Page 60 of The Ghost of Exes Past

Next to us a barman collects empty glasses, stacking them in the crook of his elbow as the lights on the Christmas tree in the corner start flashing aggressively.

He pulls me in tight, so close that my head rests in his neck. We sway together like we used to.

There was a time I thought I’d marry him. I imagined us taking classes for our first dance, learning some romantic routine we’d practise in the kitchen. I won’t be having a first dance with Timothy tomorrow. Another tradition we’re breaking. We pretend it’s because we’re trendy, but really it’s because Timothy has two left feet and has to be perfect at everything. He didn’t care that I did care. I cried myself to sleep the night he admitted that he didn’t want to. A tug in my chest. That feels like a pretty big thing to have admitted, even to myself, in a bar at Christmas time, swaying with a dead man.

We rock together, Jake slightly offbeat to the music. Not badly, just to his own rhythm, which I’d forgotten was something he did. He wouldn’t have minded looking like a fool. Would have just wanted to see me smile.

Next to us there is a flash of a camera pointed at a group of girls, and a staggering rush of cold air from the door opening, but to me, it feels like the room has slowed once more. Like no one is here but us.

I feel Jake breathing in my hair, and it doesn’t put me on edge like it did with Joe. It feels like he’s trying to take in this moment. Store it for forever, rather than dominate. I feel his thumb move, just slightly, against my waist. If he’s realised he’s doing it, he’s decided not to stop.

I close my eyes, warmth spreading through my body. Still swaying, he pulls me closer, and I let him. I feel his other palm move to the small of my back, and I don’t resist. There’s about an inch between my face and his jaw and it’s all I can think about.

As the music fades into the next song, I hear him exhale, unsettled, like he’s resisting something. Is he not enjoying this closeness as much as I am? I pull up to search his face.

His eyes are soft, gentle in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I watch his chest rise, catch his mouth opening ever so slightly, the words not quite ready.

The way he’s resisting … His eyes are tracing my face – my mouth, my eyes, my chin, like he’s gearing up for something.

He has something to say. I know he does. I realise I’ve gone very still waiting for it, aware of my own breathing, aware of his, aware of the silence, aware of how quiet the air has gone between us.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, softly. I reach my hand up and rest it on his cheek.

He shakes his head. ‘Shall we go to the end of this one?’

He’s changed the subject, but all I can think about is this: was he about to tell me he still loves me? And why do I feel crushed he didn’t? And what does it say about me that I wanted him to? I need to get a grip. We’re almost through with all this now. Nearly finished with not only this time travelling, but the end of the evening. I should be happy to get back to the weekend, as planned. So why do I feel sad?

Somewhere behind us, Mariah starts up again. A crowd erupts in drunk harmonies. The penis frying pan is still there. Someone’s not getting their comedy breakfast tomorrow.

‘To the end,’ I mutter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jake

I dig my hands into my pockets and look around nervously. I’m expecting the worst, obviously. This time, we’re standing outside a row of houses, and everything is grey. I can’t tell if that’s because I’m losing my colour again, or because London this time of year is really that miserable. I can feel the cold in the way I can feel most things now, and I can tell it’s freezing. And if I weren’t a ghost, my hot breath would cloud against the chill. But I can’t. I try. Still can’t.

There’s a very dead Christmas tree on the pavement, a trail of pine needles leading back to a house a few doors down, like blood leading you to a crime scene. I always thought forensics would be a great job to get into. Shame I never got the chance.

The house we’re outside of is … quite nice, actually. A terraced house on a quiet street. Brown brick, black door, cement paving. A dead plant in a pot. The neighbour next door has Christmas lights still up and canned snow sprayed on the window, smudged with grubby fingerprints.

Turning towards Belle is like looking at the sun on a winter’s day. She is glowing. The pale pink dress clings to her curves, hair dancing in the breeze. She, too, is looking at the pine needles on the ground, tracing them back like I just did. I know she’s thinking the same CSI thoughts.

That moment we had just then in that bar. Was I imagining the tension? The heat between us? I can still feel the softness of her dress under my hands. The smell of her hair – fresh apples, always, and even now. I pinch my skin but can’t feel it, because I’m still a ghost. With a crush … more than that.

‘Where are we?’ I ask to break the ice.

‘Outside Joe’s,’ she says.

Right. That creepy guy with the posh voice and tailored clothes. The shaved head, presumably an attempt to hide the fact he was balding at a young age. You know when you look at someone and you just get bad vibes? Well, I definitely felt that with Sebastian. But this guy, Joe? I didn’t even really see his face and I still got bad vibes, just from the back of his head. Never trust a guy who looks like the back of Jason Statham, that’s what I say.

‘Things get better now,’ Belle says, before chewing the inside of her lip.

The door to the house opens. And young Belle exits, makeup free, a ringing phone in her hand, twirling a set of keys on her fingers. She’s wearing an oversized cable-knit jumper, pulled up to her neck. I can tell she’s still frail underneath. She shuts the door behind her, walks out of the front garden, and perches on the front brick wall.

‘Belle speaking,’ she answers the phone. Her voice is confident, but her body tells another story – arms wrapped around her chest, phone pressed to her ear.

She nods. Straightens. Smiles. Twizzles the keyring a few times more. There’s just one key on it and a metal fob from an estate agent I’ve never heard of. She looks back towards the house, then down at her feet. ‘Wow, this is fantastic news. I’m so thrilled to join you and your team!’