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

by Anna Mansell

  ‘Oh, it’s been… lovely. Really nice.’ I side eye Mitch who’s buckling up as he reverses out of the drive. ‘I took Mum to town, she wanted to buy a load of clothes. She was determined.’

  ‘Ahhh, that’s lovely.’

  ‘Yeah, didn’t think I’d get her in the wheelchair when they first dropped it off, but she was more than happy to sit in it when she realised she could get pushed about on a shopping spree.’ I can hear myself talking, stilted, polite even. I don’t feel like I’m talking to Leanne, she’s a stranger.

  ‘I love that. Bless her! You sound like you’re in the car now, is she with you?’

  Does she sound the same? Guarded? ‘No, I just dropped her back. She’s having a rest. I’m popping out with Mitch to get a bit of shopping in.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘All okay?’

  I look across to him, he smiles, then focuses on the road up ahead. ‘Yeah, all okay.’

  ‘You sure? You sound weird.’

  ‘No! No, not at all. Tired, probably.’

  ‘Hey, don’t you complain about tired until you’ve got two children tag teaming you through the night!’

  ‘Oh, alright, you get the monopoly on sleep deprivation,’ I snip.

  ‘Hey, I was joking. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  Mitch reaches his hand across to my thigh, giving my leg a squeeze. His touch always gave me butterflies… it doesn’t feel the same. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Like I say, just a bit tired. Look, I’m going to lose you in a minute, we’re just heading down the dip. I’ll call you later.’ Mitch sniffs. ‘Or tomorrow. When I get a chance.’

  ‘Okay, love, no problem. I’d still like to pop up though, see your mum.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe over the weekend?’

  ‘Okay. Well, Sunday would work for us?’

  ‘That sounds… yeah… I’ll check with Mum and let you know. Okay, talk to you later. Or tomorrow. Talk soon. Love you. Bye.’

  I hang up. Mitch looks across at me. ‘Alright?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah.’ I drop my phone into my bag. I gaze out of the window as Dronfield passes by. The old church, the little Sainsbury’s, the factories, the fishing tackle shop where the old nightclub was, the pub on the bottom road. How the hell do I talk to him about the woman I met? Should I even? It’s probably nonsense, and he’d be hurt I could ever think she was right, wouldn’t he? I’ve no idea who she is and yet I’ve listened to her.

  My phone though…

  Money.

  I’m unsettled and I can’t work it out. Is it me? Am I creating it? I should just bloody well ask him. Come out with it. He’ll explain it all, I’m sure.

  ‘Hey, let’s nip to the pub first. I bet you’re parched, aren’t you? All that pushing your mum about and stuff. The weather’s nice, let’s get a gin and tonic before we go shopping. You can tell me about your day. Come on.’ He pulls into the car park at the Bowshaw.

  * * *

  The sound of the dual carriageway rather takes the charm off the pub garden I’m sat in as Mitch comes out with drinks. It’s not as warm as the sun would have me believe, either. ‘Here you go. I got doubles.’

  ‘You’re driving.’

  ‘It’s only one double. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Right.’ I sip at my drink, tonic bubbles fizzing on my tongue. There’s a niggle in my chest. ‘A weird thing happened today.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘At the car park. Some woman started yelling at me.’

  ‘Really? What had you done?’

  ‘Nothing! Nothing at all. She wanted to know who I was and why I was driving her car.’

  He doesn’t flinch. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Said you took it when you broke up with her.’

  ‘What? You saw Abby?’

  My face screws up because either she was off her nut, or he is a bloody brilliant liar. ‘Lisa. She was called Lisa.’

  ‘Who the hell is Lisa?’

  ‘I don’t know. She said she was your ex. Said that was her car. Called you “Mitchell”.’

  He leans down to pet a dog that’s wandered over to us. ‘Can you smell my dog? Can you, oooh, you’re lovely, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know how it’d smell your dog – you’ve not been home in ages. Are you sure your mum’s neighbour is okay looking after it? Bring him to us if you like.’

  ‘It’s fine, she likes having him.’ He turns his attention back to the dog. ‘Do you like that? A little scratch under the chin, oh you do, don’t you?’

  ‘Mitch!’

  He looks up sharply, the dog trots off. ‘What?’

  ‘Who was the woman in the car park?’

  ‘I don’t bloody know, do I? She sounds like a weirdo to me. No one calls me Mitchell. Could have been anyone. I don’t know a Lisa. That is my car. What? Are you drunk or something? Is that what this is?’

  ‘Course I’m not fucking drunk. It’s the middle of the day. I’ve been driving.’

  ‘Alright, bloody hell, calm down.’ I suck in my cheeks because I’ve never done right well with anyone telling me to calm down. ‘I don’t know who she was or why she picked on you, but really, Jem, it’s nonsense. In fact, I can’t believe you’d take some random ranting stranger’s word over mine anyway. How can we be in a relationship if you don’t believe me? I mean, I worry about us sometimes, whatever this is. You, you’re so… testy all the time. And you clearly don’t trust me. I’m doing everything I can here, I am trying my hardest. And you know this isn’t the way a relationship should start, it’s not ideal but I understand. I’m prepared to make sacrifices for you, for us. I’m prepared to make allowances, but you’ve got to trust me.’ He moves round to sit next to me, one leg on either side of my hips, his arms snaked around me. ‘Jem, I keep telling you I love you. I wouldn’t lie to someone I love. Forget this random madwoman in the car park. This is me and you. If we can get through this, with your mum, we can get through anything. We’re strong, me and you. We’ve got a future together.’ He nuzzles into my neck. ‘I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I’ve never wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone, I’ve never wanted to grow old with someone. Until I met you. You’re everything to me. You and your mum, you’re my world. And I won’t let anyone make you think anything different. Okay?’

  I knock my drink back trying to feel what he says in my heart, trying to believe him.

  65

  I follow him round in a daze. He picks stuff up, duvets, cushions, he shows me fake plants and candles. He’s affectionate. He loves me. I know he does. And it is all rushed, but that’s because of life at the moment. If it wasn’t for Mum, we’d probably have started very differently. We’d have dated, we’d have held hands and walked in the park. We’d have taken our time and got to know one another. It’s not his fault that things are different for us. But he’s certain about how he feels and I have to remember how bad I am at recognising what I want in life. I always do this, at the point things get serious, I panic. I act like a dick. I’ve got a track record. Things have to be different this time. I’m probably oversensitive and it’s no wonder, what with everything that’s going on.

  He shoves things into the trolley. He’s excited. I’m being stupid. I’ve got a chance at a second go here, a chance not to do to him what I did to Ben.

  Ben.

  ‘Do you think your mum would like this?’ he says, holding up a jam jar with a fake posy of flowers. ‘For on the little table by her daybed?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s pretty.’

  He looks at it, deciding against it before moving on to lighting. ‘We’ll get her real flowers, that’ll be nicer. She could do with a lamp though, couldn’t she? Are there lamps in her room? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Erm, no, she just has a little reading light clipped to her bedstead.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s right. These are nice, look. What do you think?’

  I check the label. ‘They’re expensive.’

&n
bsp; ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got it covered. What about this one for your mum? It’s simple.’

  ‘It is.’

  He puts two of the expensive lights in the trolley then a third, smaller lamp. ‘It’s one of those touch lamps look, so when she’s not as strong, she’ll still be able to turn it on and get it to whatever brightness she wants.’

  I nod. I follow. He’s thoughtful. We’re lucky to have him.

  So why do I want to go round to Leanne’s and talk it all through with her? Get her take. I want to call her, go round. I want to hold Elsie Alice and Harley. I want to sink into her sofa. I want to drink tea and watch Netflix whilst we talk about nothing and everything and she can tell me what the hell I’m doing wrong, or right. But I can’t, I’ve got to do this on my own. I’ve got to stop running to other people to sort out my problems. To help me make a decision. For heaven’s sake, Jem, stand on your own two feet. He loves you. That woman was confused. Don’t mess this up!

  ‘Is that everything?’ he asks, sieving through the contents of our trolley. ‘Duvet, cushions, throws, lamps, candles. We could get these first and then think about what else you might want.’ He pulls me into him. ‘I can’t wait to go to bed with you tonight. In our room. Together.’

  And I think, in the very pit of my stomach, I can feel those butterflies again. The excitement. There’s something there, I know it. I need to hear it. Feel it. I need to pull it up from the depths of my heart and embrace it. Care for it. Nurture it. Relationships are hard, especially under these circumstances. But I deserve this. I deserve to be happy with someone who cares for me. Someone who loves me. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

  We get to the till, he loads things up on the counter as the assistant scans things through. He chats, makes charismatic small talk. The women around us beam. He takes his wallet out and pulls out a card to pay and several other cards drop out. I bend down to pick them up but he grabs them before I can, shoving them in his pocket.

  ‘Shitty wallet,’ he says. ‘I need a new one. Hey, can you load those bits back in the trolley whilst I sort this out.’

  ‘Of course.’ I do as instructed. He smiles at me. I smile back. We’re fine. It’s good.

  ‘There you go, thank you, that’s great. Cheers.’ And he’s paid. It’s all done. And he’s pushing the trolley out of the shop, scooping me up in his arms as he goes. He chats and loads the car and opens my door for me, waiting until I’m buckled before shutting it and returning the trolley.

  Look at everything he’s doing. He’s taking control to help. He’s thinking about stuff for Mum because that’s the kind of person he is. Sometimes I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

  66

  ‘How cosy does this look?’ Mitch rests his arms on my chest. ‘Is it too early to go to bed? Would anyone notice if we just grabbed a bottle of wine and spent the rest of our night making out?’

  I laugh and kiss his arm. I mean, it does look nice. It’s still Mum’s room, but it does look nice. And she did want us to do this.

  ‘Who needs The George, eh?’ He pulls me onto the bed, showering me in kisses. To begin with I feel suffocated until I remember to relax and then I can fall into him. And it’s like we’re teenagers, snogging on the bed like I used to with Jamie Potts. Kissing until I had stubble rash and could barely stand because it was so intoxicating. This is what you do in new relationships.

  We’re interrupted by a text from Mum on my ‘mum phone’. The other one now pretty much constantly cast off in my bedroom because carrying two phones around was getting ridiculous.

  Would you mind getting me some dinner? Legs aren’t so good but I’m really hungry.

  ‘Mum’s hungry. Will the pork be ready?’ He groans but shifts to let me go.

  ‘It will. There’s some mash to go with it. In the fridge. Just wants microwaving.’

  ‘You’re amazing.’

  ‘Yeah? How amazing?’

  I grin at him, pulling him on top of me and locking my legs around his waist. ‘Very, very, incredibly, brilliantly amazing.’

  He groans again. ‘I suppose you’re going to make me wait until you’ve fed your mum before you can really show me?’

  ‘I am. But it’ll be worth it.’ I push him away with a bite on his bottom lip and he slaps me on the arse as I jump up to the door.

  ‘I love you, Jem Whitfield,’ he says, lying back, hands behind his head.

  I pause, because I do love him, I’m sure I do. I just… he waits, fixing his eyes on me. And I remember what it was that attracted me to him: the older face of someone who’s lived a bit. The face of someone you know isn’t a kid any more, but you can still see a bit of the lad you remember from school. The face of someone who knows you have secrets yet remains by your side. No judgement.

  ‘I love you too,’ I say, leaning against the door to admire him and the room. I don’t know what I was thinking. That woman before? She could have been anyone. I have to learn how to listen to my heart, how to trust my gut. And the nerves I’m feeling are perfectly understandable. I’m learning to let go, no wonder it’s scary. But I can do it. I know it.

  ‘I’ll bring a few bits over from your room. I reckon your chest of drawers will look nice over there, look.’

  ‘Great. Lovely. Thank you, Mitch.’

  He shakes his head. ‘No need. Honestly. No need at all.’

  * * *

  ‘How’s it looking? Is it full on shag pad up there?’ Mum tucks into the pork, making all the appreciative sounds whilst asking me highly inappropriate questions.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘What? Christ, you might as well make the most of it. That bed’s not seen much action. In fact, you two might be the first.’

  ‘Mum, wow! Please.’

  ‘Oh, lighten up. Enjoy the space. And tell him this is bloody gorgeous, it really melts in the mouth.’ She starts coughing between mouthfuls and it fair takes up her energy, but between breaths, she is rattling, giddy. ‘So, what have you done? How does it look?’

  ‘Mitch picked out a few bits. There’s the new duvet, new lamps. He picked out a few pictures that he wants to put on the walls, too. In fact, he really went for it. New curtains and everything… But are you sure you don’t mind? I feel weird.’

  ‘Jem, please. Don’t feel weird or it’ll make me feel weird too. I don’t want either of us to overthink this. In fact, I want to see it.’

  ‘Can you get upstairs?’

  ‘Nope. I don’t reckon. Can you take photos?’

  ‘I mean, I guess I could…’

  ‘Go on, do it now, I want to see how it looks.’ She shovels slow roast pork in, knocking it back with sips of water. Her face is bright, happy, considering everything she looks quite beautiful. ‘Go!’

  ‘Jeez, Mum, so demanding.’

  ‘I’m living vicariously.’

  I shake my head at her, heading up the stairs. But when I get there, Mitch is sat on the bed in my old room, reading my letter to Ben.

  67

  Dear Ben,

  There are some things I have to tell you. Things I need to own so I can move forward with my life. But they’re things that you may not want to know. After all, you left, as well you should have. I neither deserved nor appreciated you – at least, not the way you wanted me to. Not the way you had every right for me to. I wish I knew why I behaved the way I did, I wish I could put it all right, but sometimes, it’s just too late.

  I’ve often wondered how much you knew and chose to ignore, versus how much I’d got away with lying about. Like the time I kissed George Newman at his house-warming party after you and I had a row. I justified it by telling myself I thought we were over. Or that George came on to me. I was lying to myself as much as you. I was so hurt by our row, I was so frightened that it meant the end for us, and where most people would fight, something in me couldn’t. I pretty much rolled over, accepted my fate.

  Except it wasn’t my fate, was it. You came back. We talked. It was just a silly row. I’d been so frig
htened of losing you I made the worst choice. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after that but there were more lies.

  Like the time an old work colleague knocked on my door at two in the morning. I guess I must have mentioned that you were away, working. He’d been out drinking with rugby mates and was hammered. He pushed his way into my house and I didn’t resist because I knew him even though I felt uncomfortable. He asked if we could have sex and I said no but he didn’t let up. He kept telling me how much he fancied me, how he’d always fancied me. He reached for my hand and placed it on him, he was hard. He told me it was a gift for me and I didn’t know how to get him to leave. I told him all about you, I reminded him I wasn’t single, he said neither was he and then pushed himself on top of me and though I consented, in as much as I didn’t push him off me, I didn’t really want to do it. I just felt like I had no choice. We didn’t have sex, that much I managed to avoid. But we did other stuff, and I felt cheap and ashamed and dirty. And I felt like I’d let you down. I did let you down. I should never have let him in. I should never have let him talk me into anything. You asked me if I was okay the next day, when you got back. I was in the shower for the third time that day. You must have sensed something. I lied. I said I was fine because, as ever, I’m weak. Always weak.

  It was my weakness that meant I couldn’t say no to him. My weakness that meant I could never say no to anyone or anything. Like months later, a night out in Dublin. The night our baby died.

  I can’t believe I’m writing this. I can’t believe I never told you. I suppose I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to have to admit that my actions are very likely the thing that killed it. It had been a heavy few weeks with work dos and the like. I was drinking every day. In some cases, all day. Then I was in Dublin, do you remember? We’d won consultant team at work, we’d got the most contractors out on site. The company gave us an all-expenses trip on a private jet. We were drinking from the second we boarded and it just didn’t stop. I was proud of myself for keeping up with the blokes because I am that stupid. We landed, went straight to Temple Bar. I drank pint after pint of Guinness. I’d vomit, then go back for more. I’d chase it with Irish whiskey, knocking them back like an old pro. We were singing and dancing, jumping around. We climbed statues and took inappropriate photos. I kissed a stranger at one point when I lost a game of truth or dare. I made everyone delete photographic evidence because I didn’t want you to ever find out. I loved you, more than anything, and that terrified me as much as the idea of losing you. Maybe more.