Free His 'n' Hers by Mike Gayle Page A

not you. It’s me. We’re too different. I like French films with subtitles, you like . . . well, I don’t think you like anything. Let’s face it, it was never going to work, was it? Let’s just go our separate ways and try to remember the good times, eh?’
    ‘I can’t believe this,’ says Louise, almost tearfully. ‘Is this because I didn’t want to watch that Arnold Schwarzenegger film?’
    ‘No, of course not. It’s nothing to do with videos. It’s to do with us. We’re just not compatible. I feel awful. But believe me when I say this is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.’
    Overcome by anger Louise, with all the dexterity of a discus thrower, hurls the copy of JFK she’s holding at my head. Lightning quick, I duck out of the way and it continues across the shop floor until it meets a small child coming the other way and skids to a halt on the floor. The child bursts into tears, Louise runs out of the shop and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
    ‘Did you see that?’ says Alison, appearing at my side some moments later with the offending article in her hand. ‘Some loony girl just hurled this at a poor defenceless child.’
    ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘What is the world coming to?’
    8.45 p.m.
    Jim and I are walking along a busy Kings Heath high street in the rain. All the pubs and takeaways we pass are overflowing with Friday-night revellers and somehow it seems strange that our Friday-night revelling will consist of an evening in front of a subtitled French film.
    ‘So, tell me,’ he begins, as I light a cigarette, ‘why didn’t you move to London in the end?’
    ‘I never agreed to go,’ I reply, and then take a drag on my cigarette. ‘Damon kept asking me and I kept telling him I wanted to stay in Birmingham. Not necessarily for the rest of my life but a little while longer at least. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. In fact, I still don’t. So I didn’t see the point of going all the way down there to do what I’m doing here – which is drifting. Anyway, a few weeks before he was due to go it suddenly hit me: if I loved him, really loved him, I would’ve gone with him in a second. You do that sort of thing if you’re in love, don’t you?’
    ‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘I suppose if it’s the real thing it wouldn’t even be an issue.’
    ‘See?’ I say, smiling. ‘You get it. You understand what I’m talking about. Real love isn’t just about all the romantic stuff when everything is easy and the hardest thing you’ve got to do is make up pet names for each other—’
    ‘You have pet names for each other?’ says Jim. ‘What are they?’
    ‘He calls me Grumpus, because I can be a bit of a grumpy girlfriend sometimes. At first I was secretly a bit offended but after three years I love it.’
    ‘And what do you call him?’
    ‘Housey – you know, because his surname’s Guest. It’s not a very good one, is it?’
    Jim laughs. ‘Not really.’
    ‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘we’re getting off the point. What I was trying to say is that love isn’t just about the cute stuff—’
    ‘Like making up rubbish pet names?’
    ‘Yes, like making up rubbish pet names,’ I say. ‘It’s about the tough times when things get difficult. When it’s not all hearts and flowers. When it’s about two people staying together, no matter what. And the fact is Damon and I haven’t got that. And if I want anything from life it’s – a special kind of love. A love that can stand anything you throw at it. Surely that’s the only kind worth having.’
    Saturday, 27 February 1993
    1.05 p.m.
    It’s early afternoon and Nick and I are in the Jug of Ale in Moseley. We’re on opposite sides of the table, two half-drunk pints of lager between us, and I’m in the process of telling him about my encounter with Alison.
    ‘So did you get to watch Betty Blue ?’
    ‘We never even got it out of the box.’
    ‘So, what happened?’
    ‘Well, we got back to the house and I think we both