by Matt Dunn
When I don’t answer, she flicks her eyes across at Dan, who mimes cutting his throat. Her expression rapidly changes.
‘Oh God, Edward. I’m so sorry,’ she says, blushing. ‘I had no idea. Really.’
I force a half-smile. ‘That’s okay.’
Wendy leans across the bar and rests a hand on my arm. ‘How are you feeling?’
As she says those words, I have to stop and think. It’s a very good question; how am I feeling? Numb, certainly, a bit like that soldier in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan who’s lost his arm but walks around looking for it as though nothing’s wrong, as if he’s refused to admit to himself what’s just happened, and so doesn’t feel any pain. Though the trouble with that is eventually, when the shock wears off, he will.
I settle for the obvious. ‘Pretty rotten, actually.’
Wendy gives my arm a squeeze. ‘Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where I am.’
Dan clears his throat impatiently, obviously a little put out at having been ignored earlier.
‘I think you’ll find that’s what I’m here for, sweetheart. A bit of man-to-man talk over a conciliatory pint. Give Edward here the benefit of my experience. That’s if we ever get served, of course.’
Wendy stares at him, open-mouthed. ‘And what makes you think that you’re such an expert on relationships?’
Dan looks at her as if she’s stupid. ‘Because I’ve had so many, obviously.’
Wendy shakes her head, pours my pint, then bangs a glass of wine down on the counter in front of Dan, causing it to nearly spill onto his trousers.
‘Four pounds ninety.’
Dan reaches into his jacket pocket then looks across at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, mate. Forgot the old wallet. Didn’t think we’d be coming out.’
With a sigh I hand Wendy a fiver, and we take our drinks and find a corner table.
‘So,’ says Dan, once we’ve sat down, and he’s made sure that his trousers are Chardonnay-free. ‘Did you have any idea? That she was going to do something like this, I mean.’
‘Of course not!’
‘No surreptitious phone calls to Pickfords, anything like that?’
I think back over the last few weeks, trying to find any evidence of unhappiness. ‘We’d had a few arguments recently, but nothing too serious. Just the usual stuff, really.’
‘What sort of “usual” stuff?’
‘You know’—I do an uncannily accurate, although very childish, impression of Jane’s sometimes whining voice—“When are you going to get off your backside and do something about that beer belly of yours; smoking’s a disgusting habit; don’t you think it’s time you thought about getting another job…” Like I say—just the usual.’
Dan rolls his eyes. ‘Jesus, mate. How long has that been the usual?’
‘Er…last six months, I guess.’
‘Six months? Did you not think something might be wrong?’
I shake my head. ‘I just thought it was part of that “Women, can’t live with them…” stuff.’
‘Any other signs? Everything all right with her job?’
I shrug. ‘I guess. We didn’t really talk about her work that much.’
‘What about her emotional state?’
I take a sip of my beer. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for example, I once went out with a girl who was so emotional she cried at the slightest of things. Kittens, soppy films, you name it. One whiff of anything sentimental and on came the waterworks. Even, a couple of times, after sex.’ He grins at the memory. ‘Was Jane ever like that?’
I think back to our recently all too infrequent below-duvet liaisons. ‘She never cried after sex. Though the last time…’
‘The last time?’
‘She, er, cried during.’
Dan attempts unsuccessfully to smother a laugh, but to his credit tries a bit harder when he realizes I’m not joking.
I light a cigarette and blow smoke at the ceiling. ‘Why didn’t she say something? Rather than just upping and leaving me like this?’
‘It sounds to me like she was trying to.’ Dan waves my smoke away but for once decides not to comment on what he usually refers to as my ‘filthy habit’. ‘How long had the two of you been going out for again?’
‘Jesus, Dan. Try not to talk about Jane and me in the past tense so quickly please. Ten years.’
‘Bloody hell! Ten years? A whole decade?’ Dan’s longest ever relationship probably just about lasted a month, and that’s only because he was ill for two weeks in the middle of it all.
‘Yup.’
‘And did you, I mean, do you, love her?’
I redden slightly. ‘What do you think?’
‘And you never thought about, you know,’ he lowers his voice, ‘the “m” word?’
I shake my head. ‘I kind of just…assumed that we’d always be together.’
‘Did you ever tell her that? In more romantic terms, obviously.’
I stare glumly into my beer. ‘Obviously not.’
‘Ah.’
Dan pretends to be interested in something floating in his wine glass until I break the awkward silence.
‘I mean, it’s not as if I’ve ever cheated on her.’
‘Never? Not even once? In ten years?’ says Dan, aghast.
I look back angrily at him. ‘No. Of course not. We don’t all have your…’
‘Opportunities?’
‘I was going to use the word “morals”, but that would suggest that on some level you actually had a few.’
Dan shrugs. ‘Harsh, but fair.’
‘I mean, okay, so maybe I wasn’t the most attentive of boyfriends. But I was faithful. And reliable. And…’ I struggle to find something else, ‘good at my job.’
Dan shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter a jot, mate. Funny creatures, women. Do you think Mrs. Einstein was impressed with all that stuff about Albert’s relatives?’
‘Relativity, Dan.’
‘Exactly. Nope, she was more concerned whether he remembered her birthday, or forgot to put the toilet seat down.’
I sit there miserably for a while, until Dan leans across to me. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘would it make you feel any better if I told you that she tried it on with me once?’
I look up with a start. ‘She didn’t, did she?’
‘Nope. But would it make it easier if I said she did?’
‘Be serious, Dan. Did Jane ever say anything to you? About us?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yup. Oh, apart from that she wished that you were more like me. And had a bigger…’
‘Dan!’
‘Relax!’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I’m just trying to cheer you up.’
‘Dan, cheering someone up normally consists of trying to make them feel better about themselves, not harping on about how great you are.’
Dan looks surprised. ‘Really?’
I take Jane’s note out again and stare at it, searching for clues, until Dan reaches across, takes it from me, and wordlessly slips it back into his pocket. Suddenly, my despair turns to resentment at the way she’s just dismissed ten years in less than ten sentences. I find the photo of her and me in my wallet, and throw it angrily onto the table.
‘Bloody cheek! “You’ve let yourself go”. Hardly. I mean, we’re all a little heavier than we were at college.’
Dan pats his stomach proudly. ‘I’m not.’
‘You wouldn’t be. I mean us normal people. I’m not that different to how I used to look, surely?’
Dan opens his mouth as if to mention something, then thinks better of it, and stands up.
‘Hold on a sec.’
He walks over to the other side of the pub, removes a clip-framed photograph from the montage between the toilet doors, and puts it down on the table in front of me. It’s of the three of us at a fancy-dress party here at the Admiral Jim last December. Jane, courtesy of a blonde wig, wh
ite charity-shop evening dress, and a not inconsiderable amount of padding, is dressed as Marilyn Monroe. She’s pouting at the camera, flanked by Dan and me, him all teeth and daytime-TV tan in his no-effort-required James Bond dinner suit. I’m brandishing a plastic sword, and squeezed into the Roman legionnaire’s outfit I’d bought from Woolworth’s toy section in desperation late that afternoon.
Dan eventually stops admiring himself in the photo, and squints at my outfit.
‘Who were you supposed to be again?’
‘Russell Crowe. You know, in Gladiator!’
‘Russell Crowe?’ laughs Dan. ‘You look more like Russell Grant. In a mini-skirt!’
I snatch the picture away from him and stare at it crossly. ‘It was a child’s outfit. Of course it didn’t fit properly.’
Dan passes me the college photo and urges me to compare the two. ‘Even so, mate. You’ve got to admit that you’ve put on a few pounds over the years.’
I stare at the two images in disbelief. It’s like one of those ‘before’ and ‘after’ adverts you see in the Sunday supplements for the latest miracle exercise machine. Except the wrong way round.
‘Well, I’m just a little more cuddly. In fact that’s what she calls…I mean, used to call me. Cuddly Teddy.’
Dan grimaces. ‘Pass the sick bucket. Too much information, mate.’
‘It’s true. In fact, she used to say that I was improving with age. Like a good wine,’ I say, nodding towards Dan’s glass.
‘Well, trouble is, now she obviously thinks you’re corked.’
‘Ha bloody ha, Dan. Very funny.’
I sip my pint silently for a few moments, before Dan awkwardly clears his throat.
‘Seriously, though. There could be a reason why you’ve “let yourself go”.’
I nearly spit out my mouthful of beer. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, stopped making the effort. Put on all this weight. Started dressing like the airline’s lost your luggage.’
‘Dan, I know what you were getting at by the phrase “let yourself go”. I meant “what was the reason?”.’
Dan takes a deep breath. ‘Well, here’s me, and obviously I have to look as good as I do for my job…’
‘Mind your head on the ceiling.’
‘…but I also like to look like this because I want women to be attracted to me.’
‘Yeah, but that’s just vanity. Selfishness.’
Dan shakes his head. ‘It’s not a selfish thing. Quite the reverse, in fact.’
‘I don’t understand. How can that not be selfish?’
‘Because, if you think about it, I don’t actually do it for me. I do it for other people. Women. Whereas what you’re doing is selfish.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I care about how other people see me, therefore I care about other people. You, on the other hand, are saying “I don’t mind how I look. I’m just going to suit myself”. And I’m afraid that that attitude has the opposite effect where women are concerned. It repels them.’
I’m not quite getting Dan’s warped logic. ‘So your point is?’
Dan looks at me patronizingly. ‘My point is, mastermind, and it’s just a thought, that maybe you didn’t just “let yourself go” by accident. Maybe, subconsciously, you wanted to split up with Jane. And the easiest way for that to happen without you being the bad guy was for her to leave you. So how did you achieve that? By letting yourself get into a state where she didn’t find you attractive any more.’
The pub has filled up a little, and I think that I must be struggling to hear Dan correctly above the noise of the assembled drinkers.
‘So let me get this straight. You’re saying that I’ve gradually come to realize over the last ten years that Jane and I aren’t suited any more, and so recently I’ve been cunningly stuffing my face in an attempt to make her leave me, rather than me just do the easy thing which is turn round and say, “Jane, it’s not working.” And what’s more, I’ve been doing this without knowing it?’
Dan shrugs. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just suggesting that it’s a possibility. That’s all.’
‘That’s bollocks.’
Dan holds up his hands. ‘Hey—don’t shoot the messenger. It’s just an idea.’
‘Well it’s a stupid idea. Why on earth would I want Jane to leave me? Particularly when we’ve been together for so long.’
‘All I’m saying is, where relationships are concerned, don’t confuse length with strength. Jane was a very different person when you first met her, and as we’ve just seen, you were a very different person then too. What are the chances that over the last ten years you’ve both evolved in exactly the same direction? I mean, look at her now, quite the high-flying career woman, always chasing the next promotion, another challenge. You’ve been in the same job since you left college, and the biggest decision you have to make every day is what to have for lunch.’
I can’t quite believe this. ‘So we’ve grown apart? Is that what you think?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And therefore I’ve driven her away, so I can find someone more suitable?’
‘Maybe.’
I shake my head. ‘Well, have you considered that the problem with that approach is that it leaves me in pretty bad shape to go out and meet someone better, doesn’t it?’
Dan folds his arms defensively. ‘I don’t make the rules, do I?’
‘Thank goodness!’
Dan tries a different tack. ‘So you think the two of you are still compatible?’
‘Of course!’
‘Well then, let me ask you this. What is it, sorry, was it, that made her so special, in your opinion?’
‘Well, the way she…How she…Well, lots of things.’
‘Okay. So tell me something. If you went out to a bar now and saw Jane across the room, would you fancy her? Would you think you and her could have a life together?’
I don’t even have to consider my answer. ‘Yes. Obviously.’
‘And what do you think she’d do if she saw you for the first time now? Do you think she’d fancy you? Or would she break into a rousing chorus of “Who ate all the pies?’”
‘Well, I think she’d…I mean, hope she would…’ I stop myself, because Dan has picked up the two photographs and turned them round so I can see them or, more specifically, see myself in them. And suddenly, shockingly, sadly, whilst I don’t like where he’s going with this, I can see exactly where he’s coming from.
As I sit there, struggling to come to terms with this revelation, Dan leans smugly back in his seat. Unfortunately he’s forgotten that he’s on a stool and nearly topples over, but even this admittedly amusing spectacle can’t raise a smile from me. Embarrassed, he looks around to check that no one’s seen, only to catch Wendy smirking at him from behind the bar.
Dan regains his composure and drains his glass, satisfied that he’s fulfilled his counselling duties for the evening.
‘So, what now?’ he asks.
I sigh. ‘Onwards and upwards, I guess. Back in the saddle.’
Dan clinks his empty glass against mine. ‘That’s the spirit.’
‘Any spare numbers for me in your little black book? Actually, yours is probably a big black book, isn’t it?’
Dan shakes his head. ‘Don’t have one.’
‘What? Mister I’ve-shagged-more-women-than-you’ve-had-hot-dinners? I find that hard to believe.’
‘I don’t,’ he insists. ‘What would be the point of keeping their phone numbers?’
‘So you could call them the next…Ah.’ I’ve answered my own question. Dan does operate something of a scorched-earth policy when it comes to women.
‘Exactly. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen, and all that. But not too keen. Don’t want them getting the wrong idea.’
‘Come on, Dan. Everyone wants someone special in their life, surely? Even you.’
‘I’ve got someone special in my life.’
‘Who?
’
‘Me.’ He reaches across the table and pokes me in the stomach. ‘And by the way, be careful when you make the “hot dinners” comparison, because by the looks of you, that number is pretty high.’
‘Yeah, well, all those women only want to sleep with you because you’re a TV personality.’
Dan looks confused. ‘But I am a TV personality. I’m “TV’s Dan Davis”. The two things are inseparable.’
‘Insufferable, more like,’ says Wendy, depositing two more drinks onto our table and removing the empties. ‘On the house, Edward,’ she adds, giving Dan a disapproving glance.
‘So, are you going to be okay?’ asks Dan, once Wendy has moved out of earshot.
I put my head in my hands. ‘I suppose so. I’m only thirty years old; much too young for a mid-life crisis.’
‘And much too young for middle-age spread. According to Jane,’ he adds, getting up and striding off towards the gents before I can think of a suitably rude reply.
As I sit self-consciously on my own at the table, a couple of attractive girls walk in and make their way towards the bar. Both bottle-blondes, they’re dressed more for a Saturday night out in Ibiza rather than a chilly Sunday evening in Brighton, and I can’t work out which are the larger strips of material—the ones they’re using as skirts, or the glittering pieces which barely contain their breasts beneath the denim jackets they’re obviously unable to fasten. They order what I’d guess are a couple of Malibu-and-Cokes from Wendy, then the taller of the two suddenly glances over in my direction. She points across to where I’m sitting and whispers something to her friend, and when they both turn to face me, I have to fight the impulse to look over my shoulder. As I sit up straighter in my chair, they pick their drinks up and walk over towards me.
This happens all the time when I’m out with Dan, and I brace myself for the usual small talk along the lines of ‘what’s your friend’s name?’ or ‘has he got a girlfriend?’, before Dan puts them out of their misery and asks for a number. I quickly hide the photographs, glance across at the toilet door for reinforcements, and then it hits me—they haven’t seen him yet! He was in the gents when they came in, which means it’s me they’re coming over to talk to. Me! Not Dan. Ha! Let myself go, have I?
Taller blondie reaches my table first, and leans down towards me, affording me a clear view of her not inconsiderable cleavage. Her chest is obviously still feeling the effect of the chilly sea air, and I have to try hard not to stare as I remember Dan’s ‘Nepal’ comment.
