The Man I Loved Before: A completely gripping and heart-wrenching page turner

by Anna Mansell

  ‘Is there anything else?’ asks the woman, exasperated. ‘It’s just that… there’s a queue.’ She points to the people stood behind me. One scrolls through her phone. One talks on his. Another is staring at me with a grin on his face. Is that…?

  ‘Still causing hold-ups wherever you go?’

  Mitch Black. Mitch Black from Fanshawe School. Mitch Black of Tinder and Tinder messages. If I had died when I wanted to, back when Leanne swiped right, this wouldn’t have happened. He’s smiling. He looks a little older than the photo he put up on Tinder; there’s maybe a smidge of grey in the hair now, some deeper lines, though Leanne put up one of me from about five years ago, so I’m in no place to judge.

  The woman behind the counter clears her throat and I spin round. ‘Sorry, I’ll just…’ I shuffle out of the line, knocking a fire extinguisher as I go. ‘Shit. Sorry. It’s fine. It’s all fine.’ I clumsily bend to replace it and my bag swings down from my shoulder to smash me in the face and Mitch is now stood in front of me. ‘Mitch! Hi! Blimey!’

  ‘Some things never change, eh!’ he says, grinning, helping me grab my shoulder strap and placing it back on my shoulder. ‘You always were a bit of a calamity at school.’

  Rude.

  ‘How are you, Jem Whitfield?’

  I don’t rub my face where the bag struck but it does hurt a bit. ‘Me? Oh, you know, yeah. Good. Great! Wow, how the hell are you? Fancy…’ He checks the queue over his shoulder, carefully moving back towards his place. I automatically follow. ‘Yeah, I’m good thanks. Really good.’

  ‘Great. You look well.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ I might have looked better if I had at least expected to bump into him in the post office. I’d have drawn on my eyebrows. Mascara’d.

  ‘So.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You swiped right.’

  ‘Oh, ha! Yes, I did, well, my mate Leanne did.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No, I mean, I probably still would have. If she hadn’t.’ Would I?

  ‘I messaged you.’

  ‘Yes. I saw. I’ve not read it yet though. Busy. Very busy.’ I wave my hand over my shoulder as if that makes it clear I’ve been busy but probably demonstrates I’m having some sort of crisis.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘What did it say? The message.’

  ‘Well, it said hi. And thanks for the swipe.’ He grins, insanely confidently. Though I guess with a face like that, not much phases. ‘I reminded you that the last time we saw each other we were signing our school shirts at the end of the year. I drew a cock and balls on most of them, so, sorry about that.’

  ‘Ha! Did you?’ I laugh, loudly. Like an idiot.

  ‘I also said I’d love to go for a drink.’

  ‘Oh, did you? Well, I mean… that could be nice, you know… if you fancied me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It!’

  ‘Oh.’ Mitch grins, running his hand through his hair and I’m momentarily distracted from letter-gate. I also hate myself. ‘So look, I’m not very good at this.’ He can’t be worse than me. ‘Tinder, I mean. I only signed up today. Don’t really know what possessed me.’

  ‘Same! Well, Leanne signed me up. I’d never have! God knows who’s on these things.’

  ‘True. Though… us, for one thing.’

  ‘Right. Yes.’

  At this point I wonder if I could sneak out, delete the Tinder app and possibly move somewhere far away. You know, something reasonable like that.

  ‘So what you up to?’ he asks, moving forward in the line.

  ‘Oh, you know, just…’ I motion a hand in the direction of the woman behind the desk. ‘Well, to be honest, I was trying to get hold of a letter I posted before I was ready to post it. Really could do with getting it back. I didn’t mean for it to go at all, to be honest. Mum posted it.’ Why am I still talking? ‘She was trying to help…’ Why is he looking at me like I’ve gone mad? ‘Bless her.’

  ‘I sort of meant in life, what are you up to in life?’ He shuffles forward again, the queue getting ever shorter like sand through Her Majesty’s Post Office timer. ‘Apart from Tinder.’

  ‘Oh.’ I let out a nervous laugh, then flick my hair. ‘Well…’ Where do I start with that one? ‘Well, you know—’

  ‘Next!’ The woman behind the counter bellows, making me jump.

  ‘Hang on.’ Mitch goes to the counter, weighs his letter then passes it through the little window. After paying and having a quick joke with the woman, he turns to face me and my stomach flips. ‘I’ve an hour spare now. If you’re free? Do you want a coffee? I’ve heard The Forge is pretty nice. I’ve never been. I actually lived away until last month.’

  ‘Oh, have you? I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Yeah. Which means I’ve totally lost touch with everyone. Come on. Coffee? My treat.’ I must give him a look of suspicion because he quickly puts his hands up. ‘Just coffee. I promise I won’t draw a cock and balls on your blouse.’

  This makes me do one of those snort laughs nobody means to do, so I try to cover it up with a cough. ‘I’d love to, but I have to go… I need to…’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re going to hunt down this letter, track it until it reaches its intended recipient and intercept it before they can read it?’

  I feel myself prickle with the scarlet hives I know will now be forming across my chest. When he puts it like that, it does sound ridiculous. Certainly more ridiculous than just going for a coffee with him. ‘Well… I mean…’

  ‘God, I was joking. Wow. You really don’t want that letter to be read. Let me guess, a letter to an ex?’

  The hives creep from my neck to my face and I surreptitiously wipe a sweaty palm down my jeans. Leanne would be furious to know I’d turned coffee down so I could drive to Cornwall. On a Friday in August. Like no sensible person ever would. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Isn’t it always?’

  I suppose I could do coffee. Before I go.

  ‘It’d be lovely to catch up.’ He stuffs hands in his pockets and looks all boyish at me. My knees go a bit weak and I’m irritated by how bloody basic I can be.

  I imagine the traffic. I picture the queues round Birmingham, Bristol and Bodmin. It’s gonna take me forever to get there and the longer I put it off, the more chance there is of it getting posted through Ben’s letter box.

  ‘I mean, you know… You did swipe right,’ he says, with a wink.

  Leanne did, I don’t say for a second time. ‘It’s just that, well, I really need to go and do this.’

  ‘Right.’

  Is he crestfallen? Do handsome people ever get crestfallen? I really shouldn’t be walking away. ‘I’d love to. Truly. Some other time, maybe? If you still want to?’

  ‘I might hold you to that.’

  I feel guilty. And confused. And I can see Leanne’s face in my head. ‘Okay. Hold me to it. I would really love to.’ I back away, bag clutched to my chest. ‘We’ll catch up soon. When I’m back.’ I throw a wave over my shoulder and practically sprint out of there. At my car, the remote central locking fails and I swear, fumbling to get the key in the lock.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Mitch, appearing from behind like some kind of genie, takes the key from my hands, our fingers brush. He unlocks the car easily, like I probably could have if he hadn’t, then hands me the keys. ‘Look, I sense you’ve got something going on. I like you, but I don’t want to chase if you’re not ready. I mean, the whole Tinder thing, maybe you weren’t really up for it?’

  Leanne would kill me if she knew I might have messed this up. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to give you that impression.’

  ‘It’s fine. We all have baggage of sorts. Maybe you just need to sort some stuff out before you’re ready to date? I understand.’ He passes me a piece of paper with a mobile number written on it. His handwriting is neat, structured, controlled. I wonder when he had time to even write it. Does he have his number in his pocket just in case, for situations like this? Is that how men
with a face like his operate? Why do I keep noticing his face?

  ‘Here’s my number. In case, when you’re ready, you fancy that coffee. Just text me. After you’ve tracked down your post.’ He smiles and through the crinkle of his eyes and the slightly cockeyed grin, I can see Mitch Black from school. The lad who stayed back a year to resit his exams and always seemed to be just hanging around. The lad who got a moped when the rest of us still had to travel everywhere on foot. The lad who somehow seemed like a grown-up, way before any of the rest of us. The lad who I guess I always noticed, but never for a second thought would notice me. ‘I’ll call you.’

  I stuff his number into my pocket as he tips an imaginary hat then wanders off across the car park, hands in pockets. I thrust the key into Petula’s lock, forgetting he’d already unlocked it before unceremoniously opening the door.

  A text rings out on my phone.

  Don’t forget the skate.

  8

  If skate tasted of anything, I’m certain that now, as I shove a world of useless clothes and socks into my bag, it would be repeating on me.

  ‘You boiled it?’ shrieks Leanne, who’s currently on FaceTime as she feeds and I pack.

  I root round the pile of clean washing I’ve not yet hung up, pulling out T-shirt and jeans. ‘I don’t know how you cook it. I just whacked it in the microwave.’

  ‘Surely it was awful.’

  ‘It was as tasteless as such culinary prowess deserves. Not that any of that matters now.’ I gaze at the clothes, some hung, some in a pile of scrunched-up tops and trousers that may or may not need a wash. There’s a clean pile on the side that Mum brought back up earlier. I keep telling her she doesn’t need to do my washing but she insists it’s to help weigh the drum down or some such. I love living at home, for now, after all she and I have been through it feels like really precious time, but I really wish she wouldn’t keep doing my washing.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ Leanne says, switching boobs, wincing in the process. ‘Are you sure it’s sensible. I mean – ouch, you little bugger – if you let things take their course, what’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘Well for starters, Ben could read it. Then, secondly, Ben could read it.’

  ‘Yes, but so what? He’ll read it then never speak to you again. That fact’s already written.’

  ‘Look, forgive me, but I’ve decided I’m doing this. I didn’t call for you to try and talk me out of it, I called because you’re my best mate and I wanted to tell you. And also because I need to know what to take. It’s twenty-five degrees. Do you think I’ll need a jumper? Wind chill. Off the Atlantic?’

  She rolls her eyes, presumably at my inability to function as a grown-up without nominating someone else to make certain, basic, decisions. It’s a fair response as I get on my own nerves too. ‘I think you need your head read is what I think. How long are you even going for?’

  ‘I don’t know. Definitely overnight so I’m there for when the postie gets there in the morning.’

  ‘Sure, because it would be madness to do a six-hour journey then just come straight back. Doing it in twenty-four hours though, that’s not mad at all.’

  ‘Well, it all depends. I mean, if I see him and he’s prepared to talk, maybe I’ll stay longer?’

  ‘Jem, he said he didn’t want to see you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Ever.’ She tries to say it gently but it still smarts.

  ‘Yes. That too. But this is different. I dunno, maybe I should talk to him. I think it might be time I put the ghost to rest, you know?’

  ‘Ghost resting is important, I grant you that. But only if it doesn’t upset the person you’re trying to feel better about in the first place. And only if you’re prepared to then stop wanging on about it all. Otherwise it could be considered a veiled attempt to try and get back with him.’ She looks at me, pointedly.

  ‘It’s not that.’ Her eyes widen. ‘It’s not!’

  ‘Have you heard back from Mitch?’

  I zip my bag up, hiding my face.

  ‘You have! What did he say?’

  ‘Jesus, Leanne! How did you know?’

  ‘Because you tried to stop me seeing your face and reading your eyes. Honestly, don’t take up poker.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ I jog out of my room under the guise of getting my toothbrush and paste, but in fact to buy some time.

  ‘Don’t go buying time!’ she shouts after me.

  ‘What?’ I protest, slinging the last bits in my front zipper and checking that the plastic handles on my market-bought weekend bag can carry the weight of clothes for every eventuality.

  ‘Come on then, when are you seeing him?’

  ‘I’ve already seen him.’

  ‘Good God, Jem! What time did you leave me?’ She looks over her shoulder at the clock on her kitchen wall. ‘This was not a chance to hook up at the Whit Moor Travelodge, you were supposed to be going on a date.’

  ‘I did not hook up there, or anywhere else for that matter. What do you take me for?’

  She raises her eyebrows and I opt not to argue that one.

  ‘I went down to the post office to try and catch the letter. He was in the queue behind me.’

  ‘Woah! No way. That’s serendipity, that is!’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Million per cent. You both swiped right. Then moments later you’re thrust into the same room. The stars are aligned, Jem. This could be it. You could be about to start a relationship with the man you’re going to marry!’

  ‘Hang on a minute! You’ve just had me shagging him in a Travelodge, now we’re getting married. Do I get a say in any of this? I don’t want to get married. To him or anyone. Never have, you know that.’

  ‘Okay, but that doesn’t mean to say you can’t live happily ever after, does it?’

  ‘Of course not. But happy ever after for me is functioning as a grown-up. Not making bad choices any more. Being me and liking it.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I know it is.’ I drop down onto my bed, exhausted. Leanne pauses a second, giving me a breather. Eventually she says, ‘So what did he say?’

  I think back to the meet-up and cringe inside. ‘Nothing much. We had a sort of awkward conversation in which I made a fool of myself. He invited me for coffee. I said I’d like to but couldn’t do today. He gave me his number.’

  ‘Well, that’s perfect then. You can call him. Or text him. You can plan something else. Did he seem weird? Stalkery?’

  ‘No! He’s not a kid any more.’

  ‘None of us are, Jem. None of us are. So, did you fancy him?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Surprisingly enough, I totally did. ‘I don’t think I fancy anyone at the moment. I think I’m a bit distracted. I mean, he looks nice. Older than the photos. I dunno, it was a weird situation. I can’t really say what I felt ’cause I was actually working out how long it would take me to get to Cornwall.’ Whilst also fancying him.

  ‘How long it’ll take you to get to Cornwall? Too long, that’s how long.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can say to persuade you this is a terrible idea?’

  ‘No. There isn’t. I need to do this. I know it seems mad, but I have to.’ I don’t tell her that until just this second, there was every chance she could have persuaded me not to go. I don’t tell her that I had been wondering whether to just leave it all and call Mitch for that coffee. I don’t tell her that he mentioned something about baggage and reinforced my thinking that I have to do something to cut the ties even if I am worried this is not the thing to do. I need closure. For Mitch? For me? Whichever, I need closure.

  Leanne sighs, sticking Elsie over her shoulder and rubbing her back, expertly tucking her boob back in her top. ‘You better drive carefully.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  ‘When Harley gets back from nursery, I’m going to tell him where you’re going and he will expect a present upon your return.’

  ‘Healthy
parenting.’

  ‘If I can guilt you into returning home safely, that’s what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Okay. Okay.’

  ‘Let me know when you get there.’

  ‘I will.’

  Elsie lets out a burp that contradicts her tiny size. ‘Oooh, clever girl. Well done! That was from your boots, eh?’

  ‘Talk later.’

  ‘Love you, bye.’

  9

  I jog down the stairs but now I’ve decided I’m definitely going, nerves have crept in and I lose my footing, sliding down the last three steps. I try and recover like it was all meant to happen, before remembering there’s no one here to see, so rub the small of my back and take a deep breath. I probably need to be extra careful if I’m going to make it down in one piece. To Cornwall, not the stairs.

  Bag in boot, I return to the hallway looking for a pen from the pot of many that sit beside the house phone that Mum never uses since she got her iPhone. (‘It does those calls where I can see your face, Jem!’) I hover my hand over the pad. What to say? If I tell her the truth, she’ll freak. If I lie, she’ll just check up on me via Find My Friends in any case. I do need to go before Mum gets back though. Before she tries to talk me out of driving three hundred miles on a whim.

  Mum, give me a bell when you get back. X

  Dropping the latch, I close the door and jump in my car. I plug my phone into the hands-free kit ready for when Mum calls and set off, fear nestled in the pit of my stomach.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later and desperate for a wee, I pull in at Gloucester Services. 4 p.m. and still no call from Mum. Which is useful on one side as I do now see how ridiculous this all is. I could totally have just gone for coffee with Mitch.

  I pop Ben’s name into Facebook on my phone, as I’ve done so many times before, scrolling through recent posts. He never blocked me on there for some reason, for which I’m grateful; unfriending me hurt enough. Such a tiny thing, some might say inconsequential. It’s just Facebook, it’s just social media, it doesn’t mean anything. But it did. It meant we couldn’t even be friends. It meant that I’d done that much damage that the man I know loved me more than anyone ever has before, couldn’t even connect with me via an app. It meant that even though we had three years and a whole load of good times, the bad far outweighed them and the love we shared had no place in his life.