Page 27 of The Ghost of Exes Past

I’m gutted now that I missed my funeral. I would have quite liked to have heard the eulogies – nice to know you were liked, you know? Fuck, I hope there weren’t any hymns. I had a song picked out. It was the only thing I’d ever thought about in relation to dying. Had always said that when I went, I wanted them to play ‘Bolero’: Fulham’s entrance song at Craven Cottage – my team, despite having grown up in Maidstone, which is a long story involving my dad and a 1983 FA Cup that I won’t get into now. It also happens to feature on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack, which I maintain makes it a legit cinematic choice, not just a football thing. It builds and builds and never quite resolves, which, frankly, feels appropriate. Would have been a laugh and probably given my mum a heart attack, which feels like a fitting send-off.

I wonder now if anyone remembered to tell them. About the song. I picture the lads at the wake just then – finishing the dregs of the booze – sitting in a row on that small stage, which the next day was probably going to be home to a toddler’s birthday or something. They were playing some of my favourite tracks on their phones, singing along to the chorus, out of beat and tone.

All that’s left of remembering Jake Marleigh: a bunch of lads swigging flat fizz, singing out of key to an indie track I once liked, and watching my mate comfort my ex … If that’s what you can call it. What a legacy.

I get another whiff now of booze. There’s an almost empty bottle of whisky knocking about near my feet.

‘Vik, you fucking idiot,’ I mutter. ‘I die in a car crash, and two weeks later you drive home drunk?’

Belle shakes her head next to me. ‘Grief changes people, Jake.’ She’s inspecting her nails now. ‘Makes you act in ways you normally wouldn’t, I guess.’ I assume she’s not apologising for sleeping with Vik here and … There it goes again, my stomach churns. How am I going to get through the next ten years of her love life with her?

I can just imagine Gabe saying, ‘I did mention it wouldn’t be a spa day …’

Fuck off, Gabe, you stay all nice and cosy up there in your attic, with your nice pots and pans, and don’t worry about me, sat here inhaling sex fumes. A fox screams in the distance while I force down a bitter taste. Great, now I’m having an imaginary argument with another ghost. I go to crack open the window but pull back, remembering I don’t want to touch anything.

Vik fidgets in the front seat, causing the car to gently sway. He shifts his hands on the wheel, drums his fingers once. I know that energy. That’s the energy of a guy about to say something he’s been rehearsing.

Vik clears his throat. ‘I think you’re a great girl …’ Vik says.

Suddenly, I perk up. Classic breakup line, that.

‘But …’

Is what I think is going to happen actually going to happen? I lean in closer.

‘I think we both know this was a mistake.’ My jaw drops as I watch how young Belle up front twiddles with her skirt, lips pursed, nodding her head.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I open my mouth, close it again, try to process what I’m witnessing. Vik, you naughty, naughty boy – you’re worse than I was! You only just shagged an hour ago! At least let her have a good night’s sleep before breaking up!

Vik sighs. ‘You know, we’re both sad and drunk …’

A tear drops and lands on her top. ‘Yes, I think we’re going to regret it in the morning,’ Belle whimpers, her shaky voice contradicting the eager nodding of her head. I watch her continue to nod … Still nodding. The nodding does a lot of the heavy lifting here. I’ve never watched someone agree themselves into being broken up with before.

‘Why are you crying? It was only a shag!’ I nudge Belle next to me as she inspects her nails. I feel that comforting thrill of a laugh erupting from my belly.

‘Was his dick that good?’ I splutter.

‘You’re disgusting.’ Belle frowns.

‘Yeah.’ I wipe my eyes, almost crying with laughter. ‘Yeah, I am.’

There’s a pause. Then I swear I see the corner of her lip curve up. A little smile, almost.

‘I admit I had forgotten this part.’ Belle rolls her eyes.

I can’t believe this – Vik, of all people, who has known Belle almost as long as I have, has just dumped her on the night of her ex’s funeral, before she’s even had a chance to sober up, and I somehow bagged front-row seats for the show.

‘Well, this definitely makes up for the fact that I have to sit in this car that stinks of what you two just did. It almost makes it worth it.’

‘This car stank like this before I got in it, Jake,’ Belle snaps back.

Vik starts up again as Belle’s nodding softens. ‘I’m sorry, Belle. We can still be mates, right?’ He leans in and pats her on the back … Pat pat, like he’d give me after we’d done something we probably shouldn’t have. He grimaces as Belle’s sobs get louder and he goes in for a hug to calm her.

It’s awkward as fuck. Belle’s hands stay limply in her lap while Vik shuffles around the gear stick, unable to decide which side to lean into. He goes in right, then pulls back, tries left. Classic Vik – lead with action, then work out logistics. I watch as he stares at the headrest behind her; patting her back while hugging her. Great. After a few seconds, Belle shuffles, leans back and collects her bag from the floor, before whispering bye.

A wash of cold air hits us as she opens the car door, slams it shut and stumbles into her house. All three of us watch as the hallway light turns off. On one second, off the next. I watch the dark windows for a moment, then turn to Vik, who is doing the same thing. There’s a part of me who feels sad for Belle, in her house, in the dark, on her own after a hard day, but also, it seems like she got over me and under someone else quickly enough.

Vik lets out an awkward sigh and turns around, and out of instinct, Belle and I duck. We’re halfway down before we realise we’re doing it, pressing ourselves down in the backseat of the car like teenagers hiding from our parents.