The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook (15 page)

7.21 a.m.

‘What a bitch,’ says Sam when I recount the story in the gym the following morning, and show her the bump on my head.

‘Well,’ I wheeze, halfway through a set of sit-ups. ‘You can’t blame her really. After all, she was doing me a favour.’

Sam lets go of my feet suddenly, causing me to roll over backwards and knee myself painfully on the exact spot where I hit my head.

‘Edward, don’t talk like that. You’re hardly a charity case. What she did was downright rude, leaving you like that. You might have been seriously hurt.’

‘Well, fortunately, only my feelings were. But she didn’t find me attractive, full stop. At the moment, I just have to accept that, and be grateful for any scraps I get thrown.’

‘Edward, you’re a decent guy. That counts for a lot, you know.’

‘Yeah, maybe. But not when I go clubbing, apparently.’

‘You went clubbing?’

I nod. ‘The other weekend. Dan thought it would do me good to maybe chat up some other women.’

‘Dan?’

‘My best friend. Unfortunately. He makes Sy over there look like Mother Teresa.’

Sam laughs at the image. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, he’s so good-looking that all the girls we met just ignored me—I think the longest conversation I had was when one of them said to me “your friend’s nice”—while they gathered round him like flies on you know what.’

‘A shit? Edward, do you really think chatting up a girl in a nightclub is going to help you get Jane back? Or even going out for the evening with someone you’ve only known for three minutes?’

‘I just thought, well,
Dan
thought, that it might give me a bit of insight into what women want.’

Sam pulls me to my feet, leads me across to the stepper, and I climb on reluctantly.

‘Well, maybe you need to stop trying to work out what it is they want,’ she says, ‘and think a little more about what it is you want.’

‘So what about you?’ I ask, as Sam presses the ‘level up’ key. ‘Anyone special in your life?’

‘No. Not at the moment. Well, not for a while, since my brief period of mental illness when I went out with Sy. It hardly fits in with my lifestyle.’

‘But you must meet loads of people. Men, I mean.’

‘Why’s that? What are you inferring?’

‘You know, because you’re…’

‘An attractive woman?’ teases Sam.

‘I was going to say “personal trainer”. But, yes, now you mention it.’

‘Thanks, I think. And yes, I do meet a few through work, but I make it a rule never to date a man I can beat in a sprint. And besides, I could never date a client.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Imagine if I was to get a reputation for going out with my male clients. Brighton’s a small city, and as soon as that happened? I can’t see any woman letting her husband use me as a trainer.’

‘But don’t you miss, you know, not having…’

‘Sex?’

‘I was going to say “a boyfriend”. But again, now you mention it.’

Sam smiles. ‘To tell the truth, Edward, I’m so knackered by about ten p.m. after all these early mornings that the only thing I want in bed nowadays is an extra hour. I’m trying to make it in this business, maybe I’ll even save up enough to buy my own gym one day, and sometimes you have to make sacrifices if you want something badly.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I say. It’s about now I’d be lighting up my first cigarette of the day.

‘Besides, in my experience, men don’t like it if you care about your career, and certainly not if your work means you’re out of the house so early every morning that they have to make their own breakfast. And then, when you tell them you fancy an early night, but that means you actually want to go to sleep…’

‘In your experience?’

Sam nods. ‘The guy I went out with before Sy. We’d been seeing each other for about a year before we decided to move in together. And that’s where the problems started.’

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s just say that someone who I enjoyed seeing once or twice a week wasn’t so much fun every day. He just seemed to have no ambition. No drive.’

‘And?’

‘I’ll tell you something, Edward. When someone loves you, there’s nothing they won’t do for you. When they stop loving you, there’s nothing they will. And so, eventually, I just got fed up. I got tired of clearing up after him, of always being the one who had to do everything. Trust me, once you’ve picked up the hundredth pair of dirty socks from the floor on his side of the bed, the romance soon goes out of the window. And get this—his idea of an evening’s entertainment was to watch Sky Sports with a takeaway for company. Whether I was there or not.’

Gulp. Sam’s just described my old every-Wednesday-night routine.

‘He wasn’t into exercise?’

‘Nope. The only six-pack he was interested in getting had “Budweiser” written on the side.’ Sam goes quiet for a moment. ‘But yes, in answer to your earlier question, in an ideal world, I’d love to have a boyfriend. And,’ she says, nodding curtly, ‘everything that goes with that. But the guys I meet nowadays are usually married and only after a bit on the side, or they’re the type that come into Sy’s gym and therefore they’re all like Sy himself, so at the moment I’ve prioritized, just like you’re doing. What is it you miss about your old lifestyle the most, for example?’

I stop climbing and let the foot pedals sink me back down towards Sam’s eye level. ‘Pizza, probably.’

Sam laughs. ‘And there’s me thinking you were going to say “companionship” or something like that. At least you’re honest.’

‘Sorry I didn’t think you were asking about me and Jane. I thought you meant…never mind. Of course I miss her. I miss talking to her; telling her about my day, and her laughing when I tell her the latest about what Natasha’s been up to. I miss the comfortable silences; the arguments about what we’d watch on TV; refereeing the arguments she’d have with Dan; the brave face she’d put on whenever I’d offer to cook her dinner. I miss holding hands with her when we’d walk along the seafront. I miss her falling asleep on me during whatever DVD we’d rented, and then having to explain the plot when she woke up just before the end. I miss her smile, the smell of her perfume, the look of her in her business suit, the look of her out of her business suit…Most of all, I miss her just being there.’

Sam looks at me strangely. ‘Blimey, Edward. You really do, don’t you?’

I stare at her for a second or two, then snap back, a little too aggressively, ‘Why the hell do you think I’m putting myself through all this. It’s not just for the pleasure of your company, you know.’

When I slump against the machine, catching my breath for a different reason, Sam walks round next to me and puts an arm round my shoulders, a task that can’t be too pleasant given the amount I’m sweating.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, when I’ve regained my composure. ‘I forgot that it was still so, you know, raw.’

‘I’m sorry too. For snapping at you. I just get a little angry sometimes when I think about how Jane just upped and left me. The…the life that she just left behind.’

Sam gives me a squeeze, and puts on an American accent. ‘Well, I want you to focus on that anger, that strength of feeling, get back on that stepper, and you work it, buddy. Or something like that.’

That gets a smile out of me. ‘You betcha!’

I leap back on the machine and start pumping away, much harder than before.

‘Steady on,’ says Sam. ‘You don’t want to pull something.’

But, ironically, that’s exactly what I do want to do.

7.43 p.m.

When I walk into the Admiral Jim, Dan’s sat opposite Wendy at the bar, staring intently at his mobile phone.

‘They do have ring tones, apparently,’ she says to him. ‘You know—to let you know when someone’s calling?’

‘Huh?’

‘Just so you don’t have to stare at it the whole time.’

Dan shushes her. ‘I’m waiting for an important call.’

‘Results from the paternity clinic?’ I suggest.

‘Shut your face. It’s to see if I’m in panto next year.’

Wendy winks at me. ‘Panto? You? Don’t you have to be famous to be in panto?’

Dan takes the bait. ‘I
am
famous. Well, famous enough for panto, at least.’

Wendy counts me in. ‘Oh no you’re not,’ we chorus.

‘How would you two losers know?’

I shake my head. ‘Very disappointing, mate. You won’t get very far if you don’t know the basics.’

Dan looks annoyed. ‘What basics?’

‘You know. “Look behind you”.’

Dan swivels to look over his shoulder. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘There’s a tiny house…’ sings Wendy. Dan just looks at her strangely.

‘Why do you suppose he wants to be in panto anyway?’ she says to me. ‘Aren’t you supposed to wait until your career is on the slide?’

‘Yes, well, Dan fancies himself as a bit of an actor.’

‘Dan just fancies himself, full stop.’

‘No, seriously. Ever since he got a bit part as “Corpse Number Two” in
Casualty
.’

‘That’s not acting. All he had to do was lie there and pretend to be dead,’ says Wendy, pouring me a drink before heading off to serve some customers.

‘Which pretty much describes his sexual technique,’ I call after her. ‘Apparently.’

I pick what’s evidently the latest in the long line of Dan’s mobile phones up off the bar and examine it. It looks like something out of
Star Trek
.

‘I still can’t believe you don’t own a mobile,’ says Dan, taking it back from me, as if he’s afraid I might break it.

‘What’s the point? I’m either at home, where I’ve got a phone, or in the office, where I’ve got a phone, or at the pub, where I don’t want to be disturbed.’

Dan looks at me in disbelief. ‘Edward. Everyone has a mobile nowadays. And not having one…it’s like…well, some kind of social stigma. Like not being able to drive, or having an ugly girlfriend. Which, coincidentally…’

‘But why would I need one?’ I say, cutting him off.

‘Because the whole dating scene revolves around mobiles nowadays. You meet a girl, you get talking, what’s the first thing you do?’

‘Er…I know this one. Ask her what her favourite film is?’

‘No, dummy. You get her phone number.’

‘That would have been my second answer. Phone number. Right.’

‘And how do you remember it?’

‘Write it down?’

‘Sure. Because you’ve come out to the bar equipped with a pencil and paper.’

‘Well, I go and borrow them from the barman.’

‘Great idea. Only to find when you get back, she’s gone, or is being chatted up by someone else. You snooze, you lose, remember.’

‘So what do I do?’

‘You punch her number into your mobile phone.’

‘But I haven’t got one.’

‘Exactly. Which is why, if you’re going to follow this thing through properly, you need to get one.’ Dan flips his open and presses a few of the keys, causing the display to light up. ‘And you need to get the smallest, latest, most expensive and flashiest model you can afford.’

‘Why? It’s just a phone.’

‘Yeah. And that’s what she’ll be thinking, especially when she sees that the huge bulge in your trousers is actually caused by nothing more than your prehistoric brick of a mobile. Your phone should be what you aspire to be yourself—slim and sophisticated.’

‘Very funny.’

‘And then the next day, seeing as you’ve got her phone number now, what do you do?’

‘Call her?’

‘Nope. Not first time round.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because what you don’t want is a reaction. You phone her, she either doesn’t remember who you are, or she reacts with such indifference that you’ll never want to see her again.’

‘So?’

‘So instead you send her a text. Which you can’t do if you don’t have?’

‘A mobile phone.’

Dan breathes a sigh of relief. ‘By Jove, I think he’s got it.’

8.03 p.m.

I’m savouring only my second nicotine fix of the day, as Dan regards me from across the table. Suddenly, he reaches over and pinches my cheek.

‘Ow. Get off. What are you doing?’

Dan lets me go. ‘I was just thinking…’

‘What?’

‘Have you thought about plastic surgery?’

I nearly drop my cigarette in surprise. ‘I don’t need plastic surgery.’

‘Yes you do. Look at your eyes. You’ve got bigger bags than Louis Vuitton.’

‘That’s just because I’m tired. From all these early starts.’

‘But what about those wrinkles?’

‘What wrinkles? I don’t have any wrinkles.’

‘Well, maybe not now,’ concedes Dan. ‘But that’s because you’ve got a fat face. Fat people always look younger than thin people, because the fat fills out the wrinkles. But when they lose that weight…’

‘What are you going on about now’?’

‘It’s true. Just look at that Nigel Lawson. As a fat chancellor he looked in pretty good nick. Then he lost all that weight, and suddenly he looks like he’s ready for his pension. Or what’s left of it, after what his lot did to the economy.’

‘I’m not having plastic surgery. Just drop it.’

‘Fine.’

‘Thank you.’

Dan continues to stare at me. ‘Or…’

‘What?’

‘Have you thought about Botox?’

‘Botox?’

‘Yeah. Basically, they inject you with this stuff that removes all your wrinkles. Makes you look ten years younger almost overnight.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘I dunno. Its some kind of poison, I think. Paralyses the muscles that cause wrinkles.
Voila!
Face as tight as a baby’s arse.’

‘Poison? What sort of poison?’

‘That food poisoning one. Bot-something.’

‘Botulism?’

Dan nods. ‘Yeah. That’s the fella.’

I stare at Dan’s remarkably line-free face. ‘How come you know so much about it?’

He shrugs. ‘Got to think about the future. Protect the assets.’

‘So let me get this straight. You want me to get food poisoning injected into my face on purpose, just so I can look a few years younger?’

‘If you like.’

‘And this’ll be really cheap, I suppose?’

‘About two hundred and fifty quid a pop,’ he says. ‘I imagine.’

‘I can’t just come round to your flat for dinner,
get
food poisoning, and achieve the same effect?’