How to Lose an Ex in Ten Days

Chapter Three

“By the way…” Rosie says casually, after about ten minutes of concentrated work rolling up confetti cones and sticking them together. I know what you’re thinking; it doesn’t sound like a task which requires much concentration. But you’d be surprised at how fiddly it is.

Any hopes that we might finish the job within an hour are fast fading. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised; I’m learning the hard way that most wedding-related things are far more complicated than they first appear. This is why, when I had the choice, I eloped.

I look up sharply. I know that tone. It too is far more sinister than it first appears. “What?”

“Mum’s left a message on the answer machine. She wants to speak to us.”

Somehow, I’ve managed to get my fingers all stuck together with tape. Alas, I’ve never been particularly artistic. I glance enviously over at Tess, who’s assembling a confetti cone with an air of capable serenity, then back at Rosie.

“Really?”

I thought we’d agreed not to give Mum the house number, for the sake of our sanity. We’ll have to play our usual game of rock, paper, scissors later to decide whose job it is to call her back. It can go on for a surprising number of rounds.

Rosie holds up a pristine confetti cone, inspecting it with a critical eye.

“She obviously has news.”

My heart sinks a little. The words ‘news’ and ‘my mother’ rarely bode well when associated with one another.

“Maybe she’s broken up with Carlos at last,” I suggest, brightening at the prospect.

Rosie shoots me a reproving look, but as she turns her attention on to the next confetti cone, I definitely hear her mutter under her breath, “We can but hope.”

As you might have gathered, neither of us is all that keen on Carlos. Oh, he’s all right, I suppose. He possesses all of the usual requirements my mother asks for in a suitor: younger, muscular, and with a limited grasp of the English language. Where she finds them, I don’t know, and I hope I’ll never have to ask. Mum and I pursue a strict policy of live and let live. Anything I don’t need to know, I have no desire to find out. And anything she doesn’t need to know about my life… well, she does everything in her power to try and find out. It’s a bit of a one-sided policy, I suppose.

Of course I want her to be happy. I do. And if Carlos, with his dazzlingly white teeth and unintelligible Spanish accent is what makes her happy, then that’s just… it’s… I’m beyond…

I mean, for all the mercy in heaven, though, is it really too much to ask that just once she might fall for someone even remotely sensible? Someone who’s not half her age would be a start. Someone who doesn’t wear white skinny jeans would be even better.

Finally, I’ve finished one of these blasted confetti cones. Wrestling the fold into place, I survey my creation dubiously. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Rosie’s face. It’s a picture of horror.

“Er, Belle, why don’t you start on the confetti?” She asks, in an overly bright voice, tossing one of the cellophane packets onto my lap.

Tess and I exchange a knowing smile. Rosie’s efforts to be subtle are so bad it’s almost endearing at times.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m getting into a rhythm with these,” I say airily, holding the cone up to the light as though to admire it. I know I shouldn’t play with her, but sometimes it’s just too hard to resist. She’s such an insane perfectionist about things. Admittedly, my effort isn’t quite as neat as theirs, but it’s perfectly passable. Especially when you bear in mind that people hold them for all of thirty seconds before discarding them. Certainly, I can’t see any of the guests performing a full-scale inspection of their craftsmanship. Only Rosie would do that, and as she’s the bride, she won’t even be given one.

She takes a steadying breath and I can tell she’s dying to say something else, but to my astonishment, she lapses into restrained silence instead.

It’s so strange, Rosie being quiet, that eventually Tess clears her throat.

“So, Belle. Anything to report from today?”

“Not really,” I say, keeping my eyes studiously focused on the task in hand. “Just the usual. Steve bellowed, Darren sneered, and the coffee machine broke down. Everything one would expect from a day at the Illuminator office.” I shoot her a suspicious look. “Why?”

She doesn’t look at me, but a faint smile tugs at the edges of her lips.

“You just looked rather… sparkly when you walked in, that’s all.”

Sparkly? I certainly didn’t feel sparkly. No one could after a day spent in the crepuscular environment of the Illuminator office. You can almost feel yourself reanimating with every step you take away from the place.

“Did you speak to anyone this afternoon, by chance?” Tess presses, in a voice laced with honey. “Anyone gorgeously Italianate?”

Despite myself, I feel my cheeks begin to glow with warmth. Oh God, I don’t like where this is going.

“I’m always sparkly,” I murmur defensively, although even I know I don’t sound very convincing. Especially not to the two people who know me best in the world. “It’s my default setting.”

I distinctly hear something that sounds like a tut from Rosie’s direction which I stoically ignore.

Tess claps her hands together gleefully.

“I knew it! I’m never wrong about these things.” She leaps up, showering confetti all over the floor. “I’m going to get the rest of the wine. I want to hear this.”

“There’s nothing to tell!” I protest, raising my voice so it follows her through to the kitchen. “Seriously. When are you guys going to let this drop?”

Rosie raises a disdainful brow. I notice she’s abandoned all pretence of folding confetti cones, and have to suppress a smile. She pretends she’s not interested but she clearly is. “Maybe when you finally admit that you like him?”

I frown. I can’t believe they’re pressing me on this, today of all days.

“I do not like him! Look, you guys are reading way too much into this. He seems like the sort of person who flirts his way through life. I’m just one in a line, I’m sure.”

Rosie leans forward, resting her elbows on her crossed legs.

“You’re doing him a disservice, Belle. He’s really not like that. I know he can come across as a bit…”

“Arrogant?” I suggest pointedly, then immediately feel guilty. I’m on the defensive; I didn’t mean to be so harsh. But I’m not feeling especially generous towards the male population today.

Rosie narrows her eyes.

“Not every good-looking man is a player, Belle.”

Busted. I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from her. Even with the preoccupation of an impending wedding, she still manages to keep a laser-like focus on what’s going on.

“Anyway, Leo says he goes very quiet whenever you’re mentioned,” Rosie adds slyly.

The thought sends a ridiculous flutter through my chest, which I hasten to extinguish.

I always forget that they know each other. It’s a weird, small world when your soon-to-be brother-in-law is an old university friend of your dashing work colleague. It also, as I quickly discovered, has the potential to be highly embarrassing. Rosie’s evidently decided that Nate and I are perfect for one another, and she’s determined to make it happen. Whether I like it or not.

Tess reappears, bottle of wine in hand, eyes luminous with excitement.

“You should ask him out! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The thought of walking up to Nate and asking him out strikes me as anything other than fun. It makes my blood chill in my veins.

“God, no. I couldn’t do that.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Why not?” Rosie’s watching me like a hawk.

“It’s not like there’s anyone else, is it?” Tess gives a tinkling laugh. “You would have told us.”

If only she knew. If only they both did.

“Look, why all of the attention on my love life?” I say abruptly, desperate to steer the conversation away from the unwelcome subject of my feelings. “Haven’t you two got other things to be focusing on? There’s the not insignificant matter of a wedding ten days from now. Shouldn’t you be devoting your energies to that?”

“We just want to see you happy, Belle,” Tess says softly, settling down on the floor next to me, tucking her long legs under her as she always does. “Is that so terrible? We’re not the enemies here.”

Suddenly, there’s an uncomfortable sort of lump in my throat, and I take a gulp of wine to wash it away. Sometimes, I wish Tess wouldn’t be quite so lovely all of the time. When she looks at you with those soft, understanding green eyes, it just makes you want to burst into tears and reveal the deepest torments of your soul. I’ve seen perfect strangers on the bus break down and tell her their entire life story.

As it stands, she already knows mine. They both do. I look at my two best friends, and I feel myself relent a little. I’m lucky to have people who care about my happiness. Even if their interference can be excruciating at times, it comes from a good place.

Of course, they don’t know the whole truth, that there’s still only one man on my mind, even now. I’ve worked hard to hide it from them. As far as they’re concerned, I never think about Ed anymore. I never think about what might have been, save perhaps on this one day each year. I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint them, not after they’ve been here for me for all these years, bolstering my confidence, being my cheerleaders.

“I will consider… I said consider,” I reiterate sternly, as Tess’s eyes light up, “the possibility. That’s all I can promise.”

Tess beams and starts topping up the wine glasses. Even Rosie abandons the confetti cones to join us.

I’m smiling at their enthusiasm but inside I’m wondering what on earth I’ve just agreed to.

“To asking a man out,” Rosie proclaims, as we clink glasses. “How hard can it possibly be?”

Chapter Four

I absolutely cannot do this.

I’m hovering in the hallway by the entrance to the Illuminator office. If I lurk out here for much longer, I’m going to be late, but I just can’t seem to make my feet move.

Last night I lay in bed running the scenario over in my mind until I managed to make it all seem just about okay. Because it’s not like it’s a big deal, is it? Asking a man out, I mean. Women all over the world are doing it every single day, and the place hasn’t imploded yet.

Except, I woke up this morning with a sort of weird shivery feeling, and it’s stayed with me ever since. It was there when I made myself a cup of tea. It was still there half an hour later, when the cup of tea had gone cold and I was trying to decide if my new skirt was inappropriately short for workwear. It was there as I stood on the tram, pretending to read the news on my phone. It got even worse when I emerged on to the pavement in front of our building, and now it seems to have stopped me in my tracks altogether.

I have no idea why I’m so nervous about this. I mean, I’m doing it for Rosie and Tess, really. And all right, so perhaps a bit for myself, too. To be honest, after yesterday’s conversation, I couldn’t shake the feeling of embarrassment, like I was hiding a dark, shameful secret. And I suppose I am; pining over a man who left me without a backwards glance isn’t exactly something I want to emblazon across my life CV.

By the time I’d rolled out of bed this morning, I was resolute. I owe it to all of us to try and move on. Even if I just make a show of moving on, just take the first step by asking another guy out, then it’s something. It’s a statement of faith in myself, in my ability to heal.

Besides, it’s a fairly safe experiment to begin with, because it’s highly unlikely that Nate’s going to say yes. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the dating type. He’ll probably just look at me in utter incomprehension, which’ll morph into pity as he concludes that I’ve deludedly mistaken his friendliness for something more meaningful. I’m sure it happens to him a lot. He probably even has a stock response, a way to let them down gently, to assuage the embarrassment.

Luckily for me, I can deal with embarrassment. It’s an old friend. And if it finally convinces Rosie that this vision she has of me and Nate isn’t going to happen, then so be it.

“What the hell are you doing hovering around out here?” Steve barges past me with a scowl. “Come on. We’re about to have a meeting.”

I blink at him in surprise. We never have meetings. Meetings are one of those things that glitzy, modern companies do. They have special meeting rooms with a projector screen and comfortable chairs, and croissants in the middle of the table. We just have… well, we have our dingy, time-worn newspaper office. We don’t discuss things, as such. If Steve wants something doing, he yells it at you, and if there’s something he wanted doing which he forgot to yell at you, then he yells at you for not doing it anyway. It’s not exactly a democratic process, but it’s how things are run. From what I can gather, it’s how things have been run since time immemorial. Something monumental must have happened to change that.

Forcing myself to follow Steve through the doorway into the office, I make a point of not looking to the right as I make my way towards my desk. That’s where Nate sits and I just can’t look at him yet. In a minute, maybe, when I’ve gathered up my courage. It’s one thing telling myself it’s easy when I’m running through it in my head; in practice, my heart’s still pattering with nerves.

I busy myself hanging up my jacket, taking files out of my bag – all the normal, routine things I do when I first arrive in the morning. Of course, normally by this point I would already have looked across the room towards Nate’s desk. I would have smiled at him and he would have smiled back. And then I would carry on with what I was doing, and when I next looked up he would be there in front of me and we’d share a light, joking conversation and…

The thought makes me pause, discomfited. I had no idea that he’d become such an important part of my day. When did that happen?

“Right,” Steve booms, leaning back against the edge of his desk, which is conveniently positioned at the front of the room. All the better to keep an eye on us serfs, I suspect. “Are we all here? Let’s start.”

Don’t look over, I will myself. Don’t look…

“As you’re all no doubt aware, the paper has recently undergone a change of ownership,” Steve says gruffly. He never exactly looks pleased but he looks even less pleased than usual at having to say the words. “And apparently our new American proprietors have their own ideas about how things should be run.”

His voice is filled with disdain. “Not that I see much wrong with how things are now, of course. We’ve run along just fine for decades. But people will come in with their airy-fairy ideas…”

How exactly basic health and safety standards constitute “airy-fairy ideas” is beyond my comprehension, but I decide it’s better not to voice that comment. The urge to look over at Nate is almost overwhelming. I know he’ll be trying not to smile at the same thought. He’s better at keeping a straight face than I am, mind.

Freya, who’s been patting a small yawn and looking indescribably bored up until now, visibly perks up.

“Ooh, are we going to get a coffee bar?”

“No, we are not,” Steve snaps. “You’ve got a vending machine, haven’t you? What more could you want?”

Silently, thirty heads turn to look at the object in question. It’s leaning to one side, propped up on a stack of old papers, the flickering light within illuminating a single cereal bar and a banana milkshake. Both pre-date my arrival here.

Freya sniffs disdainfully, but makes no further protest. Instead, she flips open her mirror and begins to reapply her lipstick. It’s a bright bubble-gum pink, the sort of colour I could never even hope to pull off. But on her, it works.

To be honest, I’ve always been slightly suspicious of Freya; she’s far too glossy-looking for my liking. Even when it’s twenty-eight degrees outside – which, granted, doesn’t happen often up here –she always looks picture-perfect.

She wouldn’t have a problem asking Nate out, I think glumly. In fact, I’m amazed she hasn’t already. She certainly doesn’t hide her interest in him very well, although, come to think of it, I’ve never seen him flirt back at her. He only ever appears politely courteous.

I mean, not that I’ve been watching them or anything. It’s just… hard not to notice things in an office of these proportions, that’s all.

Steve coughs, evidently aware that the conversation is veering off on a tangent.

“Anyway, there are a few things we’ve got to do. Put a few posters up and the like. Should keep them happy. Doubt they’ll check, but we’d better show willing. It’s all nonsense, of course,” he adds bitterly. “If it ain’t broke…” He slaps a hand down on his paper-strewn desk to illustrate, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.

I bite my lip to swallow a laugh.

To hell with it. I glance across at Nate’s desk, prepared to catch his eye.

It’s empty.

A part of me knows I should feel relieved but instead I just feel a sharp thud of disappointment. Even though I know I won’t find him, I cast a surreptitious eye around the room just in case. But no, he’s not here.

And suddenly, everything seems a little less bright. Admittedly, the sun does retreat behind a cloud at that moment, casting our already gloomy office even further into shadow, yet I can’t help but feel that’s only pathetic fallacy of a kind.

I can feel Freya watching me, her sharp, assessing gaze on the side of my face, and I quickly turn my head away, pretending to be interested in something on my desk.

“Do you think they’ll send an inspector?” Darren’s asking eagerly, clutching a pad of paper to his chest. He genuinely appears thrilled by the prospect.

I give him a disbelieving look.

Steve, meanwhile, looks revolted by the idea.

“I bloody hope not! That’s the last thing we need. It’s all very well this bloody nannying but we’ve got a job to be getting on with. The paper doesn’t produce itself, you know.”

I presume that’s a rhetorical statement, and apparently everyone else does too, as there’s an awkward beat of silence.

“So, er, is there actually anything you need us to do?” I ask. I feel that someone ought to move this meeting on, lest it turn into one long diatribe on the evils of modern employment legislation.

“What?” Steve looks as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “No, why would I? Don’t talk nonsense, Delphine. I’m just giving you all a heads up, that’s all. Now, get back to it, all of you. I’m not paying you to stand around wasting time.”

As everyone disperses, I sidle up to Steve’s desk.

“Do you, er… know where Nate is this morning? He missed the meeting.”

I kind of hate myself for asking but suddenly I find I really want to know.

Steve’s heavy brows draw together.

“Of course I know. Don’t you think I run this place?” He shuffles papers around his desk clumsily, somehow only managing to put them in worse disarray than before. “He’s at the courthouse, following up on a story. Working, like you should be now. I want the streetlight article on my desk by lunchtime.”

“Oh. Okay.” I make to leave, but he clears his throat, stopping me in my tracks.

I turn and blink in surprise at the transformation. For once, his angry bluster is conspicuously absent. Instead, he looks… well, if I didn’t know better, I might even say embarrassed. But surely that’s impossible. The man’s like a brick wall.

“Er, Delphine, while you’re here.” His tone has dropped low, so low I can barely hear him. I’ve never heard him speak in anything quieter than a dull roar, so this is a revelation in itself. “There is one other thing…”