The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 23

'What are you going on about now'?'

'It's true. Just look at that Nigel Lawson. As a fat chancellor he looked in pretty good nick. Then he lost all that weight, and suddenly he looks like he's ready for his pension. Or what's left of it, after what his lot did to the economy.'

'I'm not having plastic surgery. Just drop it.'

'Fine.'

'Thank you.'

Dan continues to stare at me. 'Or...'

'What?'

'Have you thought about Botox?'

'Botox?'

'Yeah. Basically, they inject you with this stuff that removes all your wrinkles. Makes you look ten years younger almost overnight.'

'What sort of stuff?'

'I dunno. Its some kind of poison, I think. Paralyses the muscles that cause wrinkles. Voila! Face as tight as a baby's a.r.s.e.'

'Poison? What sort of poison?'

'That food poisoning one. Bot-something.'

'Botulism?'

Dan nods. 'Yeah. That's the fella.'

I stare at Dan's remarkably line-free face. 'How come you know so much about it?'

He shrugs. 'Got to think about the future. Protect the a.s.sets.'

'So let me get this straight. You want me to get food poisoning injected into my face on purpose, just so I can look a few years younger?'

'If you like.'

'And this'll be really cheap, I suppose?'

'About two hundred and fifty quid a pop,' he says. 'I imagine.'

'I can't just come round to your flat for dinner, get food poisoning, and achieve the same effect?'

'Cheeky b.u.g.g.e.r. But you'll think about it?'

'Dan, number one, I hate injections. Number two, I don't want poison injected into my face, or anywhere, now I come to think of it. And number three, I don't want to walk around looking like I've got a b.l.o.o.d.y mask on for the rest of the year. So no, I won't think about it.'

Dan sits back in his chair and holds his hands up. 'Fair enough. Only trying to help. But...'

'But what?'

'In that case, you really ought to give up the smoking. Completely. Very bad for the skin. Not to mention the teeth. Or the wallet.'

I stare fondly at the Marlboro in my hand. 'I'm trying. But on top of everything else I've had to give up-the beer, the chocolate, the pizza-it's hard.'

'Rubbish,' says Dan. 'Giving up smoking? Piece of p.i.s.s.'

'How would you know? You've never given up anything in your life.'

'I'm serious. It's easy.'

'Yeah, right. How does the joke go? "So easy I've done it hundreds of times".'

'Listen. Do any of your friends smoke?'

'Er...nope.'

'Does anyone at work smoke?'

'Seeing as there's only Natasha and me in the office, and she doesn't, then no.'

'So is there anyone you know, anyone at all, who you could possibly b.u.m a cigarette off if you get desperate?'

I think about this for a moment. There's only Billy, who I know smokes roll-ups, but that would be just too low.

'No.'

'Well, do you want to know the easiest way to give up?'

'Go on...'

Dan reaches across, takes my last Marlboro from me, and grinds it out distastefully in the ashtray. 'Stop buying cigarettes.'

Monday 14th February.

7.27 p.m.

It's Valentine's night, and I'm waiting for Dan in the Admiral Jim. That's not as sad as it sounds for either of us; my 'girlfriend' if you can still call her that, is several thousand miles away, and Dan never ever has a date on Valentine's evening, thinking it too much of a commitment thing.

I haven't received a card from Jane this morning, but I've just put that down to the fact that she probably wasn't able to find a post box, or even a card shop, come to think of it. Besides, I haven't sent her one either, although that's mainly because I don't know where exactly she is.

Dan's almost half an hour late, and I'm just about to call him on my new mobile, courtesy of 'Fone Home' (which I can't say unless it's in E.T.'s voice) in the high street, when he appears, grinning sheepishly. 'Sorry, mate. Had a job getting out of my front door.'

I don't take the bait. 'What are you talking about?'

'You know. With all the Valentine's cards blocking it.'

I sigh. 'Have you purposefully been hanging around outside for half an hour in the cold just so you can make that pathetic joke?'

Dan's face falls. 'Well, not quite half an hour.'

The Jim is having some kind of Valentine's theme night, with heart-shaped balloons flying above the tables, and the bar staff all dressed in pink. Not surprisingly it's pretty quiet, although I'm sure the same can't be said for thousands of tables-for-two at Brighton's various restaurants this evening.

As Dan pulls up a stool, Wendy appears behind the bar. She's wearing a pair of red heart-shaped, battery-operated, deeley-boppers, which flash on and off alternately. They're somewhat out of tune with her miserable expression.

'Evening you two lovebirds,' she says. 'What'll it be?'

'My usual,' says Dan, 'and another half for Edward.'

'What do you mean "another half"? I haven't had a beer.'

'Sorry mate. I meant to say "an other half".'

'Very funny.'

Wendy shakes her head. 'So what have you two got planned tonight? Something romantic?'

Dan stick his tongue out at her. 'It's my only night off in the year. I want to do something fun. Any suggestions, Eddy boy?'

'Dan, it's b.l.o.o.d.y Valentine's night. We can either go and sit in a restaurant surrounded by loved-up couples trying to inject some romance into their meaningless relations.h.i.+ps, go home and watch the umpteenth rerun of When Harry Met Sally or some other romantic rubbish, or sit here. Which would you prefer?'

'Good point.' Dan turns his attention back to Wendy, who's flas.h.i.+ng away opposite us. 'So, no date tonight?'

'Only with a large gla.s.s of wine when I get home.'

'What's your boyfriend doing this evening?' asks Dan.

Wendy reddens slightly. 'I don't have a boyfriend.'

'Why not?' I've asked this in the spirit of sympathy, and then suddenly realize that it's not the cleverest of questions. Particularly on Valentine s Day.

Wendy pulls up a stool. 'Well, number one, I work in a pub, so even though I meet a lot of men, they're usually drunk when they ask me out. Number two, because I work in a pub I'm busy most evenings and weekends, so don't have a lot of social life anyway, and number three, on the odd occasion I do go out with anyone I meet here, they're only after one thing. Besides,' she says, nodding at Dan, 'most of the single guys who come in here turn out to be losers anyway.'

'No offence taken,' says Dan.

'That's a shame,' replies Wendy.

'Ah,' I say. 'Hence the reason you're working this evening.'

'Exactly. I selflessly volunteered, so the other barmaids could spend the night with their nearest and dearest.'

'Nothing to do with the fact that they're paying you triple time, then?' suggests Dan.

'Maybe,' says Wendy. 'But at least I've got the pleasure of your company on this, the most loved-up of evenings,' she adds, dryly.

'Jane adored Valentine's Day,' I sigh. 'I used to cook her dinner, do flowers, chocolates, the works.'

'Romance the pants off her, you mean,' says Dan. 'It's just one big marketing con to sell truckloads of naff cards and vastly overpriced chocolates, all so suckers like Edward here can get his yearly s.h.a.g. I'm surprised you women don't just ask for the money instead.'

'So why didn't you keep it up for the rest of the year?' asks Wendy.

'Hur hur,' laughs Dan.

She ignores him. 'The romance, and stuff, I mean.'

I shrug. 'I didn't know I had to. I thought it was a bit like hunting, you know, once I'd snared her...Well, all the hard work had been done, apart from birthdays and Valentine's...'

Wendy shakes her head. 'Edward, a relations.h.i.+p needs constant attention. It's a living thing, not just a habit. You've got to keep on top of it.'

'Hur hur,' laughs Dan again, until I dig him in the ribs.

'It's like owning a car,' continues Wendy. 'You can't expect it to keep going on its own. It's bound to need a few minor repairs down the years.'

'And, of course, regular servicing,' chimes in Dan, s.m.u.ttily.

'And not just once a year,' says Wendy.

I look across at Dan, daring him to make a comment.

'What?' he says.

I'm starting to feel a bit guilty now, and try to explain myself. 'Valentine's Day was different. Kind of a tradition. Besides, we didn't go in for any of that romance stuff in the early days.'

'Why not?'

'Because we were students. Back then, romance was remembering someone's name in bed the next morning.'

'Sounds like my life today,' muses Dan.

Wendy rolls her eyes. 'Well, when was the last time you bought Jane flowers, for example? And please don't say "February the fourteenth last year".'

I have to think about this one. 'Er...I can't remember. Oh, hold on, yes I can. We were driving back from London one afternoon last summer and we'd stopped to fill up with petrol. The garage was selling off bouquets of roses that had reached their sell-by date, so I surprised her with some.'

Wendy shakes her head, sending her deeley-boppers into spasm. 'I'll bet you did. And you haven't "surprised" her with any since?'

'Nope. "Don't waste your money on things like this," she'd said.'

'So you just didn't buy her any. Ever again?'

I give Wendy a puzzled look. 'Well, she'd told me not to.'

Wendy sighs. 'You really haven't been listening to her, have you? When she said not to waste your money on things like that, you a.s.sumed she meant flowers in general, right?'