The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 6

'When was the last time you went for a check-up?'

I think about this for a moment. 'Just after we came back from holiday. Thailand, I think it was. I'd chipped a tooth trying to open a beer bottle to impress Jane.'

'Cla.s.sy,' says Dan. 'And when was that, exactly?'

'I'm not sure. Thailand? Nineteen...'

Dan holds up a hand. 'Let me stop you there. What year is it now?'

I look at my watch for some reason. 'Two thousand and-'

'Exactly,' interrupts Dan. 'So nineteen-anything is bad. You, my friend, need some serious a.s.sistance in the dental department.'

'But I hate the dentist.'

'Why?'

'I'm scared of the injections.'

Dan laughs. 'Go and see mine. You won't feel a thing. Anyway, it's just a little p.r.i.c.k.'

'So my flatmate tells me,' interrupts Wendy, depositing our food on the table in front of us.

'Right,' continues Dan. 'What else? She can't just have fallen for your personality. As winning as it is,' he adds, as an afterthought.

'Well...she said I was a good kisser.'

'Whoa,' he says, sitting bolt upright. 'That's as far as I'm prepared to advise you.'

'And she always used to say I was funny.'

'Funny ha ha or funny strange?'

'What do you think?'

Dan pretends to be confused for a second or two. 'So anyway,' he says. 'Let's recap. Eyes, smile; two things that fundamentally we should be able to get back to somewhere near their former glory. As for your sense of humour, well, I suppose that's still there. Just not much in evidence at the moment.'

I peer at the laptop screen-it seems like a very short list. 'Is there anything you want to add to that? After all, you've known me for as long as Jane has.'

Dan scratches his head. 'Er...Good point. Well, you...you're very, er...' He looks at me blankly.

'Thanks, mate.'

'Hold on,' he says. 'There's got to be something.'

'Which is?' I ask, after he's left a silence a little too long for my liking.

'Well...You've got me as a friend. How many people can say their best mate's a TV star?' He sits smugly back in his chair.

'Dan, try to remember. This is supposed to be about me.'

'Ah. Okay. Well, you've...got a good personality.'

'Thanks. Isn't that always what they say about ugly girls?'

'You're generous,' chimes in Wendy, who's obviously been earwigging from behind the bar. 'And you're kind. And reliable. Unlike a certain somebody.'

I manage a tight-lipped smile. 'You see,' I say to Dan. 'I have hidden depths.'

'And, unfortunately, not-so-hidden widths,' he replies.

As Dan sits there, tapping furiously at the keyboard, I cover my chips in ketchup and eat them hungrily. Eventually he stops typing, and looks up at the screen.

'Can we get on to your bad points now?' he asks, folding his arms. 'I've got a few for that one.'

I brace myself. 'Go on then.'

"'Appearance,'" he says, reading through his list. "'Body". "Car". "Diet". "Exercise". "Flat"...'

My jaw drops. 'You've done this alphabetically?'

Dan nods, without a trace of guilt. 'Well, I didn't know how else to rank them.' He turns the screen round to face me, and I scan down it with growing disbelief.

'Car? What's wrong with my car?'

'Edward. You drive a Volvo. And a Volvo estate at that.'

'So? What's that got to do with anything?'

Dan ignores my question. 'Anyway. The good news is that the physical things are all superficial. Easy to change. However...' His voice tails off.

'However?'

'It's just that, as we know, where relationships are concerned it's not just about the physical stuff, is it?'

'It is for you.'

'Yes, but we're talking about Jane. Look at what she wrote. It's obvious that there was other stuff too.' He spins the laptop back around. 'For example, "Job...'"

'Job?'

'Yes. You've been doing the same job since college. She hasn't.'

'Yes, well. Most relationships only have room for one career person. In ours it was Jane.'

Dan spears a piece of chicken and pops it into his mouth. 'Well, maybe she wanted it to be you.'

'Are you going to spend the whole evening picking holes in me?'

Dan puts his fork down and hits the 'save' key. 'Listen, Edward. You asked for my help.'

'I know. But I was hoping for more of a character a.s.sessment, not a character a.s.sa.s.sination. And besides, I'm just not sure your views are valid. After all, you're a man.'

'Well, if you won't take my word for it, we need to get a second opinion. And seeing as Jane's in Tibet...'

'Any suggestions?'

Dan considers this for a moment or two. 'Listen. Hard as it is for me to believe, there was a time that Jane found you attractive. Unless, of course, you got her drunk. Or pregnant. Or both. But she obviously fancied you once.'

'Back at college.'

'Exactly. So what we need is someone else who knew you then. Someone who maybe even fancied you. And someone who hasn't seen you since, if possible.'

I think back to my college days, working through my pre-Jane student love life. Sadly, only one name springs to mind.

'Sally Hall.'

Dan frowns. 'Sally Hall? Who's she?'

'You remember. Sally Hall. Accountancy student. Year above us. Dark hair. Huge...'

'b.r.e.a.s.t.s?' asks Dan, hopefully.

'I was going to say "fan of the Cure". But now you mention it...'

Dan takes a mouthful of salad. 'Can't place her. Unfortunately.'

'She was the girl I went out with before I met Jane.'

He looks at me blankly. 'Still nope.'

'The one you "consoled" the night she and I split up. On the gra.s.s outside the student union. In full view of the hostel TV lounge, as it turned out.'

Dan smiles as he retrieves that particular memory from the archives. 'Ah. That was Sally Hall, was it?'

I nod. 'I wonder what ever happened to her.'

Dan shrugs, 'Probably still pining after me. Like the rest of them.'

'But how on earth do I get in touch with her? It was ten years ago.'

Dan puts a hand on my shoulder. 'Let me worry about that. Right now you've got more important things to think about.'

'Exactly. Getting Jane back.'

'Nope,' he motions towards his empty gla.s.s, 'getting the drinks in.'

I head off to the bar as instructed. When I get back to the table, Dan is staring intently at the screen, and seems to be typing in his credit-card number.

'What are you doing?'

'Shush. Tell you in a moment.'

'Can I...'

'Shut up for a second, will you?'

I do as I'm told, and chew my burger quietly. Eventually, Dan puts his wallet away and looks up from the keyboard. 'Yes, Edward?'

'I just wanted to ask how we find Sally Hall?'

'Already taken care of.'

'How...What...When?'

'Edward, Edward...' says Dan. 'Let me introduce you to a recent invention called "the internet".' He spins the screen round so I can see it. 'Ta-da!'

'I know what the internet is, Dan. How come you can get online here in the Jim? I didn't know it was a hot spot.'

Dan smiles, 'Anywhere around me is a hot spot. Especially my trouser area.'

'Please, Dan. I'm eating.'

He taps his laptop affectionately. 'The joys of wireless technology. The girl from PC World came round and set it up for me.'

I can sense a story coming on. 'Oh yes?'

Dan nods. 'Yup. I can now access the internet from my living room, bathroom,' he breaks into a grin, 'even in bed, as it turns out.'

I take the bait that he's dangled in front of me. 'In bed?'

'Well, we had to test it. But in fact it's got a range of about three hundred metres, which just happens to be the approximate distance from my flat to this pub.'

On the screen I recognize the 'Friends Reunited' logo. Beneath it is the heading 'University of Brighton, 1995', and a list of vaguely familiar names, including, of course, a recently updated entry for a 'Dan Davis'.

He clicks on the 'previous page' b.u.t.ton, and reads off the screen. 'Here she is. Sally Hall, cla.s.s of '94. No photo, unfortunately. Living in London, working in Pimlico as a finance director...blah blah blah. Quite the career girl, it seems. And she was interested in you?'

I nod. 'I was quite a catch.'

Dan looks at me pityingly. 'Note the word "was" in that sentence. Anyway,' he says, clicking the mouse b.u.t.ton a few times, 'this is what you wrote.'

I stare at him, aghast. 'What do you mean "what I wrote"?'

Dan takes a sip of his wine, then reads his email back to me. 'Dear Sally. Hi, Edward Middleton here. Remember me? I certainly haven't forgotten you. Long time no see, but I need to ask you a favour.'

I go white. 'Please tell me you didn't click "send"?'

'I could tell you that, but it would be a lie. Anyway-what have you got to lose? Apart from the seven pounds fifty you owe me for the joining fee.'