Page 42 of The Ghost of Exes Past

Things I have learned, visit 5:

I knew when to let go … First time for everything.

Orange wine is not as nice as it sounds.

I put myself first and it worked out. Why didn’t I do that more?

I miss her, actually.

Note: still have that book she gave me. Going to read it this time. Actually gonna.

I peel the paper off my palm, which has turned oddly clammy. Must be the fireplace. Not what’s still to come. That’s not something I want to think about just yet … I tuck the paper and pencil back into my bra and start to rub my palms on my dress. Stop. This dress costs an entire month’s rent of that Bethnal Green flat. Plus, I’m a woman now. Women don’t rub sweaty palms on satin. The old me did that and she’s not invited this weekend.

Right. Where’s my husband-to-be?

I find him waiting for me, elbow outstretched, and I grin at him, take his arm and we walk onto the grounds.

The fireworks are magic. So why does my stomach keep dropping? I shiver. It’s really damn cold. My right heel keeps sinking into the grass. One of Timothy’s aunts looks a little too drunk and she stumbles to my left. Is this feeling just nerves, or excitement? Or is it that my dead ex has been dragging me around on a time-travelling road trip of my past failed relationships?

Timothy pulls me closer. He’s standing behind me, arms around my chest, chin resting on the top of my head. I know what this looks like from the outside: the perfect candid couple shot. The one the photographer has been angling for all evening. I can feel the lens pointing at me from somewhere to my left. Instead of feeling safe, I feel claustrophobic. I stay very still, fighting the urge to step forward and shake Timothy off, as smiling guests are watching us now too.

Timothy’s sharp stubble scrapes along my cheek as he leans down. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for us this weekend. Everything so far has been perfect.’ I tilt my head to give him a peck on the cheek.

Should I be annoyed that he said ‘so far’? And damn right it’s perfect. I feel like I’ve been working two jobs for the past year. I had to turn down a weekend away with my cousins, which got silently downgraded to ‘maybe next year’, because I had a weekend of Zoom calls with venue options. I had to give up my monthly book club because all the reading I could manage were brochures and contracts. I even missed Aunt Susan’s retirement party because I was knee-deep in spreadsheets and logistics. Every time I had to say no, I told myself it was an investment. That this moment would be worth it.

‘I’m constantly amazed by you, Belle. I love you.’ I watch Timothy’s face go orange and then red as the fireworks illuminate him. For a moment that urge I was feeling lightens. I find myself pressing closer without meaning to.

He means it. That’s the thing about Timothy, he always means it. My natural instinct is to hold it at arm’s length, inspect it, look for the catch, but there isn’t one with him. I’ve never felt so certain of being loved. Never felt so steady inside a relationship. Compared to what came before him – and I’m dreading reliving those memories – Timothy is a gem. A rare jewel. A thing hard to find in modern dating.

These jitters must just be nerves. Cold feet, like Jules said. Everything is going smoothly. I have nothing to worry about.

I don’t.

The crowd goes silent – a collective held breath – and then my favourite kind go off. The twizzly ones: silent at first, but then the sky comes apart in an explosion of glitter. I get chills across my shoulders, and for a moment I’m not thinking about anything other than this. Just the sky.

A gust of wind pushes a cloud of smoke over the crowd and I spot him then. Jake. He’s standing next to Vik, hands in his pockets, eyes to the sky. I watch as he takes a deep inhale. The same one he’d do when he was trying to take things in, be more present. He tilts his chin up and closes his eyes for a second. For a moment he looks just like the old Jake.

He doesn’t know I’m watching and I note something on his face I can’t describe. Not sadness, but something similar. Like he’s trying to memorise this moment …

Then the smell hits me. I close my eyes, inhaling that dry, gunpowder smell, almost metallic in my mouth. It takes me back to one bonfire night we had together. How we had set off fireworks in the field behind his house. How we’d run, mock screaming, back to our blankets after lighting the fuse. Cheesy music was playing from his battered, portable speaker, getting overshadowed by the loud bangs. How we crawled over each other. How he had the ability to make the world stand still when he smiled at me. How he always knew the spot. How I clawed his skin in ecstasy. The smell of smoke in my hair for days after, not wanting to wash the memory out.

What would life have been like if he had lived? Is there a world where there could have been a way back for us? A world where we’d have gone our separate ways and grown up. Could we have come back together? I imagine watching us, an outsider looking in, playfully fighting the crowds down Columbia Road. We’d argue about the price of the hydrangea stems, his hand holding two coffee cups in a cardboard holder and a bouquet of roses clutched in the crack of his elbow.

The fireworks pull me back. I swallow and push myself a little harder into the body behind me. He squeezes his arms around me tighter – Timothy squeezes his arms around me tighter.

It’s a strange thing, watching your entire romantic history play out before you in one evening. Like a boxset of trauma nobody asked for. And this feels like the first moment I can really take a step back. Try to take stock, learn something so that I don’t get damned for eternity. What have I actually learned so far, though, from the lists I’ve been making, kept neat and tidy in my bra?

Let’s start with Vik. God, I try not to think about what happened with us, and it’s obvious why. There’s no lesson from that evening that I can wrap up neatly; instead, I just have the memory of doing something that, in the moment, I realised was wrong, but still did it anyway, because the alternative was going home to an empty bed and feeling feelings.

But I think that what Vik taught me, if that’s even the right word, is that I could make a mess of something and still be standing afterwards. Which is more useful than it sounds. Also, that car sex is genuinely terrible and if anyone tells you it isn’t, they’re lying. Need to add that to my list.

Nat, I think about more fondly. Not because he did anything particularly significant, apart from being generally gorgeous and uncomplicated. But dancing at the bar that night – no bag, no phone, no idea of the time – was the first time since Jake died that I properly felt like myself again. Like Belle was still in there, and I hadn’t lost her entirely. Nat didn’t give me that, but he was there when I found her.

I think about Emma with warmth. She taught me what it feels like to be truly seen. Not as an asset, not to be won over, but just recognised and accepted for all of my strengths and flaws. Also, that it is possible to put yourself first and come out the other side, not just intact, but clearer. I walked away from her because I wasn’t ready to stop living the life I was building and she let me go without making me feel guilty for it. I’ve never forgotten that.

Also, that multiple orgasms are achievable. Thank you, Emma.

Jake taught me … Well, that relationship taught me I had ambition, for one. That I was capable of more than just my hometown and a sensible plan. As for anything else … I slump, pick the skin around my fingers. I don’t have words for it yet. Maybe I won’t tonight.