The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook by Matt Dunn

Even the Picasso poster she bought as a souvenir from that exhibition we saw five years ago in Barcelona has been neatly removed, leaving just the faintest outline on the kitchen wall where it used to hang. The breadmaker that she won in a competition and then used just the once: well, I won't miss that, I suppose. The red imitation leather sofa her mother gave us which made obscene noises whenever you sat down too quickly: missing. The chairs and dining table set she bought from IKEA: gone. While I wait for Dan to arrive, I walk from room to room, compiling a mental check list of what Jane's taken.

The place looks like it's been ransacked: wardrobe doors still ajar drawers left open as if they've been rifled through in a hurry and the CD rack empty except for a couple of dodgy rock compilations and my collection of digitally re-mastered Queen albums. I stare disbelievingly around my flat, which appears to be almost as empty as I'm feeling inside. And don't do anything stupid.'ĭon't do anything stupid? I put the receiver down, wondering what Dan's idea of doing something stupid would actually be. I can almost hear the cogs turning in Dan's head as what I've just said sinks in. 'Dan, there's no clearer way of saying it. And, by the looks of things, cleared me out as well. My girlfriend of ten years, the woman who I've been sharing my bed, my flat, my life with, has gone. It's the first time I've said those words out loud, and my voice cracks a little down the phone line. You've called me right in the middle of Antiques Roadshow just to tell me your girlfriend's gone to bed?'

The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook by Matt Dunn