Page 52 of The Ghost of Exes Past

Across the room, a younger me tips her head back, laughing at something Anna said. The orange-red lips. The heels. Taking up space without meaning to. He changes direction.

Anna sees him before I do. We exchange a look – quizzical is generous, it’s more ‘oh, who’s this, then’ – and then he’s there, elbow on the wall above my shoulder. Biceps flashing, flexing. Same move he’s used twice already tonight. I didn’t know that then.

I watch younger me straighten slightly. Not nervous but … interested. She fiddles with her perfectly curled hair, lifting it from the base of her neck. Holds eye contact even when she drinks.

Jake shifts forward slightly – not much, just enough that his shoulder comes between me and the room. The cheese is gone from his hands.

‘You fell for him straight away?’ he asks.

‘I think I was in the mood to fall for someone.’

I watch Sebastian reach a hand to younger Belle’s chin, tipping it up. Younger me doesn’t pull away. Anna leaves us to ourselves.

‘He’d have done this to anyone who would’ve had him. I just happened to be the one who did.’

I look away before he leans in. A sour taste in my throat. Jake and I stand in silence for a moment. Across the room someone pops open a bottle of prosecco. Luke wolf-whistles. The Bitcoin man is waffling on to someone else now, something about pivoting careers, LinkedIn, Zoom fatigue.

‘What happened?’ Jake asks eventually.

I keep my eyes on the carpet. There’s a patch the shape of an iron, hard and crusty, burned into it.

‘He … He wasn’t very nice.’

‘In the usual ways?’

‘No.’ A long pause. ‘More than that.’

Jake waits. I’m grateful for his new patience.

‘I didn’t recognise it at the time. That’s the bit I can’t …’ I stop. ‘He made me feel like I was the problem. Told me I was overreacting, too sensitive, that what he did wasn’t that bad. And I believed him. I guess it wasn’t the first time I’d heard it.’

I pull one of my sleeves back up over my shoulder, holding it there for a moment, like if I let go the whole dress might slip. ‘I see now it was borderline emotional abuse. A bit of physical … I didn’t like a lot of things he did to me in bed.’ I swallow, try to force down the ball rising in my throat. ‘But he insisted.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know where I went or how it got—’ I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t need to … I turn away so Jake can’t see my face, my eyes prickling.

He turns and his arms wrap around me, big and certain, pulling me back against him so I’m facing away from the room, away from Sebastian, away from all of it, and something in my chest gives in.

The tears come silently.

‘It was bad,’ I say. ‘I wish I could rip her away from here. Pull her from that windowsill and out of the door.’

His arms tighten. ‘How long were you together?’

‘About a year.’ My head droops. ‘Way too long. He basically forced himself into the flat I worked so hard to secure. It was so hard to get him gone.’

Jake goes very still. Something moves in his chest. Then his arms. I can feel his neck straining, how he’s fighting the urge to cross the room.

‘Don’t,’ I say quietly, turning to face him.

He stops. Jaw tight, nostrils flaring, and still not looking at me. I reach for his hands and lace my fingers through his, properly.

‘Let’s just get it over with,’ I say. ‘To the end?’

Eyes dark, he takes one last look towards Sebastian across the room. Then he turns to face me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jake

It’s freeze-your-tits-off cold in here. And dark, with only a sliver of light from a lamppost outside cutting through the crack in the curtains, just enough to make out shapes in the room. This place seems absent of smell … and absent of character, which is very unlike Belle. I squint to try to take in more surroundings. We’re standing in front of a built-in kitchenette. The sink is overflowing with dirty dishes. A leather sofa sits next to a wall, deep white cracks marbling its covers. A fly buzzes through the room. I swat it away. I would normally make a joke here. I don’t have one.