The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 43

Through what look like plastic palm trees in one corner, I eventually spot Dan. He's lying in the Jacuzzi, with a blissful look on his face.

'Typical,' I say under my breath. 'Talk about taking advantage of Natasha's hospitality.'

I'm just about to call out to him when Sam puts a finger on my lips and points towards David, who seems to have Natasha's dress draped over one of his arms.

'I think he might be the one who's being taken advantage of,' she says.

Confused, I peer back towards the Jacuzzi, where Dan still hasn't seen us, probably due to the fact that he's got his eyes shut. Suddenly, there's even more of a disturbance in the bubbling water, and Natasha's head surfaces from between Dan's legs. I suddenly feel unclean, like I've walked in on my parents kissing.

'Impressive,' whispers Sam.

'What is?'

'Natasha. She can stay underwater for a really long time.'

Natasha takes a deep breath and goes back under, causing Dan's face to change from blissful to ecstatic-an expression I'll take with me to my grave. We watch, perversely fascinated for a few seconds, until Natasha re-surfaces, and Dan decides to stand up. This is one image I can do without, so Sam and I sneak out through the door, giggling like children.

We retrieve the Mini and head back into Brighton, Sam dropping off into a doze and resting her head on my shoulder as I drive. I consider taking a longer route home to prolong the moment, but then worry that she might wake up suddenly and think I'm abducting her. When I eventually pull into her street, she stirs awake.

'Thank you for a lovely evening,' she says, trying hard to conceal a yawn. 'I'd invite you in for a coffee, but firstly you shouldn't be drinking the stuff, and secondly, we've both got to get up early.'

'No problem,' I say. 'I'll be off now, then.'

She smiles. 'So I'll see you in the morning?'

'As usual,' I reply, but with a touch of sadness. After all, from tomorrow, it won't be 'usual' any more.

As Sam gets out of the car, I hold out my hand, and she shakes it, rather formally.

'Thanks again,' she says. 'I had a really nice time.'

'Me too. Natasha throws a good party.'

'No, I mean I had a nice time with you, Edward. You're lovely company. I can't see how Jane can fail to be charmed.'

'You think so?'

Sam smiles again, and squeezes my arm. 'I know so.'

Friday 15th April.

7.54 a.m.

The morning sun glints off the sea as we jog down from the gym, turn right between the piers, and then as usual, pick up the pace along the seafront. For the first time, and in our very own Rocky/Apollo Creed moment, I manage to keep up with Sam on the final stretch, then out-sprint her to the bandstand.

As I dance around in celebration, my hands above my head, Sam chases after me and punches me playfully in the belly. I'm ready for her, and tense my stomach muscles to easily absorb the blow.

Sam raises her eyebrows. 'Well, you're done,' she p.r.o.nounces, as if she's checking a pan of potatoes.

'Thanks. And I couldn't have done it without you.'

Sam shrugs. 'You're the one who did all the work, not me.'

'Yes, but I don't mean just for the physical side, if you'll excuse the phrase...'

She smiles. 'Don't mention it. Oh, and before I forget, I've got something for you.'

As she reaches into her rucksack, I suddenly feel a little awkward.

'There's no need,' I stammer. 'I mean, I haven't bought you anything...'

'No-this.' Sam holds out my front-door key. Not for the first time, I hope she mistakes my red face for effort. 'And actually, yes you have.'

'What do you mean?'

'An hour a day, five days a week, for three months, at forty pounds an hour...You've bought me quite a lot, actually.'

'Ah. Well, you're welcome.'

As I do a couple of unprompted stretches against the metal railings, Sam comes and leans next to me. 'So,' she says. 'Tomorrow's the big day?'

'Yup.'

'When does she arrive?'

'Early morning, I think.'

'You think?'

I nod. 'There's only one flight a day from Tibet, and that gets in at seven. Seven a.m., that is.'

Sam whistles. 'Early start.'

I smile. 'I'm used to those now.'

'Well, good luck, Edward. I hope you get what you want.'

'Thanks.'

'And remember to keep it up.'

'Pardon?'

'You know what I mean. The exercise.'

'Oh. Right.'

'And say hi to Dan for me.'

'Will do. a.s.suming he didn't drown in the Jacuzzi last night.'

'And I hope Billy gets better soon.'

'Yup. Me too.'

'And do thank Natasha for me. Great party.'

'OK. Sure.'

We stand in silence for a while, staring out at the sea, and then Sam looks at her watch.

'Well, time is money, and the world is full of fat people waiting for their thin selves to appear.'

I pretend to be hurt. 'You've already got someone else to replace me?'

She nods. 'Easy come, easy go. But...'

'But what?'

Sam leans in and gives me the briefest of hugs, before pecking me on the cheek. 'But you've got my number.'

With that she smiles, then jogs away along the seafront.

For a moment, I have an insane urge to run after her, but manage to stop myself.

After all, what on earth would I say if I caught her?

1.21 p.m.

Natasha doesn't appear in the office until lunchtime. Strangely, I haven't been able to raise Dan on his mobile either.

'Any messages?' she asks, before she's even sat down.

'Er...no.'

Natasha stares anxiously at her mobile, and then picks up the office phone to check for a dial tone. 'None at all?'

'No,' I say, thinking about Dan's usual modus operandi, and wondering how this will affect my recent promotion. 'Sorry.'

'Oh, well,' Natasha sighs, and puts the receiver back down. 'Did you have a good time last night?'

'Yes, thanks,' I say, grinning at her. 'Did you?'

She looks at me strangely. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Nothing,' I reply, innocently. 'I tried to find you to say goodbye. But I couldn't.'

'Oh?' says Natasha, the merest hint of redness creeping into her cheeks, before she goes on the offensive. 'You can't have looked very hard.'

'Evidently not,' I say, thinking unlike Dan, and glad that Sam and I left the pool room when we did. 'But Sam sends her thanks as well.'

'Ah yes,' says Natasha. 'Sam's lovely. Have you given up on Jane, then?'

'No,' I splutter. 'Sam's my personal trainer.'

'So I could see,' says Natasha. 'And with the emphasis on the word "personal", by the looks of things.'

I'm wondering how on earth to answer this, when something miraculous happens; the office phone rings, and when I pick it up, it's Dan. I decide to feign ignorance.

'h.e.l.lo, Dan,' I say, noting Natasha's sudden interest. 'What happened to you last night? I looked everywhere for you.'

'Sorry, mate. I was...' Dan clears his throat, 'otherwise engaged.'

'You pulled, didn't you?'

'Might have done...'

Normally this would be the cue for Dan to regale me with last night's most intimate details. This time, however, he's unusually silent. 'Come on, what was she like?'

'Er...'

I can see Natasha listening in from her desk, so pretend that he's spilling the beans. 'Oh, no. Really? That bad? She didn't?'

As Dan starts to question my parentage, Natasha raps loudly on her desk.

'Edward. No personal phone calls in the office, please.'

I place a hand over the mouthpiece. 'That's rich. All you ever do is make personal phone calls. Anyway, mate,' I say back to Dan, 'did you call just to brag about your latest conquest?'

'No, I...Can I speak to Natasha please?'

I pretend to be surprised, enjoying the fact that Natasha is looking all fl.u.s.tered across from me.

'Natasha?' I look over and raise one eyebrow in her direction, and for the first time in nearly ten years I see Natasha go completely red-for reasons other than apoplectic rage, that is. 'Why? Oh, I see, the party. What's that? You want to thank her for having you.'

As Dan splutters down the telephone line, Natasha leaps up from her chair, her vulnerability lasting all of about half a second before she marches over and s.n.a.t.c.hes the phone from me.

'Thank you, Edward.'

With a grin, I pick up my jacket and head out of the room.

1.42 p.m.

When I walk back into the office clutching a muesli bar and a banana, Natasha's sitting at her desk, flicking absentmindedly through a copy of the Financial Times.