The Ex-Boyfriend’s Handbook

by Matt Dunn

  ‘Plus, the women you usually find on these sites are tired of going out to the usual pubs and clubs and being leered at by all sorts of men who think that the combination of five pints of lager and a similar amount of Old Spice suddenly makes them irresistible to the opposite sex. They hold out the hope that by some miracle Brad Pitt’s younger, better-looking cousin is going to say “To hell with all these people I meet through the course of my normal life, I’m going to sign up to one of these internet sites where I might just meet the girl of my dreams.” Trust me, Edward, you don’t want to even go down that line. You might meet someone, exchange a few emails, and before you know it they’re swearing their undying love for you while saying corny things like “Am I allowed to say how much I want you?”. Unfortunately, what they really mean is “my wife doesn’t understand me”, and you realize they’ve just been stringing you along the whole time. When you tell them that you’re not interested in having an affair, all of a sudden there are no more mails in your inbox.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Besides, you’re trying to duck out of the real issue here. You’ve got to meet them face to face. Otherwise they’re not going to give you the truth.’

  ‘Much as I hate to agree with anything Wendy says,’ says Dan, ‘she’s right. You’ve got to meet them the normal way.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Wendy. ‘But therein lies Edward’s dilemma. What is the normal way? Go out to a pub or a bar, get drunk, then lurch up to someone equally drunk who you wouldn’t dare talk to sober and end up snogging them? Surely it’s much better to meet someone in a safe environment, where you can take time to get to know each other and then decide whether you want to meet up or not?’

  ‘So it’s only drunk guys who approach you, is it?’ says Dan. ‘I wonder why that is?’

  ‘I’d need to be drunk to go out with you,’ replies Wendy. ‘Or drugged.’

  ‘And you wonder why you haven’t had a male in your inbox for a while,’ says Dan.

  ‘Yes, well, that’s because I want to meet someone who makes my stomach flip when I see them,’ she replies, staring menacingly back at him. ‘Not turn.’

  I step in between the two of them. ‘Children, please. Wendy, you were saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Your problem is that you need to meet them face to face. In person. And as many as possible. Which is why you’re going speed dating.’

  Saturday 5th February

  6.44 p.m.

  I’m ringing Dan’s doorbell, on the way to tonight’s speed-dating event. I’m a little late, as I’ve been wondering what, from my limited wardrobe, to wear this evening, and in the end, I’ve gone for what I believe is known as the ‘smart casual’ look: my best pair of jeans, although I’ve struggled a little to do the top button up, and a fairly new baggy jumper, on the basis that it should both conceal and flatter.

  When Dan opens his door dressed like he’s off to a movie premiere, I begin to doubt the wisdom of asking him along to hold my hand this evening, but I can’t bottle out now. And besides, it’ll be good to have a second opinion. Even from him.

  He stares at me for a moment before showing me inside.

  ‘Aren’t you getting changed first?’

  ‘I am changed.’

  ‘Jesus. What were you wearing before?’

  I can feel myself start to blush. ‘I wanted to look like I’m not trying too hard.’

  ‘You’ve succeeded.’ Dan laughs. ‘In fact you look like you’re not trying at all. Let me remind you—we’re going out to meet women. You’re dressed like a scarecrow. And what do scarecrows do?’

  Unfortunately, I know the answer to this one. ‘Frighten the birds away?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Dan disappears into his bedroom, rooting through his wardrobe until he finds something suitable.

  ‘Here,’ he says, beckoning me over. ‘Your jeans look just about faded enough to be trendy, but that jumper looks like it was knitted by your mother. Put this shirt on. And don’t tuck it in.’

  I stand there for a moment, staring at Dan, until he rolls his eyes and turns his back. Self-consciously, I slip off my jumper and try the shirt on. Luckily, Dan’s much wider in the shoulder than I am in the waist, so it doesn’t fit too badly.

  ‘Much better,’ says Dan, looking me up and down. ‘But something’s missing…’

  He looks through his wardrobe again before closing the door in disgust, then slips off his own jacket and holds it out to me. ‘Here. Try this on. But don’t try and fasten it—with that gut, I fear for the tensile strength of those buttons.’

  I put the jacket on and examine my reflection in the mirror. It looks pretty good, I have to concede. ‘Cheers, mate.’

  ‘And if you do see any nice women tonight, try not to get too excited. I don’t want your drool down the front of my shirt.’

  ‘Cool jacket, Dan. How will they ever resist me?’ I say, strutting up and down in front of the mirror.

  Dan shakes his head. ‘Edward, it’s a nice jacket. Not a magic jacket.’

  I ignore his insult and tap my watch. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘Hold on,’ he says. ‘Final touch required.’

  Dan leads me through into his chrome-and-marble en-suite, where he opens the rather large bathroom cabinet. It’s stocked almost to overflowing with moisturizers, exfoliators, and bottle after bottle of aftershave.

  ‘What do you fancy?’ he asks.

  I look at the selection of brightly coloured bottles. Worryingly, Dan seems to have arranged them alphabetically.

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘What haven’t I got?’

  I read through the names. ‘“Contradiction”, “Envy”, “Eternity”, “Escape”, “Intuition”, “Obsession”…What do you recommend?’

  ‘Why not try “Desperation”?’ he suggests. ‘Oh, hang on, you smell of that already.’

  After careful consideration, Dan hands me a bottle with some unpronounceable name, and supervises me as I splash some onto my face.

  ‘Not too much now,’ he cautions. ‘We’ve got to get you through the streets safely.’

  7.15 p.m.

  We’ve stopped off at the Admiral Jim, so I can partake of some Dutch courage beforehand. As a special treat, Dan’s allowed me a beer, and I drink it slowly, savouring every mouthful.

  ‘So,’ he says, rubbing his hands together expectantly. ‘What’s the deal again?’

  I pull out the flyer Wendy gave me from my pocket and read it out to him. ‘“Brighton’s women are out on the hunt for men—could you be one of them?’”

  ‘I know I’m not “one of them,’” says Dan. ‘Are you sure you’ve got the right kind of event?’

  I nod. ‘All we have to do is turn up, and we’ll get to meet twenty-odd women—that’s twenty, plus or minus, rather than strange, I mean.’

  Dan shakes his head in disbelief. ‘And all of them gagging for it?’

  ‘Well, “looking for love”,’ I say, reading from the back of the leaflet.

  ‘Same thing,’ laughs Dan. ‘And I don’t even have to buy them a drink?’

  ‘Nope. In fact, we get a free glass of wine. And then get to spend three minutes with each girl.’

  ‘Result!’

  ‘Be serious, Dan. It’s the best chance I’ve got to actually go and talk to a number of women face to face. Don’t mess it up for me.’

  ‘As if,’ he says.

  ‘So listen,’ I ask, as I sip my half pint anxiously, ‘once I’m sat in front of all these girls, what on earth do I say to them?’

  Dan leans forward on his stool and lowers his voice. ‘It’s easy,’ he says. ‘The key to success with women is sincerity.’

  ‘Sincerity?’

  Dan nods. ‘Yup. If you can fake that, you’re sorted. So even though they may not deserve one, start with a compliment. Tell them you like their hair, or that they’re pretty, or even that they look a bit like someone famous.’

  ‘Someone famous?’

  �
�Yup. But, obviously, someone good-looking and famous. Ask what they do, have they been to one of these things before, that sort of thing. Keep it all nonchalant, and the time will fly by.’

  ‘But what if I run out of things to ask?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Dan, ‘just get them started. They’re women, don’t forget, so they’ll be quite happy to do all the talking.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But,’ he adds, ‘if the conversation does dry up for any reason, talk about anything that comes into your head. Something you’re interested in, for example.’

  ‘Such as…films?’

  Dan nods. ‘Films will do. But ask them about themselves. What they like, not what you like.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘And remember, it’s not what you say, but how you say it.’

  ‘But I thought you just said they’d do all the talking?’

  ‘Okay. Then remember, it’s not what you don’t say, but how you don’t say it.’

  ‘Huh?’

  Just then, Wendy walks over to our table, wearing a rather tight T-shirt.

  ‘Blimey,’ says Dan. ‘Is it cold in here, or are you trying to smuggle a couple of peanuts out from behind the bar?’

  Wendy ignores him, and turns to face me. ‘So, tonight’s the night?’ she asks, looking me up and down appreciatively. ‘Out on the pull?’

  ‘Just for research purposes, you understand,’ I stammer awkwardly.

  ‘I’m just teasing you, Edward. You’ll enjoy yourself.’

  ‘And you’ve been to this particular one before, right?’

  Wendy laughs. ‘We go quite a lot, me and the girls. It’s a fun night out.’

  ‘Ever, you know, met anyone?’

  ‘It’s only saddos who go to this kind of thing,’ interrupts Dan. ‘No offence, Edward.’

  ‘None taken.’ I turn back to Wendy. ‘But seriously, what do you mean by a fun night out? Don’t you go there to, er, meet boys and stuff?’

  Wendy smiles and shakes her head. ‘Maybe the first time. But then you realize that most of the guys who are there are there for one reason and one reason only.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Because they can’t get a girlfriend any other way,’ says Dan.

  I look to Wendy to contradict him. Sadly, she doesn’t.

  ‘Well, at least the women there tonight will get a good indication of what Dan’s like in bed,’ she says, mischievously.

  Dan frowns. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Three minutes and you’re done,’ she says, before scampering back behind the bar.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ says Dan. ‘Have you brought any protection?’

  ‘Why? In case one of them attacks me?’

  ‘No—“protection”,’ he says, tapping his wallet, ‘Just in case you get lucky.’

  ‘Dan, my idea of getting lucky this evening is if I get any clues as to how to get Jane back. And besides, why would I want to sleep with any of them?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Because of Jane, dummy. I don’t want to cheat on her.’

  ‘But now’s your big chance. While she’s away.’

  ‘Dan, you don’t get it, do you? I’m not looking for a “chance”. Big or otherwise.’

  Dan looks at me in disbelief. ‘I’m still amazed that in the ten years the two of you have been together, you’ve never been unfaithful.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You’ve never slept with another woman?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I think I’d remember.’

  ‘Not even a prostitute?’ He lowers his voice an octave or two, ‘A “lady of the night”?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, you can tell your Uncle Dan…’

  ‘No! And the thought of you as an uncle is pretty creepy, I can tell you.’

  ‘Well, you must have thought about it?’

  ‘No. Why would I have?’

  Dan looks at me with an expression that conveys ‘Why wouldn’t you have?’

  ‘Not even an illicit snog with Natasha at the office Christmas party?’

  ‘God no. There’s a woman that you could kiss and when you stop you find that she’s stolen your tonsils.’

  ‘Well, you can’t expect me to believe that in the ten years—I’m sorry mate, I just have to keep repeating that to make sure it’s true—that you’ve been together you’ve never even looked at another woman.’

  ‘Of course not. I mean I’ve looked, of course, but I’ve never wanted to do anything about it.’

  Dan looks at me incredulously. ‘So what happens when you’re out on the street, or in the supermarket, and you see an absolutely drop-dead gorgeous woman?’

  ‘Am I out with Jane at the time or not with Jane?’

  ‘With Jane.’

  ‘In that case, nothing. I may notice her, but I’m certainly not going to do anything so rude as stare.’

  ‘Worried about getting caught? Sensible.’

  ‘No. Some of us just don’t do that sort of thing.’

  ‘Okay. So what if you weren’t with Jane. Imagine you’re at the vegetable aisle, for example, and you see this stunning woman, perhaps picking up a cucumber, inspecting it for size and firmness…’

  ‘Dan, please.’

  ‘Sorry, mate. So what would you do?’

  ‘I’m not with Jane?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Well then…Same thing. Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Because, what on earth would I have to gain by “doing” anything? I might allow myself to enjoy the sight for a few moments, but I’m hardly going to go and talk to her, am I?’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because I’ve got a girlfriend I don’t want to be unfaithful to, and besides, what on earth is she going to see in the likes of me anyway?’

  ‘Aha,’ says Dan. ‘Now we’re getting to the bottom of it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The reason you don’t do anything isn’t because you want to be faithful to Jane. It’s because you don’t think you’ll get anywhere with Miss Cucumber.’

  ‘Hang on. So what you’re basically saying is that not-so-good-looking guys are only faithful because they don’t get the opportunity to be unfaithful?’

  Dan nods. ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Not because they’re actually decent human beings?’

  ‘It’s in the male programming, mate. We’re genetically designed to sow our seeds. Look at cave paintings.’

  ‘Cave paintings?’

  ‘Yup. They’re all “hunt the mammoth” and fighting and stuff. No pictures of weddings, or happy couples holding hands. You’d hardly find the word “monogamy” in any Neanderthal’s vocabulary.’

  ‘You don’t find it in yours, either. What does that say about you, I wonder?’

  ‘Ah, but you at least admit that you’ve looked?’

  ‘Yes, but…I look at Porsches on the street every now and again. It doesn’t mean that I want to buy one.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t mind a quick test drive?’

  ‘Okay, bad example. But I’d feel guilty next time I tried to drive the Volvo.’

  Dan raises one eyebrow archly. ‘So you are worried about being caught?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s not about that.’

  ‘Ha,’ scoffs Dan. ‘So you’re telling me that if Claudia Schiffer turned up here one day…’

  ‘Claudia Schiffer? In the Admiral Jim?’

  Dan puts on a very bad effeminate German accent, managing to sound more like a camp Arnold Schwarzenegger ‘…and said “Come on Ed, fancy a kvickie? Jane vill never find out”, you’d turn her down?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Even if Jane would never know?’

  ‘You’re completely missing the point. I’d know.’

  ‘And you’d tell your best friend what it was like, yes?’

  ‘Dan, we’re not all built like you.
’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it as a compliment. I meant having a gap in our DNA where the morals are supposed to be. Some of us enjoy fidelity, constancy, security. These things are benefits, not penalties. A good relationship can be like, well, a comfy pair of slippers.’

  Dan makes a face. ‘And you and Jane had a good relationship, did you?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘So why did she take off her slippers and change into running shoes?’

  ‘Dan, the point I’m making is that some of us believe in loyalty. If I was ever unfaithful to Jane then I don’t know that I’d be able to look her in the face again.’

  ‘You don’t have to stare at the fireplace when you’re poking the hearth.’

  ‘Christ, Dan. Where women are concerned you don’t have a decent bone in your body, do you?’

  Dan grins. ‘It’s my bone in their body I’m more concerned about. But seriously, how would you feel if the slipper, sorry, shoe, was on the other foot?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘What if Jane was unfaithful?’

  I look at him suspiciously. ‘Can we change the subject, please?’

  ‘No, I’m curious. Supposing she was. Could you forgive her? Say she comes back from Tibet and falls head-over-heels with you again, but she tells you that while away she got drunk on fermented yak milk one night and joined the…how high is Everest again?’

  ‘Five miles.’

  ‘Five-mile-high club by shagging one of the Sherpas. How would you feel then?’

  ‘I’d…’ I swallow hard, ‘forgive her.’

  ‘You sure? Even if you knew that someone else had roamed all over her Himalayas?’

  ‘Well, she’d…obviously have had her reasons.’

  ‘Aha. But you’ve just said to me that you could never do it to her. Why should you accept it if she does the same thing to you?’

  He’s got me there. And the reason he’s got me, and it’s something I haven’t ever told Dan about, is that just before Christmas, Jane was unfaithful to me. Well, it was more just a snog with another guy really, but as far as I’m concerned that’s still being unfaithful. Okay, so maybe she didn’t actually sleep with anyone, but when lips meet lips, that line has most definitely been crossed.

  We all look at members of the opposite sex from time to time, perhaps fantasizing about what we might like to do with them, or even to them, or have them do to us. But as long as that’s where it stays, as a fantasy, I guess that’s about okay. I mean, where my diet’s concerned, I might dream about eating pizza, for example, but until I actually take a bite, it doesn’t count as cheating, does it?