Read Online Getting Over Mr. Right by Chrissie Manby - Free Book Online
Authors: Chrissie Manby
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You don’t need to. You know all there is to know. He doesn’t want to be with you because he’s met someone else.You don’t need her name. You don’t need to know how old she is. You don’t need to know what she looks like. All you need to know is that Michael Parker is a rat.”
I had to repeat that phrase a dozen times, with gusto, before Becky would agree that it was safe to let me go home.
So, I’d convinced Becky that I was going to be fine without round-the-clock surveillance, but back home my resolve to forget about Michael Parker soon crumbled. As did my promise not to call him. I left another fifteen messages on his voicemail in the hour after Becky dropped me off. I also sent him three emails and started drafting a poem.
I’m sure a more sensible woman would have agreed with Becky that she didn’t need to know who had replaced her in someone’s affections and obviously overlapped in them, too. It was almost certain that Michael had met and started seeing someone new before we officially parted. Did his new girl know that Michael and I had been an item so very recently? I doubted it. He had probably told her that he was free and single. If she knew that he had two-timed her, then perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so pleased she’d gotten her claws into him … But how could she know unless I told her? And I didn’t even know who she was.
I had to know.
Away from Becky’s reasonable influence, the madness soon set in. Michael wouldn’t talk to me, but that didn’t mean the trail was dead. The following day, having called in to work and claimed illness yet again, I picked up my mobile and started calling all those people in my contacts list who had some connectionto my ex-boyfriend. Michael’s sister was first. I’d never really liked her and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. She told me quite primly that I couldn’t possibly expect her to be anything other than loyal to her brother and I should delete her number from my phone forthwith. I told her it would be my pleasure.
A couple of others (including an old school friend of Michael’s who had given me his number in case I ever wanted to “upgrade” from his childhood pal) put me straight through to voicemail. I did get through to Michael’s tailor (I had that number because I’d picked up some altered shirts—sleeves shortened), but though Ahmed was very sweet and claimed he was sad to hear my news, he assured me that he knew nothing about Michael except his inside-leg measurement.
“But I hope you find a nice husband soon,” he told me kindly. “You are a very pretty girl.”
The compliment washed over me. I was on a mission.
Having exhausted all other possible leads, I called Helen, the friend who had introduced me to Michael at her birthday party all those months ago.
“Oh, I’m sorry you guys broke up,” she said. Of course, she must have heard about the incident in the office but was tactful enough to pretend otherwise.
“Who is he seeing?” I begged her.
“Ashleigh,” she said, “I promise you I have no idea. I left the firm on maternity leave four months ago. At the time that I left, the pair of you seemed to be going strong.”
“Are you sure? Did he talk about any women in the office in a way you thought inappropriate? Was there anyone in the office he seemed especially close to?”
“How would I have known? It’s a big company. Thousands of people work there. And after Michael got promoted to partner, we were working on different floors. We were four floors apart. He could have been having an affair with Kylie Minogueand I wouldn’t have heard a thing. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got to go.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got a new baby, remember? Poor thing’s been wailing for the past fifteen minutes.”
Another day off work. A huge increase in my phone bill. And I had achieved exactly nothing.
But I was not to be discouraged. It struck me as I looked at old
I had to repeat that phrase a dozen times, with gusto, before Becky would agree that it was safe to let me go home.
So, I’d convinced Becky that I was going to be fine without round-the-clock surveillance, but back home my resolve to forget about Michael Parker soon crumbled. As did my promise not to call him. I left another fifteen messages on his voicemail in the hour after Becky dropped me off. I also sent him three emails and started drafting a poem.
I’m sure a more sensible woman would have agreed with Becky that she didn’t need to know who had replaced her in someone’s affections and obviously overlapped in them, too. It was almost certain that Michael had met and started seeing someone new before we officially parted. Did his new girl know that Michael and I had been an item so very recently? I doubted it. He had probably told her that he was free and single. If she knew that he had two-timed her, then perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so pleased she’d gotten her claws into him … But how could she know unless I told her? And I didn’t even know who she was.
I had to know.
Away from Becky’s reasonable influence, the madness soon set in. Michael wouldn’t talk to me, but that didn’t mean the trail was dead. The following day, having called in to work and claimed illness yet again, I picked up my mobile and started calling all those people in my contacts list who had some connectionto my ex-boyfriend. Michael’s sister was first. I’d never really liked her and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. She told me quite primly that I couldn’t possibly expect her to be anything other than loyal to her brother and I should delete her number from my phone forthwith. I told her it would be my pleasure.
A couple of others (including an old school friend of Michael’s who had given me his number in case I ever wanted to “upgrade” from his childhood pal) put me straight through to voicemail. I did get through to Michael’s tailor (I had that number because I’d picked up some altered shirts—sleeves shortened), but though Ahmed was very sweet and claimed he was sad to hear my news, he assured me that he knew nothing about Michael except his inside-leg measurement.
“But I hope you find a nice husband soon,” he told me kindly. “You are a very pretty girl.”
The compliment washed over me. I was on a mission.
Having exhausted all other possible leads, I called Helen, the friend who had introduced me to Michael at her birthday party all those months ago.
“Oh, I’m sorry you guys broke up,” she said. Of course, she must have heard about the incident in the office but was tactful enough to pretend otherwise.
“Who is he seeing?” I begged her.
“Ashleigh,” she said, “I promise you I have no idea. I left the firm on maternity leave four months ago. At the time that I left, the pair of you seemed to be going strong.”
“Are you sure? Did he talk about any women in the office in a way you thought inappropriate? Was there anyone in the office he seemed especially close to?”
“How would I have known? It’s a big company. Thousands of people work there. And after Michael got promoted to partner, we were working on different floors. We were four floors apart. He could have been having an affair with Kylie Minogueand I wouldn’t have heard a thing. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got to go.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got a new baby, remember? Poor thing’s been wailing for the past fifteen minutes.”
Another day off work. A huge increase in my phone bill. And I had achieved exactly nothing.
But I was not to be discouraged. It struck me as I looked at old
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