by Matt Dunn
‘Natasha?’ I look over and raise one eyebrow in her direction, and for the first time in nearly ten years I see Natasha go completely red—for reasons other than apoplectic rage, that is. ‘Why? Oh, I see, the party. What’s that? You want to thank her for having you.’
As Dan splutters down the telephone line, Natasha leaps up from her chair, her vulnerability lasting all of about half a second before she marches over and snatches the phone from me.
‘Thank you, Edward.’
With a grin, I pick up my jacket and head out of the room.
1.42 p.m.
When I walk back into the office clutching a muesli bar and a banana, Natasha’s sitting at her desk, flicking absentmindedly through a copy of the Financial Times.
I nod towards the paper. ‘Anything interesting?’
Natasha looks up and notices my healthy lunch.
‘Apparently Dunkin’ Donuts are about to issue a profit warning.’
‘Ha ha. Very funny.’
‘Edward,’ she says, folding the paper and slipping it into her briefcase. ‘I’ve got something to tell you. About last night.’
‘Really?’ I say.
‘Yes. Your friend Dan and I. Well, we…’
I’m not quite sure how much detail Natasha’s about to go into, and as far as I’m concerned, any detail is too much. I hold up my hand to stop her.
‘I know.’
She looks a little confused. ‘How do you know?’
‘One of the places Sam and I looked for you was in the pool.’
‘Ah.’ For only the second time in nearly ten years, but not the first time this afternoon, I enjoy the sight of Natasha turning scarlet. ‘Well, anyway, he’s just asked me out.’
‘What?’ Dan? Phoning a woman to ask her out after he’s had sex with her? I try and hide my surprise, but fail miserably. ‘On a date?’
‘No, Edward. For a fight. Of course on a date.’
‘Oh. Right. Are you going to go?’
‘I’m not sure. What do you think I should do?’ says Natasha, anxiously. ‘I mean, he’s quite a bit younger than me.’
‘Hmm. Toy boy or not toy boy. That is the question.’
‘Exactly. I mean, I like my men with a few lines. And I don’t mean of the “chat up” variety.’
‘Natasha, I can’t advise you on this. He’s my best friend, and you’re my boss.’
Natasha smiles. ‘Business partner. As of yesterday.’
‘Yes, sorry. Business partner. But what do you want me to say—that you and Dan are perfect for each other? Or that you should run a mile, otherwise you’ll only end up getting hurt again? Because, let’s face it, it doesn’t matter what I, or indeed anyone else, thinks.’
Natasha nods. ‘You’re right. I need to suck it and see.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sorry,’ says Natasha. ‘Perhaps not the most appropriate analogy. But it’s something we used to say as kids.’
‘Do I really want to know?’
‘No, Edward. Nothing like that. It’s when you’re trying to guess the flavour of a boiled sweet, or you want to avoid the coffee-centred Revel in favour of the orange one.’
‘Huh?’
‘You may think you can tell what something’s going to be like from the outside, but the only way to really find out is to…’
‘Stick it in your mouth and try it?’
‘Exactly,’ says Natasha. ‘Suck it and see.’
7.32 p.m.
I’m in the Admiral Jim with Dan, sipping what is, I hope, the last sparkling water I’ll ever have to drink.
‘So,’ he asks, shifting nervously in his chair. ‘What do you think? Did she say anything about me?’
‘Well, her exact words were…’ I stop myself, remembering last night’s Jacuzzi scene a little too vividly. ‘I think, to use language you can understand, she’d be “up for it”.’
‘Great.’ Dan looks visibly relieved. I, on the other hand, don’t quite know what to make of either his puppy-dog appearance, or the fact that he’s asking me for advice about women. ‘And she doesn’t think the age difference is a problem?’
‘Nah. She knows you’re into antiques. But just be careful,’ I tell him. ‘She’s not like your usual conquests.’
‘I know that,’ says Dan. ‘Which is why I want to take it slow. Get to know her first.’
‘Take it slow? The two of you were naked in a Jacuzzi within four hours of first meeting each other. Oh, hold on. That probably is a bit slow for you, isn’t it?’
Dan grins guiltily. ‘Maybe. Anyway. Speaking of important dates…’
I pretend to be confused for a moment, until Dan taps his laptop. ‘Oh—you must mean tomorrow?’
‘Look at you, Mr Cool. Do you want to do this or not?’
‘Sorry. Yes,’ I say. ‘Please.’
‘OK. Weight?’ he says, tabbing through the spreadsheet.
I look at my watch. ‘How long for?’
‘No. How heavy are you now?’
‘Twelve stone six.’
‘Check. Trousers?’
‘Check trousers?’
‘No, dummy. Check, as in, well, checked. Off the list.’
‘Ah. Sorry.’
‘So. Trousers?’
‘Yes. Got a pair on. Trendy combats.’
‘No, I mean, waist?’
‘What’s a waste?’
Dan looks up in exasperation. ‘Will you take this seriously, please?’
‘Sorry. Thirty-four.’
‘Check.’
‘Can you stop saying check.’
‘Sorry. Clothes?’
‘Sorted.’
‘Hair?’
‘Cut. Styled.’
‘Teeth?’
‘White.’
‘Smoking?’
‘Thanks very much!’
‘Glasses?’
I finish off my water. ‘Empty.’
‘Very funny. Car, flat…’ Dan scans through the rest of the list, then clicks the laptop shut. ‘I think we’re finished.’
‘Thank Christ for that. Can I have a proper drink now?’
Dan takes a sip of his beer. ‘Not till tomorrow.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘It’s for your own good. So what’s your plan?’
‘My plan? Plan for what?’
‘For when Jane gets back tomorrow?’
‘Well, I haven’t really thought about it.’
Dan slaps his forehead with his palm. ‘Jesus. You’ve done all this work and you haven’t even thought about what you’re going to do when you see her again, or rather, when she sees you. “Be prepared”, remember.’
‘I didn’t know you were in the Scouts.’
‘I wasn’t,’ says Dan. ‘I was in a few Guides, though. But I can’t believe you haven’t…’
‘Of course I’ve thought about it, Dan. I’ve been thinking about very little else for the past few months.’
‘So?’
‘Well, I thought I’d go and surprise her at the airport.’
‘Obviously,’ says Dan. ‘In the new car?’
‘No, I thought I’d walk. Of course in the new car.’
‘And then?’
‘Maybe offer her a lift back home?’
Dan shakes his head. ‘But it’s not her home, is it? It’s your home. She left it when she left you. This isn’t just about you impressing her so she comes back.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘Nope. You’ve got to make her feel that she’s maybe got to impress you too. Otherwise…’
‘Otherwise what?’
‘Otherwise what’s to stop her doing this all again?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Dan puts his beer down. ‘It’s all about who has the power.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In a relationship. The person who cares the least has all the power.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘Well, say you were goi
ng out with someone.’
‘I was. Am. And will be, come tomorrow, hopefully.’
‘And she decided to leave you.’
‘She already did.’
‘No, I mean hypothetically.’
‘Okay. Hypothetically.’
‘Well, if you really cared about her, you’d be devastated, so she’d have all the power.’
‘Well, I did, I was, and so she obviously does.’
‘Right,’ says Dan. ‘But suppose you didn’t care that much. If she was trying to make you do something, why on earth would she try to achieve it by leaving you? The effect of her going would be so much less.’
‘But why would I be with her in the first place if I didn’t care that much?’
‘You’re missing the point.’
‘Well, please tell me what the point is.’
‘Jane left you to make you change, right?’
‘I suppose.’
‘The reason you’ve put yourself through all this is because she had the power. Her actions have made you make this change.’
‘Right…’
‘So suppose when she comes back, she sees you, and by some miracle decides she wants you back. What you need to do is remain indifferent.’
I look back at Dan, astonished. ‘You’re saying that when she finally comes home, and if I manage to achieve the one thing I’ve been working towards night and day for the last three months, what I should actually do is play it all cool rather than pick her up and carry her in through the front door, which is probably what I’ll want to do?’
Dan nods. ‘Of course. It’s important to set a precedent. Lay down some ground rules. Otherwise what’s she going to do? The first sign of trouble, you start straining at the old waistband again and she’ll be off to Outer Mongolia, because she knows that’s what gets results. If, on the other hand, you can manage to give her the impression that you’ve done this for you, rather than for her, well, the shoe will be in your court.’
‘What?’
‘All I’m trying to say is, don’t let her think that she’s won.’
‘But she will have won. I’ll know it, she’ll know it. She left me with some specific instructions and if I pass muster…’
‘But there’s the thing. You have to make her think that it’s not just you on test. You’re now this slimmer, fitter, better-looking love-god…’
‘With a cool car, don’t forget.’
‘…so how does she measure up to you? Does plain old Jane deserve the new Edward Middleton.’
‘So you’re saying that in three months I’ve managed to leap-frog her in the attractiveness stakes? That now it’s her who’s trying to play out of her league?’
Dan laughs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. But you have to make her think that. Don’t let her assume that now she’s back she’s going to have it all her own way. I mean—do you just want the old Jane back?’
‘Er…yes. No. I don’t know. Well, not like it was in the last year or so.’
‘Well take her back on your terms then. Tell her that if she comes back now it’s for good. Or even better, make her feel that now it’s her turn to win you back. Maybe she’s put on weight while she’s been away, or got a funny hairstyle, or lost an arm or something. You never know, you might see Jane and not fancy her!’
‘Well, if she’s lost an arm…’
‘Edward, all I’m saying is that she may well have changed while she’s been away milking yaks and whatever else it is they do in Tibet. You certainly have. Do you really think the two of you will still want the same things. And by that, I mean each other?’
He’s right. And I can’t pretend that this hasn’t occurred to me. I’ve been working away single-mindedly for the past three months with one aim and one aim only—to get Jane back. But what Jane is it exactly that I want back? The Jane I met and fell in love with back at college? Or the Jane who thought I was so disgusting that she flew halfway around the world to get away from me? I suddenly wish I was drinking something stronger.
‘I just feel I owe it to her to give her a chance.’
Dan raises one eyebrow. ‘Now it’s you who’s giving her a chance, eh? Not the other way round?’
‘You know what I mean. It’s just that we’ve been through so much together. So much history, you know.’
‘There’s a reason why history’s called history.’
‘Huh?’
‘Because it’s in the past. Gone. Finished. Make some new stuff. Maybe even with someone new.’
‘Dan, I can’t even think about that. Not till I know how Jane feels about me. Or, more importantly, how I feel about Jane.’
‘Tell me something,’ says Dan. ‘Isn’t there a part of you that resents her for treating you the way she did? That wants to tell her that she’s made her bed and has to lie in it?’
I nod. ‘Of course there is. But there’s also a part of me that wants to lie in it with her.’
‘Ah,’ says Dan. ‘But that’s not the part that should be making decisions.’
‘You can talk.’
Dan drains the last of his beer. ‘You know what I do when I have to make a difficult choice? Like between two women, for example?’ he adds, unusually perceptively for him.
‘Toss for it?’
Dan laughs. ‘No—what I actually do is get a piece of paper, divide it into two columns, then write down all the good points of one of them on one side, and then do the same for the other one on the other side.’
I’m a little surprised that Dan should take such a practical approach. I didn’t know he had it in him.
‘What do you do then?’
He grins. ‘Simple. I go out with the one who’s the best in bed.’
8.44 p.m.
Wendy appears at our table, dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and a T-shirt to match.
‘You off to a funeral?’ says Dan, looking her up and down.
Wendy smiles sarcastically back at him. ‘Yours, hopefully,’ she replies.
‘Ignore him, Wendy. You look very nice.’
‘Thanks, Edward,’ she says. ‘Anyway, Danny-boy. What are you doing here so late on a Friday night? Not managed to find some poor unfortunate girl to lure back to your sleazy bachelor pad?’
‘It’s not sleazy,’ protests Dan. ‘And it’s certainly not a “bachelor pad”, as you so charmingly call it.’
‘What is it then?’
‘It’s a loft.’
Wendy laughs. ‘A loft?’ she says, picking up our empty glasses. ‘Isn’t that where most people store their junk?’
I follow her to the bar, and we look back over towards Dan, who’s checking his hair in the reflection of his Oakley’s.
‘He doesn’t mean any harm’ I say. ‘He’s just a little…’
‘Retarded?’ suggests Wendy.
I smile. ‘Could be. I was going to say “insensitive”, but you’re probably closer.’
‘Why on earth do you hang around with him?’
‘Dan’s not all bad. He’s a good friend. And he’s taught me a valuable lesson these past few months.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. How not to behave towards women.’
‘I can’t imagine it’s much fun going out with him,’ agrees Wendy. ‘He’d make a lousy boyfriend.’
‘So tell me—any last-minute tips as to what makes a good boyfriend?’
‘Hmm.’ Wendy puffs out her cheeks. ‘That’s a hard one.’
‘Is that the first thing?’
‘No, cheeky. But I’m the wrong person to ask, aren’t I?’
‘Why? You’re a woman.’
‘Thanks for noticing. But why don’t you tell me what you think? After all, you’re the expert now.’
‘Well, I’d hardly call myself an expert. But I think I have worked out where I was going wrong. Or rather, where Jane and I were going wrong.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Well, the way I see it is this. Women spend all this effort on their make-up and hair to make
themselves look as good as they possibly can. They can waste hours deciding what to wear before even venturing out as far as the corner shop. In some cases they spend a fortune on jewellery, watches, handbags, shoes; all accessories to make themselves look better.’
‘So, what’s your point?’
‘Why then blow all that time and effort by walking around with a big, untrendy lump of a man hanging off your arm?’
Wendy laughs. ‘You may be right.’
‘But most women don’t need wa-hey. They just want okay. Imagine the insecurity if you went out with a too-good-looking man. All the time you’re worrying that other women are looking at your partner, wondering what on earth he’s doing with you, and thinking how they can steal him off you. And what’s worse, if it’s someone like Dan, you know that he’ll be thinking exactly the same thing—here I am with so-and-so but I’ll just keep an eye out because you never know, I might spot someone better, and if I do…I think that really good-looking guys usually know they’re really good-looking guys, and therefore think they can get away with murder. Not-so-good-looking guys just have to work that little bit harder at the “rest” of it, and that’s what makes them better boyfriend material. Someone like Dan, well, you probably worry that he’ll spend more time in the bathroom getting ready than you will.’
‘You know,’ she says, ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way round. If that’s the case, then you’re saying I should feel sorry for Dan, as from his point of view, it’s actually a pain to be really good-looking. You’re always going to worry that the girl you’re with is feeling insecure, unsettled…’
‘Precisely. When you go out with someone, you want them to complement you, not compete with you. Imagine how you’d feel as a woman, typically the glamorous side of the relationship, if every time you went out with your boyfriend you felt that people were looking at him, not you? It’s as you said to me a while ago: what women want is someone who thinks they’re special. Not someone who knows that he’s the special one. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Like at the Oscars.’
‘The Oscars?’
‘All the women appear in the most fashionable dresses, in the latest designs, and a multitude of colours, trying to outdo one another on the red carpet. The men? They all wear the same thing. Why? Because that’s what’s supposed to happen. It’s the way the world works. Women look beautiful, men just look. And most women are aware of this. They know they can’t just log on to “He-Bay” or go down to “Boys R Us” and choose a finished model off the shelf, so instead, they pick a basic one and gradually shape them, making improvements until they reach that ideal balance—you know how women like a project. But occasionally, there comes a time when they realize they might be working on a lost cause. And that’s what Jane had begun to wonder. Whether I was a lost cause.’