The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 30

'You're sure?'

'Positive.'

'Honestly?'

'Yes, honestly.'

Dan takes a mouthful of Chardonnay, then looks at me over the top of his gla.s.s.

'Nothing at all?'

'Okay. There is maybe one thing.'

He raises one eyebrow. 'Which is?'

'Something I saw in a p.o.r.n film once. One of your p.o.r.n films, actually.'

'Oh yes?'

I check again that Wendy's not within earshot, but lower my voice anyway.

'I'd like to have s.e.x with two women.'

Dan looks confused. 'Do you mean, ever? Or at the same time?'

'At the same time, of course.'

'Well, in that case, you better think about what I've said.'

'What on earth for?'

Dan looks at me earnestly. 'Because if you do manage to win Jane back, and it's for keeps, then you may not get to achieve either of those things.'

Thursday 10th March.

6.41 p.m.

A week or so before I'm due to receive all my new furniture, there's a ring on my doorbell. It's Dan, and he's not alone.

'Present for you,' he says, leading a woman in through my front door. She must be about forty, although she's dressed like one of the teenagers that hang around Churchill Square. 'Thought you could benefit from her experience.'

'Dan,' I whisper, leaping to the wrong conclusion as usual. 'I've already told you I'm not interested in, you know, paying for it.'

'No, dummy. This is Alexis. She's a designer. From House Tricks.'

'House Tricks?'

'Fine, thanks for asking.'

As Dan dissolves into fits of laughter, Alexis wears the expression of someone who's heard that particular joke a thousand times. And didn't find it funny the first time.

'Ah. Sorry Alexis.'

Dan puts an arm round Alexis' shoulders and gives her a squeeze. 'She's here to give your flat the once over. As a favour to me.'

As I show them through to the front room, and Alexis starts to look around, I can just imagine what Dan's promised her in return.

'When did you last decorate this place?' she asks me, obviously struggling to hide her distaste.

'Er, it was like this when I bought it.'

Alexis looks horrified. 'Gosh. How some people live. When was that? Recently?'

'Fairly,' I lie.

Dan smirks to himself. 'If you can call nine years ago "recently",' he whispers.

Alexis rolls her eyes. 'Incredible. Just look at the colour scheme. And those curtains.' She shudders, as if she's just discovered a rotting corpse beneath the window.

As I dig Dan in the ribs, Alexis walks around the flat, simultaneously making notes in a green leather Filofax and tutting as she goes. When she comes back to us, she's obviously not happy.

'Are you sure we can't use this?'

Dan shakes his head. 'Best not.'

'Not even for the Christmas out-takes reel?'

I clear my throat. 'What's the verdict?'

Alexis takes a deep breath. 'Well, structurally, it looks fine. And the layout's not bad. But the carpets? Very seventies. The colour scheme? Very eighties. The curtains? Very nineties. You need to make it more...'

'Noughtie?' suggests Dan.

'And now's the time to do it,' continues Alexis. 'When you've got no furniture.'

'So, what's the quick fix?' I ask, meaning 'What's the cheap fix?'

Alexis consults her Filofax. 'Bin the carpets, sand and seal the floorboards. Strip the walls and repaint neutrally. Chuck the curtains, replace with blinds and, as the kids say, sorted.'

'And how long will that take?'

'You? Ages. The House Tricks team? One weekend. We can rush it through and pretend it's a rehearsal. But it'll cost you.'

Fortunately she's addressed this last comment to Dan, who puts his arm back around her shoulders, and walks her out through the door.

Friday 11th March.

7.07 a.m.

I'm in my flat, waiting for Sam, who's uncharacteristically late this morning, when my phone rings.

'h.e.l.lo?'

I hardly recognize the gruff voice on the other end of the line.

'It's me,' croaks Sam. 'I'm ill.'

I don't know what to make of this news. On the one hand, it's great, because I might get the morning off. On the other hand, with just over a month to go, I can't afford to miss any sessions.

'So...you're not coming?'

'No, Edward. Not this morning,' she says, hoa.r.s.ely.

'But...I'm all dressed and ready.' Sometimes I sound like a five year old.

'Well, you'll just have to go on your own.'

On my own? This wasn't part of the deal. 'Well, what should I do?'

Sam clears her throat, which does sound rather sore. 'Just the usual. Twenty minutes warm-up jog along the seafront, followed by two circuits round the gym. Sy will help you if you get stuck.'

Oh no. Sy? I think briefly about going back to bed, but reason that as long as I'm up I might as well train.

'Okay. I'll give it a go. Will you be all right?'

'I'll be fine,' she says, sounding anything but.

7.31 a.m.

It feels funny, being out running on my own. I miss having Sam there to encourage and cajole me, I miss the way she knows just how to keep me working hard, and what's more, I miss the sight of her in her tight tracksuit bottoms.

I manage the usual run to the pier and back fairly easily, but can't say I enjoy it in the slightest. It occurs to me to bypa.s.s the gym and head straight home, mainly because I'm scared of Sy, but I'm worried that Sam will find out if I do, and I'm more scared of that.

When I walk in through reception, Sy smiles up at me from the desk; a smile which quickly fades when he sees that Sam's not there.

'On your own today, Big Ed?'

G.o.d I hate him. 'Afraid so. Sam's not well today. She said you'd help me if I got stuck.'

Almost immediately, I regret saying those words, as a mischievous grin crosses Sy's face.

'Come on then,' he says, stripping off his sweats.h.i.+rt to reveal the smallest of vest tops over a perfectly toned, immaculately tanned, but somewhat acned physique. 'We'll train together.'

And so begins my worst training session ever. Sy spends the next half an hour systematically trying to humiliate me, intent on showing me just how fabulously strong and fit he is, rather than helping me through my own personal programme. Where Sam would normally be motivating, Sy's whole approach seems to be one of belittlement. I find myself called a 'wuss' when I can't lift the weights that Sy seems to throw effortlessly around; I'm a 'big girl's blouse' when I can't match his total on the stepper; and even a 'fat poof' when I have to sit down after an unusually heavy set of squats.

By the time I get home, I feel like c.r.a.p, not just because Sy's managed to completely knacker me out, but also because he's managed to make me think that I'm a complete failure. There's only one thing for it if I don't want to go through this again. A quick trip to the supermarket, and then the chemists, and I'm ready.

9.15 a.m.

When I ring her front doorbell, I'm greeted by the sound of barking, before Sam comes to the door, wrapped in her duvet.

'Edward?' She looks a little surprised, especially when I push past her and make my way into her kitchen. 'What are you doing here?'

I hold up my carrier bag. 'Lemsip. Fresh orange juice. Vitamin C tablets. Soup. I thought you might need some looking after.'

She stares at me in amazement. 'I didn't know you cared.'

'Well, the quicker you're back on your feet, the quicker we're back on track.' Sam obviously thinks I'm joking, but I don't have the heart to tell her I'm serious.

I lean down awkwardly to put the juice in the fridge, still tender after my morning session.

Sam looks at me strangely. 'Has Sy been saying something?'

I wince again as I stand up straight. 'It's not so much what he said...'

Sam shakes her head. 'He really is a complete git. I don't know what I ever saw in him.'

'Why did you go out with him?'

Sam thinks about this for a moment. 'I suppose he just wore me down, really. Every time I saw him he'd ask, and eventually I decided the easiest way to stop him from asking would be to actually go out with him. Little did I know how in love he was.'

'With you?'

'With himself.'

'I should introduce him to Dan.'

I make Sam a Lemsip, and sit with her while she drinks it. By now, the barking has become a little more frenzied, accompanied by a scratching from the door to the back garden. I look questioningly at where the noise is coming from.

'That's just the dog,' says Sam.

'Really? A dog? That barking sound?'

'No need to be sarcastic.' She nods towards the back door. 'You can let him in if you like. He doesn't bite. Well, he's never bitten me, anyway.'

I open the kitchen door, and a whirling ball of black and white fur comes barrelling in, leaping up on Sam before jumping up on me, catching me rather painfully in the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

'Oliver,' orders Sam. 'Down.'

'Oliver? I didn't know you were a fan of Laurel and Hardy?'