Nine Uses for an Ex-Boyfriend

by Sarra Manning

  ‘Thought you might fancy a lift home,’ Jack said, as she pulled him into the downstairs cloakroom, which was the only place where they would be sure of some privacy. ‘Also thought you might fancy being rescued.’

  ‘Yes. God, yes!’ Hope didn’t think she’d ever been so relieved to see anyone in her life. But as Jack kissed the top of her head and gave her a quick but fervent hug, she realised that she was actually pleased to see Jack, which was unexpected and confusing. ‘It’s been awful, increasing in awfulness every hour. How did things go with you?’

  Jack moved his head from side to side as he considered the question. ‘It wasn’t exactly fun,’ he said at last. ‘Mostly we talked about football, and then we went to B&Q, and then we went down the pub to talk about football again, and they told me that I was a bloody idiot every five minutes. I mean, I’m approximating, but you get the idea. Your hair looks nice. Smooth. Guess the comb-out was worth it.’

  Hope touched her hair, which was still relatively tangle-free, primarily because her mother had insisted that she sleep with a silk scarf tied around her head. ‘It was agony, but not as agonising as Kathy’s episiotomy scar, which is still stinging every time she pees, FYI.’

  ‘What the actual fuck?’

  ‘Can we go home? Now? Please?’ Hope begged, clutching the front of Jack’s denim jacket in her fists, even though she’d been determined not to cling and whine the next time she saw him.

  ‘Am I allowed a cup of tea and something to eat first?’ Jack asked, unlocking the cloakroom door, and he kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked back into the dining room, though Hope didn’t know if that was some indication of how he felt about her or whether he was keeping up appearances.

  They stayed long enough for Jack to wolf down a plate of roast beef with all the trimmings and two helpings of apple pie and cream because he didn’t need to lose any weight. Hope tried to talk to her dad but after a brief discussion about the National Curriculum, he turned to Luke and Matthew for a riveting chat about the trouble they’d had coming off the M6 at the Croft Interchange, especially with Jack in convoy behind them.

  Caroline Delafield had been so desperate for a daughter that when Hope had arrived, she’d made it clear to her husband that she’d given him three sons to do manly stuff with, and that Hope was all hers. Hope knew that her father loved her, that was a given, but he couldn’t talk to her about anything other than the weather, her job, his job and what he should buy his wife for her birthday, Christmas and their anniversary. It had become more noticeable since Hope got older, but it might also have had something to do with the fact that neither of them had recovered from the three unhappy years when he’d taught her geography at secondary school. To this day, Hope still broke out in a cold sweat at the mere mention of tectonic plates or glaciers.

  As visits back to the loving bosom of her family went, this one had been pretty horrific, Hope decided, as Jack began to make noises about them heading off to beat the traffic.

  ‘Hopey needs to go home and get her stuff,’ her mother said. ‘We’ll come with you and have a proper chat.’

  Hope wanted to drop to the floor and beat her feet and fists on Matthew and Kathy’s worsted carpet, in much the same way as Kirsten was currently doing. ‘But Mum …’

  ‘You’ve had Hopey all weekend, Caroline, don’t you think it’s my turn?’ Jack asked with that cheeky grin that made her mother sigh happily and say to her father as soon as they were out of the door, ‘I don’t know what Hope thinks she’s playing at. She’ll never do better than Jack, and that’s a fact.’

  Finally, after a protracted goodbye and enforced kissing of squirming young relatives who’d rather not have been kissed, it was just the two of them. They drove to her parents’ house to get Hope’s weekend bag in silence. Not a tense silence, because they were listening to the Manics on the iPod, but once they got back in the car, Jack turned down the volume.

  ‘So …?’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘My mum thinks that you’re just freaking out about being tied down to me for the rest of your life, and that you’re making up for never having the opportunity to sow your wild oats,’ Hope said, as if it was that simple and the last few weeks of hurt could all be explained in a way that completely exonerated Jack from causing all those weeks of hurt. ‘In conclusion, she thinks I should get pregnant, either with or without your agreement, and that will be the answer to everything.’

  Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Right. Wow. Suppose I should have seen that one coming. I guess my mum was in complete agreement?’

  ‘Yup, they were singing from the same hymn sheet, running things up the same flagpole, looking at the same blips on the radar screen,’ Hope said. ‘And by the way, I’m not in complete agreement and I am NOT getting pregnant.’

  ‘Well, thank God for that,’ Jack said with great fervour and, of course, that made Hope seethe a little. She was off babies after seeing the Delafield genes replicated that afternoon, but she wanted Jack to want to have a baby with her. Maybe. One Day.

  ‘So, how did you and the dads leave things, then?’ Hope asked tentatively, because she didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be.

  ‘Bottom line was, and this is a direct quote, I “need to shit or get off the pot”.’ Jack shot her a wry glance as Hope made gagging noises. ‘We all agreed that I was a daft fool, and we also agreed that I still loved you, and our two dads, who drink pints of bitter and play golf and call their wives “the little ladies” without any irony, think we should have couples counselling.’

  It was just as well that Hope wasn’t driving, as she’d have ploughed into the central reservation. ‘What? They said that? They want us to see a relationship counsellor?’

  ‘They even said they’d pay for it.’ Jack paused. ‘I said I’d think about it.’

  Hope folded her arms and slunk down in the seat so her chin was resting on her chest. ‘You did?’

  ‘I didn’t say I would for sure. I said that it was worth considering,’ Jack said, and boy, he really wasn’t giving her any false expectations.

  After the baby-hatching madness, Hope had almost convinced herself that their end was nigh, and that neither set of parents was going to come up with a sensible solution that didn’t involve huge amounts of emotional blackmail. But it turned out she’d been wrong, because actually counselling wasn’t a bad idea at all. On the contrary, it was a very good idea and, even better, it didn’t involve her uterus. That said, she felt a tiny flicker of something in the pit of her stomach and she realised it was a little flame of hope. Hope that she might have a future that didn’t involve trying to get used to the idea that they were over, making to-do lists and grieving. True, Jack didn’t seem entirely on board with the idea, but at least she had something to work with now.

  ‘Well, it’s definitely worth considering,’ Hope said slowly, so she didn’t spook Jack. ‘I mean, if we talked things over with an impartial third party they might help us to resolve some of our issues.’ She angled a sideways glance at Jack who was staring straight in front of him at the road ahead. ‘How long would this counselling take?’

  ‘I don’t know. A few weeks, a couple of months, something like that.’

  ‘We’ve been together for thirteen years …’

  ‘Oh, Hope, please don’t start,’ Jack groaned, but he put his hand on her knee. ‘Don’t give me that speech again.’

  ‘It’s not that speech. Well, it’s a variation on that speech,’ Hope insisted through gritted teeth, and she made mental note that she needed to find an elastic band when they stopped at the next service station because she wanted to get back to London without once shouting, screaming or in any way losing her temper. ‘We’ve been together for thirteen years and all I’m asking, Jack, is that you give us a few weeks, say to the end of the year, to come to counselling with me and see if we can get through this. That’s not much to ask, is it?’

  ‘When you put it like that, it’s not.’ Jack sighed. �
�But counselling isn’t some amazing cure-all, though. You need to be realistic about it.’

  ‘Why? Are you saying that you don’t love me any more?’ Hope bit her lip hard to stop the tears from falling.

  ‘I do love you, but it seems like I always end up going back to her,’ Jack said, and Hope got why he was saying it – because he was trying to be straight with her and he didn’t want her to jump to conclusions and start picturing an engagement ring, or worse, her wedding dress, a bouquet and centrepieces – but it still hurt. Didn’t mean she was going to back down without using every weapon in her arsenal, though.

  ‘Or you could say that you always end up coming back to me,’ she pointed out. ‘Because you do love me and I love you, even after all the shit you’ve put me through, I still love you. I still want to be with you and I think we’re worth saving.’

  ‘I want to think that we’re worth saving, too,’ Jack said in a small voice, and Hope waited for the inevitable ‘but’ and when it didn’t come, she decided to press her advantage.

  ‘Then, come on, Jack! Let’s do this! You’ve given me thirteen mostly wonderful years, all I’m asking for is another few weeks, and if the counselling works and we get back to what we were, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it? And if it doesn’t, I’ll let you go, even though it will half kill me, and you can go to Susie if you really think she’ll make you happy.’ She let out a huge breath. ‘Really, for you, this is win/win.’

  ‘Well, OK, yeah, you’re right.’ Jack still had his hand on Hope’s knee and he squeezed her thigh. ‘It can’t hurt, can it?’

  ‘Do you want to try that once more with feeling, Jack?’ she asked archly. ‘This doesn’t stand a chance of working if you’re just coming along for the ride and you’re not prepared to put any effort into it.’

  Hope was pushing him, but she didn’t know if she was pushing him too far or not enough. There seemed to be a very fine line between the two, but Jack wasn’t getting defensive; rather, he was nodding like he actually agreed with her. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not likely to get much sympathy but I’m just so confused. It’s like I don’t know what’s going on in my own head any more and, for the record, I haven’t liked myself very much these last few months. It’s been a total headfuck, if you must know.’

  Good, was the first thought that popped into Hope’s head, but she ruthlessly thrust it away. ‘Is that so?’ She tried with all her might to make her voice sound noncommittal, but she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d succeeded.

  ‘There are things I can’t tell you because it’s not fair to start going on about the person I’ve been seeing behind your back, but for every moment that I’ve been really happy with Susie there were hours when I was in hell over what I was doing to you.’ Jack’s hand on her knee tightened again. ‘It’s important that you know that. And do you know what my worst moment was?’

  ‘Was it when I found out for real and we had that fight in the Skirt kitchen?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Truthfully? I was just relieved that it was finally out in the open.’ At least he had the grace to look thoroughly ashamed. ‘It was reading that list you wrote,’ he said. ‘It was like a punch in the gut, if you must know. That’s why I started blubbing.’

  Hope rolled her eyes. ‘You’re saying that having counselling and staying with me is preferable to all that DIY we have to do so we can put the flat on the market? Really? Really?’

  ‘Fuck off, Hopey! I’m talking about the other list, where you wrote that I didn’t love you any more and that I was your ex-boyfriend, like they were items that you’d already checked off. To know that that was what you were thinking … that that was what I’d put you through … I already told you, this thing with Susie, I’ve never felt like this about anyone but I still have feelings for you, Hope. Big, important feelings.’

  ‘But the sex is better with her?’ Hope asked, even though as soon as the words had left her mouth she regretted them.

  ‘Not better, but different,’ Jack said tactfully. ‘Maybe we might be able to get our mojo back with the guidance of a trained professional.’

  But surely, if they loved each other, then they shouldn’t need tips and leaflets and advice on how to put the lead back in their pencils, Hope thought to herself. ‘I want this to work so much, I’ve never wanted anything so badly,’ she confessed. ‘But if you’re just doing this to get our parents off your back or because you feel guilty then …’

  ‘Look, I said I’ll give it a go, Hopey,’ Jack was beginning to sound really exasperated. ‘We’ve got another six weeks or so until Christmas and we’ll have some counselling and then I’ll make a decision. I can’t give you any more than that right now, I wish I could, but I can’t. But I promise you, I will take it seriously.’

  It was more than Hope had dared to dream. And now that Jack was finally opening up to her, she couldn’t embark on an intensive course of couples therapy without being as honest as him. She owed him that and God, she couldn’t live with the guilt for much longer.

  ‘I have to tell you something,’ she said in a voice so strained that she could hardly choke out the words. ‘It might change the way you feel.’

  Jack tensed up. ‘What?’

  Hope exhaled slowly. ‘Well, it’s just, in the interests of full disclosure I have to be completely truthful with you. And you have every right to be mad at me but …’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Hopey, just tell me!’

  ‘I kissed Wilson!’ That wasn’t how she’d meant to deliver the news; shrieking it into existence without any back story, and Jack took his eyes off the road to stare at her in horror in a way that Hope wished he wouldn’t when they were gunning down the fast lane of the M62. ‘Keep your eyes on the road!’

  ‘What do you mean, you kissed Wilson?’ he rapped, pressing down hard on the horn to beep at someone who’d dared to beep at them when they’d swerved between lanes.

  ‘Well, I’ve seen him around a bit,’ Hope explained like that made it all right. ‘Then he helped out with Jeremy last week, gave him a couple of days of work, and I took him out to dinner to say thank you and well, we ended up kissing.’

  ‘So it was just a thank-you kiss?’ Jack asked, and Hope could hear the relief, hear the ‘nothing to see here, move along’, and it would be so easy to go along with that version of events but if she wanted to be honest, then she had to be really honest.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it was more of a snog. Mutual snogging. I can’t deny it, Jack, it was good to have someone kiss me like they really meant it, and at the time, I really enjoyed it.’

  Which wasn’t strictly true. Every time she recalled the kiss, and there had been plenty of times over the last week, when she treated herself to a slow-motion action replay, Hope could feel her insides curling up with lust until guilt made them promptly uncurl.

  ‘Oh, Hopita, has it really been that long since I kissed you? Like, kissed you properly?’

  It had been ages. Hope couldn’t even remember how long it had been but that had been the last thing on her mind when she’d been pressing into Wilson’s hands as he stroked her breast, arching up against him, shuddering with need every time his tongue dipped into her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said and ‘sorry’ was such a stupid, inadequate thing to say.

  Jack patted her knee again, then kept his hand on her leg. She rested her hand on top of his. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, and after expecting shouting and maybe a little swearing, his calm acceptance was a little anti-climactic and rather disappointing. If he loved her, then it shouldn’t be OK that she’d been kissing someone else.

  ‘It’s not OK. It’s not even a little bit OK.’

  ‘I get it,’ Jack said. ‘You were mad at me, and Wilson, it’s obvious that he wanted to get back at me and Susie. She said that Wilson was obsessed with her, kept phoning her and begging her to take him back.’

  Hope had to bite down hard on her lip because one of the things she definitely didn’t miss about Susie was the way she’d i
nsisted that damn near every man she encountered was obsessed with her. ‘Way to make it obvious,’ she’d sneer if someone with a penis dared to stand too close to her in Caffè Nero. Or, ‘God, he wants me,’ she’d complain in a long-suffering tone if a man bumped into her while they were walking along the street. And yes, it had kind of been a running joke with them but then again, it kind of hadn’t.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that from what I heard,’ Hope said. ‘I mean, does Wilson strike you as the type to beg anyone to do anything ever?’ Hope thought about leaving it there before she said something bitchy, but God, she wasn’t a saint. ‘Just so you know, there was overlap. Quite a bit of it. She was breaking up with Wilson, which seemed to involve a lot of sex, even while she was shagging you. It’s a tricky one.’

  The moment that she said it, Hope knew she shouldn’t have, even though it had to be said, and Jack was shooting her a look, the look he always gave her when she was drunk and behaving like a complete tool, or she was kicking off about something that didn’t really warrant a kicking-off when he was trying to work or watch something on TV. It was a look that very clearly said, ‘Tread carefully, because you’re this close to sleeping on the sofa tonight.’

  ‘It was messy, Hope. Everyone got hurt,’ he said thinly. ‘Of course there was going to be fallout and … overlap.’

  ‘I wasn’t overlapping with Wilson. It was just one kiss and you were staying round at Susie’s then anyway and it wasn’t like …’

  ‘Well, it’s not important now, and, well, I won’t see Susie while we’re having a bash at this counselling,’ Jack said, with a little expectant glance as if he wanted Hope to lavish praise on him. ‘That shows some commitment, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, well, the last time you said you wouldn’t see Susie wasn’t such a rousing success, was it?’ She actually smacked her hand against her forehead in an attempt to smack some sense into her brain. ‘I’m sorry! I don’t mean to keep being so, y’know …’