How to Lose an Ex in Ten Days

I push my way out of the glass doors and onto the street. The weather has perked up considerably, all trace of yesterday’s apocalyptic atmosphere already seeming a distant memory. Pale sunlight filters down from a cloud-dotted sky, shimmering through the last of the late spring blossoms. It’s the kind of day that can put anyone in a good mood. I’m convinced everyone looks a little bit happier than usual, even though it’s lunchtime and the streets are absolutely heaving.

I make my way towards the café where I’ve arranged to meet Leo, weaving through the sea of people. I make a quick dash across the street, only just managing to avoid getting hit by a stealthy taxi which looms up on my left side. Raising a hand in tentative apology, I reach the relative safety of the opposite pavement unscathed, vowing to be more careful next time. Edinburgh might be much less chaotic than London, but it’s still a big city.

It can be easy to forget though, I acknowledge, as I turn off into one of the steep, narrow-stepped side streets, and immediately the quietness envelops me. It’s one of the things I love best about it here, how you can still find pockets of tranquillity without having to look too hard for them. They almost seem to find you, somehow.

Pulling open the door of the café, I’m hit by the familiar wave of heat and sound. The clatter of spoons on saucers, the deep whirr of the coffee grinder, the tinny sound of whisks beating against metal jugs. As coffee shops go it’s not big or even particularly quirky. In fact, it’s pretty nondescript, with squashy leather sofas and pictures of Italy on the walls which never seem to hang quite straight. But it’s cosy and inviting, and they take an indulgent view of customers who linger for over an hour with a single coffee, so it’s become something of a favourite haunt.

One of the baristas catches my eye with a half-nod of recognition, something which back in London would have been the equivalent of someone throwing their arms around you and declaring you an old friend. Here, it’s not so uncommon. With an answering smile, I settle myself at a table tucked away in the far corner of the room and order a cappuccino and chocolate muffin while I wait for Leo to arrive.

When he does, it’s with his usual punctuality, on the dot of half past one. He’s clearly in business mode, wearing a smart grey suit and a stern expression, his dark blue eyes scanning the room. When he spots me, though, his face breaks into the wide, boyish grin I recognise.

“Belle,” he gives me a warm hug before sprawling across from me, catching a passing waitress to order an Americano in brisk, impatient tones. She nods so vigorously I’m worried she’ll give herself a crick in the neck, before scurrying off to do his bidding. I look on in fascination. I’ve never understood how he manages to have two such different personalities. I’m always just me, no matter who I’m with, or what I’m doing. Perhaps that’s why I’m not particularly high-powered, nor do I ever look likely to be.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got as long as I’d hoped,” he’s saying now, drumming his fingers on the polished wood of the table top. “Things are a bit hectic at the office today.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Aren’t they always?”

Leo has one of those convoluted, important-sounding jobs that involves lots of intense meetings around glass-topped tables (no doubt piled high with croissants) which go on for hours. He’s paid exceptionally well, from what I can gather, and the whole thing seems to be taken very seriously. He certainly frowns a lot whenever he’s talking about it.

So, I’m sure it’s all very vital and all of that… but honestly, I have to admit, I have absolutely no idea what he actually does. It is a complete and utter mystery to me. He’s explained it on more than one occasion – I can tell you it’s something to do with advising on political policy, but that’s it – and each time I’ve nodded intelligently, all whilst ending up none the wiser.

Secretly, I don’t think even Rosie completely gets it. She pretends she does, but if you ever challenge her about it, she gets all defiant and blustery. That’s a sure-fire sign she’s lying.

He gives a self-deprecating smile.

“I know, I’ve worn out that excuse over the years, haven’t I?”

I wave away his apology.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

I half-expected it anyway, hence why I only ordered coffee and cake. Lunch was never going to happen.

“So, let’s get the business out of the way first,” Leo reaches inside his jacket pocket and produces an envelope. “Here’s the special licence form. I’ve filled in everything in my section. She just needs to sign it, and…” his expression turns incredulous as a muffled bark sounds from somewhere under the table. “What on earth was that?”

As if on cue, the little Scotty dog pokes her head out from behind my handbag and trots over to inspect Leo’s shiny black shoes. I give Leo a sheepish smile.

“This is Frou Frou. It’s a long story, but don’t worry, it’s not a permanent arrangement. She belongs to my boss. Well, his ex-wife. Or at least, one of his ex-wives…” Aware that I’m making more amendments than the average council bill, I take the paper from his outstretched hand, stowing it away in my bag before I forget. It would be just like me to leave it behind on the table, and heaven only knows what the fallout from that would be. Rosie would probably have an aneurism. “Thanks for this, by the way. She’s been tearing her hair out over it.”

As it turns out, even my sister couldn’t foresee absolutely everything. Apparently, when one gets married in a parish separate to one’s own, two sets of banns have to be read before the marriage can take place. Somehow, this piece of information slipped the net and Rosie and Leo only found out about it a couple of days ago, and now it’s only ten days until the wedding, and Rosie…

Well, you can imagine how that went down.

My suggestion that a little bit of tension only adds to the excitement was not well received, let me tell you.

“Can’t think why,” Leo shrugs, looking unconcerned. His coffee arrives at that moment, and he pauses to take a sip. It must be scalding hot but he doesn’t seem to notice. “The special licence essentially does the same job. It’s nothing to get worked up about.”

You see, this is why they’re so great together. This is why it kind of just seems to work between them, even though in many ways they seem totally unsuited. When he’s not at work, Leo’s the calmest, most laid-back person I’ve ever met, the complete opposite of my neurotic whirlwind of a sister. I like to think they neutralise each other, creating a perfect balance.

Although, maybe the reason they work is simply that Leo is just very forbearing.

“You know Rosie doesn’t believe in Plan B,” I remind him lightly.

She didn’t even bother to accept a second choice of university. Madness, if you ask me, but there you have it. I went to my second choice and I had a great time. Sometimes, life takes you in a direction you don’t expect. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong. I’ve learned to believe in that. I’ve had to, really. In a way, you could say that my life so far has been one long Plan B.

I put my drink down in its saucer and as I look back up, I feel a prickle of awareness skimming across my skin. Like static. I look around, searching for something that might have sparked the sensation.

And then it happens. I see someone out of the corner of my eye. A familiar profile, a dark blond head, ruffled in a way which is so heart-wrenchingly familiar that for a moment it seems to stop my breath in my throat. But when I refocus my gaze, they’re gone.

My heart is hammering against my ribs in an irregular pattern and I grip my coffee cup with shaking hands, feeling foolish for getting so worked up. This hasn’t happened for a long time; I thought it had stopped.

Dimly, I become aware that Leo’s talking again.

“Belle? What do you think?”

I jerk to attention to find him looking at me expectantly.

“Well, um…” I stir what’s left of my cappuccino, playing for time. “Of course, you’re right. It’s very…” At his raised eyebrow, I give up. “I wasn’t listening, sorry. What were you saying?”

I daren’t tell him what I thought I saw. I don’t want him to worry about me. He has enough on his plate as it is.

He shows barely a trace of impatience as he dutifully repeats himself.

“I said, do you think Rosie is handling all of this okay? She seems a trifle stressed to me.”

It’s one of my absolutely favourite things about Leo that he can get away with using words like “trifle” in utter seriousness and still maintain an aura of credibility.

“She’s always stressed,” I point out. “It would be stranger if she weren’t. She loves being stressed; it gives her a sense of accomplishment.”

He smiles, but I notice that it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I know. It just… she’s so wound up. Nothing I say seems to make it better. I know she wants the day to be perfect, but…” He shakes his head, pushing his coffee cup away. “You’re right, of course. I’m imagining things. We’re just both so tired. It’s felt like a very long engagement, you know?”

When Rosie and Leo first got engaged, he was all for taking off with a handful of family and friends to the coast for a tiny ceremony and a weekend with the people who matter most to them both. I thought it was a pretty sound idea, actually, and I expected that Rosie would too. Despite all her organisational tendencies, she normally can’t stand a fuss. And she detests frills and flounces. I didn’t think she’d have either the inclination or the patience for a big white wedding.

And I was right. To begin with, at least. She was totally on board with the idea; we were looking at little chapels in Dumfries and Galloway, and simple off-the-peg wedding dresses. She was still planning to organise the hell out of the whole thing, of course. She wouldn’t be my sister otherwise. But it was all heading towards a small, intimate wedding. No fuss, no frills. Ideal.

And then, one day, without explanation, everything changed. Suddenly, she wanted it all: a grand country house hotel for the venue, a bespoke designer gown, a four-course wedding breakfast. The whole circus. And we were all getting dragged along for the ride.

It has been, in a word, exhausting.

“I know I can be honest with you, Belle,” Leo says, rubbing his forehead wearily. For the first time, I notice just how tired he looks. There are dark smudges beneath his eyes, tense lines around his mouth. “I’m getting to the point where I can’t wait for this wedding to be over and done with. Is that terrible of me?”

I almost want to smile, despite how despairing he looks. Frou Frou has curled up on his feet and seems to be dozing peacefully. She’s the same colour as his shoes, and if it weren’t for the diamanté on her baby-pink collar sparkling under the lights, she would be rendered almost invisible.

“Of course not. Leo, this happens to everybody in the final weeks before a wedding. It’s perfectly normal.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, him or me. I pause, then add an afterthought. “I still wouldn’t mention it to Rosie, though. She’s probably a bit too fragile at the moment to be reasonable.”

He holds up his hands.

“I don’t have a death wish. I learned early on in our engagement not to voice even the slightest objection to anything wedding-related.” He stops, looking shame-faced. “Listen to me. I’m sorry, Belle. I know all this must be difficult for you.”

He’s the only person who’s ever really addressed the lingering spectre of my wedding-that-wasn’t. Everyone else just edges around it; I suppose they think it’s easier to simply not talk about it. The classic Delphine way of coping with anything uncomfortable.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly.”

I’m not sure how true that really is, but it’s the line I’ve been parroting for so long I can’t even remember what lies behind it any more.

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the unruly way it used to when he was a teenager, and suddenly he looks exactly the same. Despite the suit and the world-worn lines at either side of his mouth.

“I just want everything to go back to normal, that’s all.”

Leo and I have known each other for a long time. We’re practically siblings. So I have no compunction whatsoever about what I do next.

I burst out laughing. Frou Frou starts at the sound, emitting an affronted yap.

“What?” Leo pretends to look put out, but his lips are turning up at the corners, giving him away. “I fail to see why that should be so hilarious.”

“Leo,” I splutter. God, the man is so naïve. “You’re going to be living with my sister. You’re going to be married… to my sister. Clearly you haven’t grasped the full implications of what that means.” I shake my head, reaching across to place a hand on his arm. “Enjoy these last few days while you can. Because, believe me, things will never be normal again.”

Chapter Five

I give Leo an extra-long hug as we part ways outside the café. I feel he needs it at the moment. I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd, and I try not to think too much about what he’s said. It’s really not my job to police his and Rosie’s relationship, after all. They’re both adults, even if one of them is as mad as a box of frogs. They’ll sort it out. They always have before.

I turn and head back towards the office, Frou Frou bustling along by my side. She’s not exactly fast, with those short little legs of hers, but I don’t mind. I’m happy to take my time. It’s not often I get to enjoy a sunny Edinburgh afternoon. As I said, the life of a junior reporter isn’t quite as adventurous as one might expect. In reality, most of my time is spent typing up puff pieces to fill the sidebars at the edges of the pages; it’s a rare thing for me to be released from the office.

I’m not certain Frou Frou will be able to manage the steps going back up the street so I decide to take a different, more meandering route through one of the ancient alleyways – or closes, as they’re known here – which cut between the buildings. I don’t use them often and soon I remember why. It’s breath-squeezingly tight down here and shrouded in a sort of perpetual twilight by the cramped overhanging buildings on either side. It’s as though sun hasn’t penetrated this space for years; it’s deathly cold and I shiver. I can easily imagine myself falling back in time, to an Edinburgh which wasn’t known as the beautiful tourist spot it is today, but a dark, brutal place, overcrowded and drowning in plague.

I shake my head, telling myself I’m being over-dramatic. Still, I don’t fancy hanging around.

“Come on, Frou Frou,” I mutter, with a gentle tug on her lead to encourage her to pick up the pace. “Let’s get out of here.”

But she doesn’t move. In fact, she’s rooted to the spot, staring at something in the shadows. Her teeth are bared, a faint, menacing growl rumbling from her throat. My pulse kicks into gear, muscles locking into place as fear sweeps over me. Heart hammering, I peer into the shadows, but everything’s still.

“There’s nothing there, girl,” I’m trying to sound calm, but my voice is shaking. “Probably just a trick of the light.”

She comes, albeit reluctantly, tail down, glancing around her as though expecting at any moment that something’s going to pounce out of the darkness.

Finally, we emerge from the shadowy side street into the hubbub of the Royal Mile, and I release a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.

Usually, I find the chaos of this part of town more of a nuisance than anything, something to be navigated on my way to and from work. It’s at its worst in August, when the Fringe engulfs every square inch of space. Even now, at the city’s supposedly ‘quiet’ time of year, the street throngs with people.

Well, I say street; if I’m being technical about it, it’s actually a succession of streets, running between Holyrood Palace at one end and the imposing castle at the other. It’s a total tourist trap – every other shop seems to sell exclusively tartan – and with its eclectic medley of churches, pubs, and museums all bunched up against one another, I can see why, even if it is a major inconvenience from my point of view.

Although, right now, I’ve never been so pleased to see it. Being surrounded by other people all getting on with their day, oblivious, is enough to bring my heart rate back to something approaching normality, although the sight of someone dressed up in a beak-like plague mask advertising ghost tours does make me flinch involuntarily.

People are pressed close around us, and, after a moment’s consideration, I pick Frou Frou up, worried she might get trodden on. Not that I think Steve would mind much, judging by some of the colourful language he used about the ex-wife in question – I think it’s the most recent one, but decided it was wiser not to ask – who seems to have gone off on a world cruise of indeterminate duration with her new boyfriend, leaving Frou Frou on Steve’s doorstep.

I look down at the dog who’s snuggling closer into my arms. Despite the ridiculous name and the hideously spangled collar, she’s actually rather sweet. And she did try to protect me. I just hope she doesn’t find Steve’s living standards too much of a shock after the pampered existence she’s been used to.

Letting myself into the office building, I begin the long trudge up the stairs. Already I’m starting to wish I’d brought something else for lunch. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared; I don’t think I’ve ever managed to sit down with Leo for more than fifteen minutes since he got his latest promotion. Even if it’s not during office hours, his phone will be buzzing away with some supposedly vital matter or another. It’s going to drive Rosie absolutely crazy when they’re living together.

I pop Frou Frou into Steve’s office, fluffing up her pink crown-shaped bed and making sure her water bowl is topped up. I head back to my desk and am in the process of collapsing into my computer chair when a hand grasps me lightly beneath the elbow and pulls me back up.

“Ah, good, you’re back. Come on, then. Let’s go.”

Go? Is he serious? I’ve just walked up six flights of stairs in high heels. And now he wants me to go all the way back down again?

“We’ve got some great leads,” Nate announces, to no one in particular. I stare at him, wondering if he’s gone slightly mad.

Which would be a shame, as he’s about the only sane person around here. He’s about the only sane person in my life. It’s kind of what I like about him.

That final thought sends me into a minor flap. When I say… I mean, not what I… oh God, what is wrong with me today?

“Just go with it,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, when he sees me about to protest.

Which I do, but only once the heavy door has closed behind us and we’re in the echoing corridor outside the office. I dig my heels in, forcing us to a stop. Folding my arms, I glare at him. Handsome he may be, but I have very low blood sugar right now, and he’s just got between me and the chocolate crunch bar I’ve remembered is hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk. I know my priorities.

“All right, what’s going on?”

It had better be good.

“We,” Nate says airily, taking my elbow and steering me along the corridor, “are going for lunch.”

I really wasn’t expecting him to say that.

“We… we are?” Cursing myself for stumbling over my words, I make a concerted effort not to stumble over my feet, too. I’m struggling to keep up with Nate’s long strides. To be fair, my new lilac sandals aren’t helping; they’re probably a bit on the high side for work, if I’m being honest, but when my legs look this good in them, who cares? “Won’t Steve have a fit when he finds out we’ve gone?”

I’ve seen Steve lose it before. Many times, as a matter of fact. It’s nothing new. But still, it’s not something you willingly want to incite.

“He’s too busy to care at the moment,” Nate replies with a shrug. “This whole load of documents came through an hour or so ago regarding the new health and safety targets. They’re sending an inspector out next week.”

“Darren’s got his wish, then,” I mutter darkly.

“When I left, Steve was staring into the first aid box with a vacant expression and scratching his head,” Nate continues. His voice is perfectly neutral, but as I steal a glance at his face I can see the humour in his eyes.

“I wasn’t even aware we had a first aid box,” I say, trying not to smile.

I don’t imagine it’s that well stocked. It probably dates from the last war. Despite myself, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pity for Steve. He’s from another age himself. All of this must simply be incomprehensible to him.

Great, now I’m feeling sorry for Steve, of all people. I must be quickening for a fever.

My feelings must be apparent on my face because Nate says wryly, “I think he’ll be just fine. Darren’s beside himself with excitement. He’s already appointed himself in charge of the new accident book.”

I roll my eyes. God, he’s going to be insufferable, isn’t he?

Although, I suppose anything’s got to be better than the previous accident policy, which comprised of Steve responding to every complaint with, “If you’re not dying, then get back to work.”

“Of course, there is a plus side to all this,” Nate adds, opening the door and standing aside to let me go through. “Amidst all this chaos, no one will take much notice of what we’re doing. When I told Steve we were going out together to gather eyewitness accounts for our story, he just told me to bugger off and leave him alone.”

“Is that a direct quote?” I arch an eyebrow questioningly.

“What do you think?”

“Wait,” I wheel to a stop, turning to face him in confusion as my brain finally catches up with what he’s just said. “You told him that we’re still collaborating?”

Why would he do that? I mean… it was just an excuse, surely? I never thought he actually meant it.

“Of course,” Nate shrugs, as though it were the most natural choice in the world. “It’s a pretty good cover, don’t you think?”

“For what?” Now I’m hopelessly confused. I really don’t know what he’s talking about. Is there some covert journalistic operation I’ve missed? This is what comes from disappearing off on long lunch breaks. If I stayed at my desk, eating soggy homemade tuna sandwiches like Darren does, then maybe I’d be more up to date.

Nate raises a dark brow.

“To finally spend some proper time together, of course.”

He says it so casually, but nonetheless it makes me freeze to the spot. All of a sudden, I’m very aware of everything that’s going on in this moment: the soft breeze tousling his hair, the kids splashing around in the puddle over his shoulder, the loose blossom petals dancing around our feet.

“Unless the idea strikes you as particularly repugnant,” he continues lightly, “in which case, I shall naturally return you to the office without delay.”

“No, it’s not…” I’m struggling to take all of this in. Just a minute ago, we were walking along, and everything was fine. Normal. He was gorgeous and I was rambling, and… well, not much has changed in the last sixty seconds, except now I don’t know what on earth is going on between us. It’s like the ground has shifted.

Throughout this entire mental interlude, Nate’s been waiting patiently, his eyes fixed on my face.

“I’m not doing a very good job of this, am I?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I should just say what I mean. God knows, I’ve had enough chances, and I’ve… well, I seem to keep screwing it up.” He laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “Much like I’m doing now.”