Page 48 of The Ghost of Exes Past

‘No shrunken heads,’ he says, finally. ‘It’s sort of just … meh.’

‘Right.’ I nod. I look around this room: its peeling wallpaper, furniture clawed with cat scratches. It felt like home at the time but also … it too is pretty meh.

‘I know that feeling,’ I say, looking over to Arthur.

Jake turns towards him too. ‘Bless him,’ he says.

‘I wonder where he is now. Any chance we can find out?’

‘I don’t think so. This is all to do with present-day you, I’m afraid. Why do you think no one else can see me.’

We’re still for a moment. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ I say to Jake, ‘I think the cats can see you.’

All four of them roam around our feet now. One of them, Dutch, is staring up at Jake. It used to freak me out when they did that, just stare at a wall or the ceiling, almost like they could sense something we couldn’t. I reach down to pet Lenny, who flops onto his back, rolling, stomach in the air. I do miss these cats. Is it bad to admit I miss them more than Arthur?

My chest tightens. It’s so weird how you fall in love with people and then they become strangers. Like you know everything about them and then you break up and that’s it? We lived in each other’s pockets, Arthur and I. I’d take a bath, cats perched on the edge, while Arthur took a piss on the loo next to me. We set up assault courses in the flat stairwell to get our exercise, and wiped sweat from each other’s brows afterwards. He knew my routines, how I took my tea, but he never really knew what I was actually thinking. What kept me up at night. I’m not sure I ever let him.

‘Funny how the ones that don’t break your heart still manage to bruise it a bit.’ I draw my hand away from Lenny and stand up. ‘I thought I was past all this.’ I rub the back of my head. ‘And it’s about to get worse.’

Jake moves closer to me, pulls me in for a side hug, rubs my arm. I ease into him before I’ve decided to. Like muscle memory.

‘I think we can handle it, Belle. Want a drink first?’

Yes. ‘Drink, then let’s get the bad ones ticked off.’

We turn to face each other, cats circling our toes like hungry sharks, and hold hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jake

Bride Belle is back. I feel it in the way her grip loosens in my palm, as she slips her hand out of mine. I flex my fingers and massage them with my other hand, a totally normal thing to do which has nothing to do with me trying to replace the warmth of hers.

A sliver of cold air slices past me as she rushes towards the dresser. She pulls that same piece of paper out from … who knows where and proceeds to scribble on it.

‘What are you writing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’ve been writing “nothing” since Peter Cox.’ She doesn’t look up.

‘It’s a system,’ she says, furiously jotting.

‘You what?’

‘A system. For the soul. You said it’s at risk, so I’m being thorough.’ She folds the paper neatly along the same creases and places it … Oh, in her bra. Along with the pencil? Standard.

‘Thorough,’ I say as I collapse onto the bed, fingers rummaging into my pockets. I stare up at the ceiling of the four-poster, lined with a swirly fabric. I make out little gargoyle faces staring out at me from the carved posts of the bed. Petrifying. Creepy old bed. Why would someone choose this for their wedding night?

I hear the click of a light switch and an extractor fan whirrs up.

‘Won’t be a second!’ she calls out as she walks into the bathroom, and there it is again, that tone.

‘Why do you talk like that when we’re here?’ I frown in the direction of the gargoyles.

‘Like what?’ she calls back in that same tone.

‘I don’t know … All chirrupy chirpy.’ I hold my hands out in front of me, inspect the skin on the back and then plop them down on the duvet. ‘It sounds fake.’ I pause. ‘It’s not you. You’re all uptight.’