityingly. ‘Note the word “was” in that sentence. Anyway,’ he says, clicking the mouse button a few times, ‘this is what you wrote.’

  I stare at him, aghast. ‘What do you mean “what I wrote”?’

  Dan takes a sip of his wine, then reads his email back to me. ‘Dear Sally. Hi, Edward Middleton here. Remember me? I certainly haven’t forgotten you. Long time no see, but I need to ask you a favour.’

  I go white. ‘Please tell me you didn’t click “send”?’

  ‘I could tell you that, but it would be a lie. Anyway—what have you got to lose? Apart from the seven pounds fifty you owe me for the joining fee.’

  I shake my head incredulously. ‘My dignity?’

  Dan puts his glass back down onto the table. ‘Edward, Jane ran out on you yesterday, cleared out your flat, and went off to Tibet without telling you. I’d say your dignity is the last thing you should be worried about.’


  As I reread the message, it doesn’t take me very long to realize that Dan’s probably right.

  ‘What if she doesn’t respond?’

  ‘Oh, she’ll respond,’ he says. ‘They always do.’

  ‘So,’ I say, through a mouthful of burger. ‘While we’re waiting to hear back from Sally, where do we start?’

  Dan consults his spreadsheet. ‘Well, the most obvious one.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘We need to do something about the amount you’ve got on your plate.’

  ‘Are you saying that I’ve been neglecting Jane because I’ve been too busy?’

  ‘No, I mean in front of you, you fat bastard. Look at your burger—cheese and bacon, chips, mayonnaise…It’s no wonder you’re overweight.’

  I look down at my admittedly chunky waistline. ‘It’s just a bit of a beer belly.’

  Dan pokes me in the stomach. ‘Mate, you look like you’ve been living in the brewery.’

  I push my plate away reluctantly. ‘Well, I suppose I could cut down a little on the food front.’

  He pings my beer glass with his finger. ‘And the alcohol’s got to go too. Especially the beer.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s very fattening.’

  ‘Really?’

  Dan rolls his eyes. ‘I refer you to our conversation of a few moments ago. Why do you think it’s called a “beer belly”?’

  ‘Ah.’

  Wendy walks past, and notices my half-eaten burger. ‘Something wrong with your food?’

  I shake my head, and stare longingly at my plate. ‘I need to go on a diet. Apparently.’

  Wendy looks me up and down. ‘You don’t need to lose any weight. I like you cuddly.’

  ‘Yes he does,’ smirks Dan. ‘He’s got bigger breasts than you have.’

  Wendy reddens slightly, then picks up Dan’s wine glass. ‘Can I get you another drink?’

  He looks confused. ‘But I haven’t finished this one yet.’

  ‘Yes you have,’ she replies, emptying it in his lap.

  Dan jumps up, grabs a bar towel, and starts to mop his crotch, much to the amusement of the rest of the bar.

  ‘What on earth did you do that for?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ says Wendy, glaring at him. ‘You have a real gift, you know.’

  ‘Not for you I don’t, sweetheart,’ replies Dan.

  As he disappears into the gents to dry his trousers under the hand dryer, I follow Wendy back to the bar.