Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) (26 page)

Good
ones.

‘All I want,’ he says as he turns to face me, ‘is another chance. Put the past behind us. Not try to get the old relationship back, but to start a
new
one.’

God almighty, he’s still a beautiful man.

‘I don’t know Mike. We’d have to take it slow.’

‘I know! That’s fine with me. We’ll do it your way.’

I take far less time to make a decision than I would have liked.

‘Alright. A second chance,’ I tell him. I’m not sure whether this is the right decision, but the green of his eyes and the blue of the lake are doing a good job of convincing me it is.

Mike leans in and I let him kiss me.

I’m not sure whether it’s better than the way Jamie Newman does it or not.

‘So the shop’s going okay is it?’ he asks as he pulls away. This is something of a sharp change in subject, but I don’t immediately think too much of it.

‘Not too bad. Sales have picked up.’

‘You’re in the black then?’

‘Yes. At last.’

‘That’s great to hear. I’ll be happy to get involved again.’

What?

‘What?’

‘You know, with the shop? That’s one thing I’ve really been looking forward to about getting back together.’

‘How do you mean?’ This is confusing. Mike’s only contribution to the shop had been the five grand he’d given me when I was starting out. He’d never shown a moment’s interest in it after that.

There had even been one time when he’d said he thought that
Thorntons
sold better quality chocolate. He’d slept on the couch that night.

‘You know? With the shop? Things have been tight for me recently. The gym shut its doors so I’ve been out of work for a few months.’

My eyes narrow. ‘So what are you expecting from me?’

Mike can’t look me in the eye. ‘Well, I did put a lot of money into the place when you opened it. In a way it’s kinda partly mine.’

‘Really?’ The lazy evening sun can’t melt the ice in my voice.

‘Yeah. Don’t you think it’s fair I get something back?’

This is when I realise what a complete and utter fool I’ve been.

I feel faint.

I’ve been well and truly suckered.

Mike doesn’t want me back. He wants a
job
. He wants a cut of my profits.

The scum-sucking piece of shit has lost his job (and probably the girlfriend at the same time) and wants to lean on me for support.

All the talk of the past, the meeting at the lakes, the apologies, the charming smile,
the
deep green eyes - all of it is
bullshit
.

…and I’ve fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Just like all those times he’d come home late saying he’d been out with the boys. I’d believed him at the time, but now? When he’d finally showed his true colours?

He was with her, you stupid twit.

I feel on the verge of tears.

A hopeless sense of frustration, self-pity and betrayal washes over me. It’s like he’s dumping me all over again.

I’m probably going to stand here in this beautiful place and cry my eyes out in front of the man that’s made my life a misery.

The man I’d once again trusted like a total idiot.

Jamie Newman’s earnest, honest face pops back into my head… notably the look of hurt in his eyes as I’d told him about seeing Mike.

If I had a mirror handy I bet I’d see that same expression reflected back at me now.

Grief and self-loathing turn instantly to anger.

I’ve let Mike ruin the best thing in my life. I’ve traded a good man (with horrific cooking skills, admittedly) for a pathetic coward.

‘Are you okay, baby?’ the coward says. ‘Everything I said makes sense, yeah?’ he continues, unaware of the turmoil going on in my head. ‘Shall we give it a try? I can start at the shop on Monday. It’ll be great!’

Do you know that I’ve never punched someone in the face before, Mum?

It’s quite a satisfying experience.

Even if it does mean you take an age writing an entry in your diary because your hand is throbbing so much.

I cock one arm back and try to remember what I’d seen them do in all those action movies.

Making a fist, I bring my arm back round with a scream of rage and connect soundly with Mike’s left cheek.

It isn’t the hardest punch ever thrown. Any other time it would be one Mike could shrug off without much trouble, but today I catch him completely by surprise.

He lets out a squawk and topples backwards.

…straight off the side of the jetty and into the lake.

I bend over and watch him flounder.

‘Fuck you, you little shit!’ I yell at the top of my voice. ‘I can’t believe I gave you another chance!’

The birds in the trees start making a run for it.

‘You’re the most pathetic, loathsome little cock I’ve ever met!’

‘You’re insane!’ Mike howls, clutching his jaw with one hand, scrabbling for purchase on the jetty with the other.

‘Yeah. I must be to believe a word you say! I ruined a really good thing with Jamie for you!’

‘Who the hell is Jamie?’

If I could have punched him again I would have.

If I could have pulled his penis off and rammed it up his backside I would have.

In lieu of either option I show him two of the angriest middle fingers I can produce and stomp away.

Ignoring his pleas at me to come back and help him out of the water (I later remembered he couldn’t swim – what a crying shame) I walk away and head back in the direction of the car park.

By the time I’ve climbed in El
Denté
my anger had burned off and I can’t help bawling my eyes out as I drive away. So much so that I have to stop in a lay-by a bit further along to get it out of my system.

I feel used, gullible and stupid… but that’s not what is making me cry.

It’s Jamie Newman’s smile, and the fact I’ll probably never see it again thanks to Mike
fucking
Adams
.

It’s taken me a good three hours to spill this onto the page, Mum. I feel exhausted.

My hand is killing me as well. The painkillers have worn off.

I’m going to bed now, and will try to put this entire week behind me.

I’m seeing Tim tomorrow and a bit of retail therapy in town will make me feel better, with any luck.

I just hope I don’t see any rubber plants. I just might kill myself if I do.

Miss you more right now than I have in a long time, Mum.

Your distraught and drained daughter, Laura.

xx

Jamie’s Blog

Sunday 31 October

Crying in front of a woman who’s holding your manhood isn’t an ideal way to celebrate Halloween, but that’s exactly how I ended up doing it Friday night.

I also had a very important epiphany about the future of my life… but we’ll get to that in due course.

First, let me explain the crying.

It started with a party.

Specifically, a party
at work.

These gatherings are usually attended by a gaggle of disparate human beings who would never normally hang out together. They are thrust into a social event organised by the management, in order to build team spirit and foster good working relationships.

This never works of course, and as such, events of this type are
always
abject failures.

However, if the management deliberately organised these get-togethers to bring long simmering disputes to a drunken climax, damage valuable office machinery and create circumstances leading to excruciating levels of embarrassment the following Monday morning, they would be classed as an unqualified success.

This particular office party is the brainchild of Alex, the editor of the news desk. Alex is the kind of guy you’d feel uncomfortable stuck in a lift with.

Morale at the paper has been rock bottom for months, so this is his attempt at making us all feel like valued members of the team.

The festivities have a fancy dress theme… inevitably.

I considered turning up dressed in a straight-jacket covered in blood, with a sign hung round my neck saying ‘
Alex after the breakdown
’ but I thought better of it in the end.

Lacking inspiration (and taking the freezing cold weather into account) I go along as Neo from The Matrix - which requires the wearing of a lovely thick long black coat, black jeans, black t-shirt and a pair of cheap sunglasses I’d picked up in Asda.

I look like an utter tit. But I’m a
warm
utter tit, which is the important thing.

The most depressing thing about office parties is that they are held
in the office
. At work. The last place you tend to associate with the word ‘fun’.

It doesn’t matter how many pretty decorations they hang to cover the whiteboards and filing cabinets, or how loud they blast the dance music across the cubicles, you’re still stuck in the same bloody place you’ve already spent eight hours in that day.

I have to resist the urge to check my emails once I arrive at the party, to see if the marketing suggestions I’ve made recently have been approved or not.

Others have made more of an effort with their costumes.

There are two pirates, one ninja and a Doctor Who.

The insufferably annoying trio from Personnel have come as Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Pete, the skinny part-time assistant from reprographics is dressed as Wolverine from the X-Men, which consists of spiking his unruly ginger hair up and gaffer taping a few unbent coat hangers to his hands.