Dumped, Actually(60)

Now, you can’t just have a list of words in a dictionary. You also require a description of their meaning. And our alien friends – being the creatures of vast and unknowable intellect that they surely are – would no doubt have made sure that they had an appropriate description for what the word ‘mb’ means.

I therefore have no doubt that the entry into the Dictionary Galactica would read something like this:

Mb (pronounced mb) – the sound a human male makes when he hears a small child’s voice right behind him, while trapped in a Wendy house watching his ex-girlfriend play tonsil hockey with a new man.



A strained noise escapes my vocal cords. I have to slap a hand over my mouth to prevent the scream that’s rising up from the recesses of my soul erupting into the world, and giving away my hiding position.

Slowly – ever so slowly – I turn my head to see a small girl, parked in the gloomy corner of the Wendy house, staring at me with wide, innocent eyes.

She has obviously recognised me, but it takes me a few moments to register who she is.

‘Lauren?’ I venture.

‘Yeah?’ Lauren replies, one finger starting to probe the inner workings of her left nostril.

‘You’re here,’ I say in disbelief. Lauren does not reply. ‘You’re here . . . now.’

Lauren continues to stay quiet and rummage around inside her olfactory cavity.

‘How?’ I mutter – not to Lauren this time, but to whatever deity or supernatural monster is out there. The one who has contrived to place me in the middle of the single most awful and unlikely coincidence in the history of mankind.

I am trapped in a Wendy house, with my ex-girlfriend right outside kissing her new boyfriend. In the self-same Wendy house is the tiny girl who wiped bogies down my face, just after that ex-girlfriend had broken up with me, in front of a Bavarian oompah band.

Can I go insane now? Is that okay with everyone?

‘What are you doing?’ Lauren asks me, squeezing into the corner a bit more. ‘Why are you in here?’

‘Er . . .’ Oh my God, what exactly am I meant to say to her?

I’m in here, Lauren, because I don’t have the guts to confront my ex-girlfriend, due to a crippling lack of self-esteem?

Will Lauren understand that? Or would I have to try to explain to a six-year-old what self-esteem means? That could take some time, as she’s lucky not to be old enough to need self-esteem yet, and will therefore have no idea what I’m on about.

I instead elect to lie, because lying to small children is always the best approach.

‘I’m playing a special game of hide-and-seek with my friends,’ I tell her.

‘Are they your friends outside?’ Lauren asks, pointing at Samantha and Riley. I can’t bear to look, just in case they’re still going at it hammer and tongs.

I swallow a large ball of bile. ‘Yes. Those are . . . my friends.’

‘You must not be very good at hide-and-seek, then.’

‘Why’s that?’

Lauren points again. ‘They’ve found you.’

I spin around to see the worst possible thing imaginable. Samantha and Riley are both bending down outside the Wendy house and are looking at me through the tiny windows.

‘Prb,’ I say.

Prb (pronounced prb) – the sound a human male makes when he’s been discovered hiding in a Wendy house with a small girl he isn’t related to, by his ex-girlfriend and her hunky new lover.



‘Ollie?!’ Samantha exclaims in horror.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.

‘Hi Samantha!’ I say in a voice full of manic cheeriness. ‘Fancy seeing you here!’

Then another voice pipes up. ‘Sam? Have you seen Lauren anywhere? I can’t find her. Is she in there again? She is, isn’t she! Lauren Grosvenor, you come out of that Wendy house right— Oh Jesus Christ, she’s in there with a pervert!!’

I shake my head vociferously and start to gesticulate wildly. ‘No! No! I’m not a pervert! I’m not a bloody pervert!’

Riley’s face falls in horror. ‘Aren’t you that bloke who wanks off in front of baby deer?’

‘What? No! That was just . . . That was just . . . Oh bloody hell!’

I have to get out of this Wendy house before I’m arrested for accidental Rolf Harrising.

Samantha, Riley and the angry-looking mother of Lauren the bogey monster all step back, allowing me to squeeze myself out of my impromptu hiding place. Lauren follows me out, and immediately runs into the arms of her mother.

I stand straight and hold out both hands. ‘Look, there’s been a massive misunderstanding here.’ I am no longer terrified of confronting Samantha. That has been comprehensively eclipsed by the terror of being arrested for Rolf Harrising.

‘What are you doing here, Ollie?’ Samantha asks. ‘Why were you hiding in there?’

‘Because . . . Because . . .’ It’s probably time I just told the truth. It may be embarrassing, but at least it’ll stop them calling the police. ‘Because I came here to talk to you, and then I bottled it, so I hid in there, hoping you’d go by without seeing me, so I could get out of here.’

‘You wanted to hide in a Wendy house with a little girl so you didn’t have to talk to Sam?’ Riley says, bristling.