Chapter 12
Dear Adam
So I’ve been dumped. Happens to the best of us, right? Back on the horse, etcetera. But I really thought that this woman was the one. We’d been together for two years. We were talking about moving in together. My parents loved her. I thought her friends and family liked me. And then – bam – she’s off travelling in South East Asia for a year. I suggested going with her but she wasn’t having it. She said we’d grown apart and she wanted to follow her dreams. There’s another man, isn’t there? I think I’ve been played for a fool and I don’t know what to do next. I’m thirty-one and I feel like a lost puppy.
Mitch, Carlisle
Shit. It was Sunday, a week since Amelie’s wedding, and I felt just like a lost puppy myself. The previous week at work had gone okay – I’d been busy enough, typing up the responses to the queries that Amelie had helped me formulate, saving one of them for future reference so that Adam’s readers didn’t start to think he was some sort of penis specialist.
I’d stopped for coffee on the way to the office as usual, and got the lift up to the Max! Magazine floor, not having to worry about sharing it with Ross, because he was on holiday. I’d filed my copy with Greg and waited for him to roll his eyes in disgust at what I’d written, but he’d only responded, ‘Nice work.’ But when I’d tentatively asked him how the Ask Adam column was landing with readers, he’d pushed his glasses up his nose and said, ‘It’s early days yet,’ which did my self-confidence no good at all.
Now, alone in my flat with Astro sleeping behind me on the back of the sofa, I’d found myself less interested in the new release of Resident Evil 4, and more compelled to get out my phone or laptop and see what new problems had landed in Adam’s mailbox.
I’d come face to face (well, face to screen) Mitch, his globetrotting ex and his broken heart. And I had absolutely no idea what to say to him.
‘What do you reckon, Astro?’ I asked. ”What would Amelie have told him?’
But Astro only twitched a paw, deep in a dream about chasing squirrels.
‘Well, I know how to get your attention, anyway,’ I told him.
I was hungry, there were fish fingers in the freezer and a loaf of fresh white bread on the kitchen counter. Maybe some carbs and essential fatty acids would kick my brain into gear – and if not, they’d at least stop my stomach from grumbling.
While I waited for the grill to heat up, spreading butter and mayonnaise on the bread, adding just a squiggle of ketchup and thinly slicing a pickled cucumber (I’m no chef, but I do know how to make the perfect fish finger sandwich), I thought of my sister. Not just what advice she would have given to Mitch, but about her. What was she doing right now? What time was it in the Bahamas? Was she lying on a beach somewhere with Zack rubbing sunblock into her back? Was she having fun?
Was she missing me as much as I missed her?
An unexpected tear splatted down on to the kitchen counter and I blinked, grabbing a square of kitchen roll and blowing my nose furiously. This was no good whatsoever. Amelie wanted me to be happy, not moping because she was off being happy.
Snatching the grill pan out of the oven just in time, I assembled my dinner and returned to the sofa. Astro, smelling fish, immediately roused and planted his front feet on my lap, begging shamelessly for scraps as I ate.
When I’d finished, I put the plate on the floor for him to lick clean and opened my laptop again.
Oh Mitch, you poor boy, I imagined Amelie saying. But what would she say next? I knew she’d been disappointed in relationships, but as far as I knew she’d never had her heart properly broken – she’d been more in the business of breaking other people’s.
But my heart had. I hadn’t forgotten the pain, but I’d buried it deep inside me, determined that it would never happen to me again. Now, if I was going to be able to help Mitch – or at the very least do the job I’d been hired to do – I was going to have to delve into that hidden place, remember how it had felt, and tell Mitch what he needed to hear.
Dear Mitch, I typed, my fingers hesitant on the keyboard at first, then picking up pace.
Well, you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you? When you believe that someone is your person and it turns out they don’t feel the same, it hurts. There’s no getting away from that.
But here’s the thing: if she decided you weren’t the man for her, that means she wasn’t the woman for you. No amount of compromising or begging or even writing to me is going to change that fact. You’re going to have to move on, and deep down I suspect you know that.
There are many positives to draw from your situation. The people closest to her approved of you – that means you’re a decent guy. You sustained a relationship for two years. You had sensible plans to take it to the next level. You’re young. You’ve got everything going for you, Mitch.
As for what to do next – channel that lost puppy and lick your wounds for a bit. It’s normal to feel self-pity in your position. But don’t torture yourself – if there’s another guy on the scene, you can’t change that. And delete her from your social media if you can – watching her live her best life will only be painful for you and sustain the hope that she might regret her decision. Because she’s already made it clear: you’re not the man for her.
So, when you’re ready, dust yourself off. Check that broken heart – you’ll likely feel the pieces coming together again. Have fun with your mates. Get out in the fresh air – I know I sound like your nan, but it helps.
I guarantee you, before long, someone else will come along. She might not be Ms Right; she might just be Ms Right for Now. But she’ll show you that there are other women out there who appreciate your many, excellent qualities. Eventually, you’ll look back on this and you’ll wish your ex well and maybe even admire her for having the courage to pursue her dreams.
Yours, Adam
Feeling like I’d been through a wringer myself, I snapped my laptop closed. As soon as I put it down on the floor, Astro jumped up onto my lap, and I flicked on the telly. But I didn’t return to Resident Evil; instead I scrolled through Netflix until I found The Last Letter from Your Lover and had a good old cry watching it until it was time for bed.
Over the next few days, I found myself looking at men a bit differently. On the bus in the morning, I sat next to a guy a few years younger than me, who spent the entire journey scrolling through Tinder. Surreptitiously, I watched over his shoulder and wondered why it was that he swiped right on the blurry photo of a girl with glasses and a halo of blonde curls, but left on the slender, tanned brunette with the trout pout. Did he think picking the brunette would be punching? Did he just like women with curly hair? Had his previous girlfriend been a slim brunette who’d cheated on him with his best friend?
In the queue for my morning coffee, I overheard a guy asking his colleague how his wife’s pregnancy was going, and listened, fascinated, as the colleague embarked on a soul-bearing description of how hard it was to see her being sick all the time and how much he longed for the baby’s arrival but feared that their relationship would never be the same again.
Actually, that was my interpretation. The actual conversation went more like this.
‘So how’s Lisa getting on, mate?’
’Still puking twenty-four/seven. They say it’s morning sickness but it lasts all bloody day, doesn’t it?’
‘Feel ya. With Marie it was the evenings, right until the ninth month. Couldn’t keep anything down except ginger biscuits.’
‘Jesus. Well, at least we’ve only got six months to go, right?’
‘Yeah, then the sleepless nights and shitty nappies kick in.’
‘Right. Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?’
Then they ordered their coffees and started talking about a Powerpoint presentation they were working on, instead.
At work, I overheard Chiraag on the phone to his mother. Evidently she was organising an anniversary party for his grandparents, and wanted Chiraag’s opinion on everything from the gift to the buffet. Chiraag, I knew, was only child – no doubt if he’d had a sister this burden would have fallen on her. But as I listened to him spending fifteen minutes at a stretch saying, ‘I really don’t know, Mum. I’m sure Nan will be happy with whatever you decide. So don’t spend six hours making samosas, buy them in. Yeah, I know yours are better – sorry I suggested it,’ I felt as if I was getting a glimpse of a family life I’d had no idea about – pressures on his emotions and time I’d been unaware of, and probably wouldn’t have cared if I had.
That same day, I – or rather Adam – received an email that left me more than usually perplexed. Working during our lunch breaks was frowned upon by Greg, but it was raining so I ate my sandwich at my desk instead of going out, and the call of the mailbox was strong. I flicked it open on my phone and opened the first of the five unread emails that had arrived during the morning.
Since Ross had returned from holiday, the awkwardness between us seemed to have settled down somewhat. We still avoided making eye contact except when it was absolutely essential, but we were back to saying good morning and offering to make hot drinks for each other, and being able to discuss work problems without breaking out in a storm of competitive blushing.
So, when I looked up and saw that Ross, too, was eating a sandwich and scrolling idly through his phone, I felt as if I could make conversation with him without either of us dying of shame.
‘Hey, Ross?’ I said.
He looked up, a triangle of ham and cheese sandwich halfway to his mouth. ‘Mmmm?’
‘If you fancied your mate’s ex, and she fancied you, would you think it was okay to ask her out?’
He looked startled, then grinned, and I wondered whether anyone, ever, had managed to see that smile and not smile back. ‘If I fancied – who?’
‘Just theoretically. Say your friend had been going out with a girl – not seriously, but exclusively – for maybe six months, a year or so back. And you were all part of the same friendship group, and now you and this woman were getting close and you’d both told each other you liked each other. Okay to do something about it, or not?’
”How seriously are we talking here?” He hesitated, then went on, ”L-word territory, or not?”
I couldn”t help wondering whether he”d ever told a woman he loved her. He must have done. Who was she, and when, and had she loved him back?
‘I dunno, Lucy. It’s a tricky one. I guess you should think about your mate’s feelings before thinking about some girl you like.’
‘So that’s a no, then?’
‘But on the other hand,’ he took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. He managed not to look gross when he was eating, I noticed – no spraying crumbs everywhere, or anything like that, ‘on the other hand, it’s not like they were married or anything. Or were they?’
‘Not married. No kids either.’
‘And their break-up, was it, like, acrimonious, or amicable?’
‘Fairly amicable, as far as I know.’ Louis from Manchester certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about it not being amicable.
‘They I’d say it’s more of a grey area. I mean, in an ideal world, no one would date anyone their mate had been with, because of the potential fall-out.’ He shrugged ruefully, like the conversation had got more serious than he’d expected. ‘But we don’t live in an ideal world, do we?’
In an ideal world, you’d have not snogged Bryony.‘Not so far as I can tell.’
‘Well then.’ I heard him breathe in, and he carried on, almost reluctantly. ‘Maybe the thing to do is have a word with your mate, talk to her, see how she’d feel about it. And if she’s okay with it, then you’re free to make a move on this dude. Sisters before misters, right?’
Damn it! I was blushing now. ‘Hold on! I said theoretically.’
He laughed. ‘Okay, fine. Theoretically then, Lucy, have a chat with your mate and if she’s okay with it then knock yourself out. And good luck.’
‘Ross, honestly.’ I hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn. ‘I’m not talking about me.’
‘I see. So you’re “asking for a friend”?’ Then I saw realisation dawn on his face. ‘Oh wait, it’s one of those Ask Adam questions, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, as a matter of fact. And it’s a guy wanting to date a girl whose ex he’s friends with, if that makes any difference.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe it does. It shouldn’t but it might. Guys are more territorial about shit like that.’
‘Oh for God’s sake. Don’t pull that caveman, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus stuff on me.’
‘I wasn’t! I was just saying, in my experience, a man might not take it as well as a woman. Women are more emotionally mature.’
I bristled. ‘Right. And we can’t read maps?’
‘Hey, I never said anything about maps. You asked me my opinion, and I’m telling you.’
Which was true, of course. ‘Sorry. Okay, thanks. I’ll tell the guy to talk to his friend and if he’s cool with it, give it a go.’
Ross raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah. Sounds like a plan to me.’
I was saved from having to say anything more by Ross’s phone trilling softly on the desk next to him. He put down the remaining corner of his sandwich and answered it.
‘Hey, Bryony. How’s it going?’
Then he stood up so quickly his chair went skidding into the sub-editors’ pod behind him, and hurried off to the area by the lifts where we all took calls when we didn’t want to be overheard.
I bit my lip, remembering the conversation I’d had with Bryony the night before the wedding. I’d promised to put in a word for her, and I hadn’t. I couldn’t even tell myself I hadn’t had a chance – I’d just spent five minutes discussing Louis from Manchester’s love life (which I wasn’t convinced Ross believed wasn’t my own) with him. But that was different. That was – as I’d said – theoretical. His…. thing, whatever it was, with Bryony was anything but.
Still, I’d promised to do something and not done it. And that wasn’t cool. According to the code Ross has alluded to earlier, I should have been bigging her up to him at every opportunity.
So why hadn’t I?
I hadn’t wanted to. It would have been all kinds of awkward. He’d have blushed, I’d have blushed. The tenuous normality that had been re-established between the two of us would get thrown all out of kilter again. But then, it just had been, by me going and asking him theoretical questions about one of Adam’s correspondents.
I had a duty to say something. It was going to be difficult, but I was going to do it. Just as soon as an appropriate moment arose, whenever that might be. Maybe in a week or two.
My brain might have been all set to procrastinate, but apparently my mouth had other ideas. A couple of minutes later, Ross returned to his desk and sat down, glanced at me, then put his phone back where it had been, next to his keyboard. I could see the beginning of a blush stealing up his neck, but he picked up his sandwich and took what I guessed was meant to be a nonchalant bite.
‘Ross?’
He raised both eyebrows this time, chewing.
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. Was that Bryony you were talking to?’
He nodded and swallowed.
I felt myself starting to blush again, but pressed on. ‘I mean… that’s the girl you met when I was on my sister’s hen night. You know she’s a friend of my sister’s?’
He nodded again.
‘Are you seeing her?’ I asked. My voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘No, you’re all good.’ He glanced at his phone as if expecting it to ring again and rescue him from having to talk to me. ‘We’ve been texting. We’ve been out. So seeing each other…? Yeah, we kind of are.’
‘You should go for it. Honestly. Bryony’s lovely. She’s really nice and…’ What the hell could I say about her? I barely knew the woman. ‘Lovely.’
Ross nodded, his face seeming to close off again. ‘Good to know. Thanks, Lucy.’
And then our eyes slid away from each other’s faces like ice cubes on a glass tabletop, and we both turned back to our screens and worked in silence for the remainder of the afternoon.