Page 19 of The Ghost of Exes Past

There’s a pause and I can taste the tension in the air.

‘Belle, I don’t know what else you want from me. I haven’t cheated; I haven’t slept with anyone else. You said yourself that I haven’t done any—’

‘You haven’t done anything, yeah, right.’

‘Well, I’m sorry that I’m not good enough, that this town is not good enough.’ He shrugs, eyes wide. ‘You’ll realise what you had.’

Young Belle’s face goes blank.

After a moment she nods, lips twisted to one side.

‘I’ve seen the video, Jake.’

Young Jake goes pale, his face set in stone. The room is silent.

Belle’s tears stop like someone has turned off a tap, but her lip is doing that thing, that subtle wobble in the corner.

It was always going to end this way, this conversation. I called him round to have the London talk again and I thought I could keep what I knew under wraps, but I couldn’t. It was bubbling away on the surface, on the tip of my tongue.

I glance towards the Jake beside me and he’s looking away, studying the wall beside him.

Young Belle’s nails are pinching her arm and I realise I’m doing the same, so hard that there are indents left above my elbow. I had been sitting on the sofa downstairs when the video had come through. A Facebook message from Jake’s best mate. I’d opened it with a grin, expecting a funny dance, a joke. But there was Jake, wearing the same T-shirt he’d worn the day we’d argued, the big fight when I’d told him I wanted to move to London. He was swinging a whisky bottle and raging.

I feel that familiar drop in my stomach, like it’s happening all over again. The words he’d said. I’d watched the video so many times, I could quote it by heart.

‘Let her fuck off to London, she’ll never find anyone better. Her life will be nothing without me … Not even that good in bed.’ A swig of whisky, a palm to wipe the drip from his chin. ‘Hope she has a great fucking life … alone.’

Young Jake shuffles on the bed and there it is: the look – the one thing I didn’t expect. The one image I’ve had plastered in my mind for the past ten years. His lips twist up, the dimples on his cheeks deepen. It’s not a grin, but a sort of tight amusement. A disbelieving half-laugh, the patronising one.

‘What video?’ He tries his luck.

‘Jake.’

‘You’re not actually upset about that, are you?’ He shakes his head, eyes closing slowly. ‘Belle, come on, that was a joke.’

‘Didn’t sound like a joke.’

Jake’s mouth is still upturned at the corners, hands running back through his hair.

‘Saying I’ll be alone forever isn’t a joke,’ she stutters, swallows. ‘Saying I was a shit shag isn’t a joke. It’s not funny.’

A laugh escapes his throat now; his brows are raised, and he’s still shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Everyone takes the piss out of their girlfriends – it’s what lads do.’

Young Belle turns away from him, covers her face with her palm. The video wasn’t venting. I didn’t recognise the boy in it; he wasn’t the Jake I thought I knew.

‘Who even sent you that? Vik? So he’s shit-stirring and I’m the bad guy.’ Jake slaps his palms to his knees.

‘Do you know how hearing that made me feel?’ she cries.

‘It’s not that big a deal, Belle.’

Belle flinches.

‘Did you mean it?’

He laughs now, properly – his face can’t contain it, isn’t even trying to hide the laughter.

Belle’s face breaks. The tears continue to fall, dark spots blooming on her jeans.