Unknown - Game Over

‘Yes, you are good. It is relatively easy to reach the dizzy heights of your chosen profession if you’re not hampered by morals and squeamish sentimentality.’

‘You’d know best, Bale,’ I reply and leave his office. I’ll give him some privacy to review the T&Cs.

Kirsty had thought long and hard about this after the private detective contacted her. At first it’d seemed ridiculous. She thought some of her mates were winding her up. But then she began to understand. A new show. Something to do with confidence in fidelity. To be specific, Eva Brooks had contacted the TV station to say that she had some doubts about her fiancé Martin McMahon. Did any of those names mean anything to Kirsty? They did. They meant the taste of metal and bile in her mouth.

The private detective was not wearing a long raincoat and a beret. In fact, she looked rather more like one of those women who stop you in shopping centres and ask if you’ll spare a few minutes for market research. The private detective, Sue, liked her tea strong with two sugars.

Kirsty considered the proposition for two days solid. She was unable to keep her mind on her job and kept irritating the doctors by giving them the wrong patient notes. They nagged and grumbled at her. Ironically it was their irritation that coerced her into accepting the role, rather than a wish to wreak revenge on Martin. Well, why shouldn’t she be on TV? It had to be more glamorous than her job here as a receptionist, in the dowdy little practice, in her small town. The same small town she’d been born and bred in, and if she wasn’t careful would be buried in too. Sue promised that Kirsty would get a complimentary haircut and makeover, an allowance for her outfit for the show and some publicity photos afterwards. Sue thought Kirsty had a great chance as a model but she warned time was of the essence.

Kirsty didn’t care for Martin at all any more. She was surprised to hear that Eva thought of her as a threat. He’d chosen Eva over her before, hadn’t he? Oh shit he had. What made Kirsty think he’d choose her over Eva this time? Her knees nearly buckle under her. The humiliation was painful last time – the stinging, scorching disappointment as he explained that Kirsty was a really fun girl but absolutely not marrying material. Whereas Eva, with her posh university qualifications and green Wellingtons, was. Kirsty had tried to comfort herself with the thought that their kids would look like horses. But the thought didn’t really keep her warm at night. Still, it was a long time ago and she was far too sensible not to move on. In the last ten months she’d only thought of Martin occasionally, like when her sister had a baby, her birthday or when one of the patients did something hilarious at work. But that was natural – that wasn’t hankering. Christ, what if he rejected her again? Still, the channel didn’t want her to get him to propose, just to have some fun. To compromise himself. She figures it will be easy.

Kirsty waits for Martin outside the high-street bank where he is assistant manager. She doesn’t often come into London. It’s busy and cold and she remembers why.

‘Martin.’ She steps through the throng. He is with a couple of colleagues. They are all dressed identically, even the women.

‘Kirsty, my goodness. What are you doing here? God, it’s nice to see you.’

And Kirsty knows him well enough to know that he is being genuine. She sighs, relieved, not just because the channel will get what they want but because something, somewhere very deep inside her, melts. He cares. Not enough. Not consistently. But he does care. Martin nods his colleagues away, assuring them he’ll catch them up in the pub.

‘Erm, I came up to meet a friend for lunch. I heard you got engaged so I thought I’d pop by and drop off a congratulations card.’ She holds out the card and beams, ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’ He reaches for the card and their fingers bump.

‘I’m really pleased for you.’ Kirsty stretches her amazing smile a fraction wider.

‘Yeah, thanks.’ Martin seems quite embarrassed and quickly thrusts the card into his suit pocket without reading it. ‘Do you fancy a drink?’

He’s not wasting any time.

‘Should we catch up with your friends?’ offers Kirsty.

‘No. I know the bar they are going to; it’s really loud. We won’t be able to hear ourselves think, let alone talk. Let’s go somewhere quieter.’

‘I know just the place,’ says Kirsty.

It surprises Martin that Kirsty knows a local pub, which turns out to be absolutely perfect, because she doesn’t come up to town that much. Then Martin sighs to himself. Maybe she does come into town now. He doesn’t know much about her life. He always felt it pointless to keep in touch with old flames, especially ones who obviously have such different ambitions and expectations in life. Besides which, Eva wouldn’t hear of it.

He only expected to have a quick one, but this is their third round. It is good to be out with a bird who drinks pints again. Instead of the obligatory gin and tonic. Nice that she gets a round in, too, and isn’t above going to the bar herself. Christ, Kirsty has fantastic tits. He’d forgotten how magnificent they are. She’s still very chatty, too. She still makes little sense. She keeps wittering on about cameras. There again he’s not being that rational either. Psychologists rate getting married as equally stressful as bereavement; people do odd things under stress. For example, right now all he wants to do is snog the lips off Kirsty.

With every day a new triumph emerges. The Evening Standard runs a story on the weddings that have been cancelled by couples who have appeared on the show and the financial implications for the industries involved. The Express picks up the lead and runs a story on how many weddings, up and down the country, have been cancelled since the show began.

‘A 120 per cent increase on the exact same period last year!’ cries Debbie. We are ecstatic. The Express hasn’t said that Sex with an Ex is responsible, but the implication is there. If the show is responsible we are creating a national reaction. It’s big. It’s bigger than the ‘Free Deirdre Campaign’ that ITV ran in reaction to a Coronation Street storyline.

The Mail spots the same potential story as we do. They track down a couple who have called off their wedding recently to ask them why. People quite unconnected with the show, people who’ve never appeared, had no desire to appear and would probably be horrified at the idea of appearing, admit that frank discussions on the sex appeal of an ex-lover have led to a discovery of ‘fundamental disagreements, which can’t be ignored’.

Debs is reading from the morning paper. ‘This is it. This is the quote we need to use for our latest press release.’ She is literally jumping up and down.

‘What does it say?’ I ask.

‘“I am regretful,” says the would-be-groom. “I believe our parting of the ways was a direct result of staying in to watch TV on Monday.’” Debs stops reading and asks, ‘Why do people use such ridiculous and pompous vocabulary when talking to the press? I’m sure he doesn’t normally say such stupid things as “parting of the ways”.’

‘Very astute, Debs. What else did he say?’ I ask, trying to keep her on track.

‘“I wish we’d gone to the pub as we’d originally planned. But you see we were saving up. I wish I’d never heard of the show Sex with an Ex. ” ‘Debs puts the paper down with a satisfied flourish.

‘Ah well, he sounds like a prick. By the way, Kirsty is doing well. I saw her in B Magazine the other day and I understand she has a contract with some modelling agency.’