The Accidental Proposal (11 page)

‘I’ll do my best,’ I say, ‘but it’ll be difficult. After all, she’s just his type.’

Sam reaches up and brushes off a piece of cheese from the front of the Spanish bullfighter apron I’m wearing; my Christmas present from her mother. ‘How is she his type?’

‘She’s female,’ I say, heading off to answer the door.

8.14 p.m.

Sam, Madeleine and I are sitting in the lounge, waiting for Dan to turn up, while Dan is probably sitting outside in his car so he can be ‘fashionably’ late. I suspect this for two reasons: firstly because it’s what he always does, as he likes to make an entrance, and secondly because I heard what sounded like him noisily parking the Porsche just down the street ten minutes ago.

It’s particularly annoying because there’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge that I’ve bought so we can toast our forthcoming nuptials, and which I can’t, of course, open until he gets here, so we’re sitting without a drink. Madeleine’s a bit nervous, and could therefore probably do with one, especially since she’s a little bit star-struck at the prospect of meeting Dan. Whether she is
actually
his type, I’m not sure; she’s not unattractive, and she’s certainly ‘blessed in the chest’, as Dan would say, which are both plus points, if you excuse the phrase, as far as he’s concerned. But besides being a vegetarian, she’s also a homoeopath, and if I know him, that’s possible a little too tree-hugging for Dan.

I’m nervous too. Given that Dan’s my best man, and Madeleine’s going to be Sam’s maid of honour, it’s important they get on, and to that end, I’ve already warned him away from getting drunk and making any of his usual loaded ‘So do you never put any kind of meat in your mouth?’ type observations. It’s therefore a relief – when he eventually rings the doorbell, and once I’ve done that pointless introduction thing where I say, ‘Dan, this is Madeleine, Madeleine, this is Dan’, stressing their names as if both of them are simple or deaf – that he seems to be on his best behaviour.

‘Lovely to meet you, Dan,’ says Madeleine, holding out a hand towards him, which he grabs, planting a kiss on her cheek in the same smooth movement.

‘Edward,’ he scolds, turning towards me, ‘you didn’t tell me tonight was bring a dish.’

It’s a corny line, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Sam groaning, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Madeleine, especially since Dan hasn’t let go of her hand yet.

‘I’m a big fan,’ she says, which immediately sets my alarm bells ringing. Normally that’s an incentive for Dan to find out just how big, but instead, he just smiles.

‘Thank you. That’s nice to hear. So tell me,’ he says, ‘how did you get the nickname?’

‘Nickname?’

‘I mean, are you just a bit reckless, or, you know . . .’ he circles one finger next to his temple, while sticking his tongue sideways out of his mouth, ‘actually loopy?’

Madeleine laughs nervously. ‘I’m not sure what you . . .’

‘Mad Elaine.’ Dan looks puzzled. ‘Isn’t that how Ed introduced you?’

As Sam and I don’t know where to look, there’s an awkward silence, made even more awkward by a confused-looking Dan staring at each of us in turn, but then, suddenly, Madeleine bursts out laughing. ‘You are funny,’ she says, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. ‘Sam warned me you were a charmer, but she didn’t say you had such a good sense of humour too.’

Dan looks across at me, evidently pleased that Madeleine’s laughing, but not quite sure why. ‘But . . .’

‘Dan,’ I say, quickly, ‘can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?’

‘What? Oh, sure.’ He reaches into the Waitrose bag he’s carrying and removes a bottle of Perrier. ‘I need to put this in the fridge, anyway. Don’t go away,
Mad
Elaine
.’

As Madeleine erupts into peals of laughter again, he flashes her the famous Dan Davis grin, then
follows me as instructed.

‘What are you playing at?’ I whisper, as I pretend to adjust the oven temperature.

‘Nothing. Why?’

‘
Firstly, her name is Madeleine. One word, not a description.’

‘But it’s pronounced . . .’

‘That’s because she’s French. Or at least, her parents are.’

‘Ah.’

‘And secondly. . .’ I snatch the bottle of Perrier from him. ‘Mineral water?’

‘Well,’ says Dan, gravely, ‘I am driving.’

‘What for? You live five minutes away.’

‘You told me not to get drunk this evening. So I thought if I drove, I’d be more likely to stay sober.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I immediately feel guilty. ‘Sorry. And you’re not trying to chat her up?’

Dan sighs. ‘Ed, if you think that accusing a woman of being a mentalist is a good way to get into her knickers . . . let’s just say it’s a miracle you’ve managed to find one to marry you.’

‘Yes, well,’ I say, removing the champagne from the fridge, and replacing it with the Perrier. ‘It just looked like you were doing, you know, your usual.’

‘You said you wanted us to get on, didn’t you? So I’m just being friendly.’

‘Okay. Point taken. Sorry.’

Dan rests a hand on my arm. ‘Apology accepted.’

We head back into the lounge, where Sam and Madeleine are sitting on the sofa. I pop the bottle open, and fill up three of the four glasses on the coffee table.

‘Are you sure you won’t have one, Dan?’

He takes one look at the bottle, then sits down next to Madeleine, his arm snaking around her waist to give her a squeeze.

‘Oh, go on, then,’ he says. ‘Just the one. I can never resist anything French and bubbly.’

And as Madeleine starts to giggle for the third time this evening, I can already tell it’s going to be a long night.

10.42 p.m.

It’s getting late, and – apart from one awkward moment, when Madeleine told Dan she was a homoeopath, and Dan replied ‘kinky’, resulting in me having to whisk him back off into the kitchen to explain that it wasn’t some perverse sexual practice – the evening seems to have gone well. Madeleine’s been flirting with Dan the whole evening, but true to his word, Dan’s nursed the same glass of champagne all night, and so while the rest of us are pleasantly merry, he’s in a strangely reflective mood.

We’re having coffee, and I’m trying to sneakily eat a few extra After Eights without Sam noticing by slipping them out of their wrappers while still in the box, when Dan suddenly turns to Sam and clears his throat.

‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘why exactly did you ask Edward to marry you?’

This takes me by surprise, especially when Sam glances across at me, meaning I have to stop chewing the latest After Eight she hasn’t seen me take and start sucking it instead. And even though I’m embarrassed that Dan’s brought it up so brazenly, I nod at her to suggest she should go ahead and answer, although more as a diversionary tactic so I can swallow the contents of my mouth.

‘It seemed like the obvious thing to do,’ she says, fingering her engagement ring. ‘Especially when I found out I was pregnant.’

Thirty seconds later, after Dan’s finished whacking me on the back to dislodge the remains of the After Eight I’ve just inhaled in shock, and it’s finally become clear to me that Sam was joking, everyone stops laughing.

‘Yes, Sam,’ I croak, before guzzling down some of Dan’s Perrier. ‘Very funny.’

‘Seriously, though,’ he says, still trying to hide a smile. ‘Why
are
you marrying Ed?’

I shoot him a glance, unable to work out why he’s doing this. Maybe he thinks he’s doing me a favour, trying to put my mind at rest by hearing it from the horse’s mouth. Maybe he wants to hear a woman’s point of view, so he can understand Polly better. But either way, I’m anxious to change the subject.

‘Dan, I hardly think now’s the time or the place,’ I say, reaching over to refill my water glass.

‘Why not?’ he says. ‘I’d like to hear it.’

In truth, there’s a part of me that would like to hear it too. But probably not in front of anyone else. And especially not in front of Dan, particularly given the speech he’s going to be delivering in a couple of weeks’ time.

‘I mean,’ he continues, ‘when you first met him, he wasn’t such a catch, was he? And he was going out with someone else. Although he was the only one in that particular relationship who still believed that.’

‘Thank you, Dan.’

‘Well . . .’ Sam reaches across the table, and grabs my hand. ‘That was the thing. I got to know him first, and saw the things he did for other people like Mrs Barraclough, Billy, and – no offence – even you, and I realized what a lovely, decent guy he was, and – again, no offence, Dan – there aren’t that many of them around. And when I saw how much he wanted Jane back, how much he obviously cared about her . . .’ She smiles, and squeezes my fingers tightly. ‘I also knew she’d broken his heart, and saw how much that had hurt him, and so I knew he’d never do the same to me, because he’d never want to inflict that kind of pain on someone else. And then, as the new – or rather, the
old
Edward started to emerge . . . I mean, I fancied him, obviously. But the fact that he was prepared to work so hard, put himself through so much agony, and make so many changes, just to try and win her back, well, I thought to myself: he must really love her to do such a thing. And I remember thinking how lucky she was, and hoping that one day I’d meet someone who felt the same way about me. I just didn’t know at the time that I already had.’

I don’t know what to say. I’ve never really heard Sam talk like this before. And I’m not the only one; there’s a silence round the table, and I can tell that even number-one cynic Dan is touched, as he shakes his head in admiration.

‘Wow.’

Sam’s blushing now, and I’m pretty sure I must be too. ‘You asked.’

Suddenly, there’s a loud sob from Madeleine’s end of the table. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘Which is why it’s a shame I can’t prove that to you by us having a proper big wedding with all the trimmings,’ I say, handing Madeleine a serviette at the same time.

Sam shakes her head. ‘You don’t need to prove it to me, Edward. Not like that, anyway.’

‘Well, maybe I want to,’ I say, sounding like a petulant teenager.

‘I thought we’d discussed this,’ says Sam. ‘Is it still that important to you?’

I gaze across the table at her for a moment, then stick my bottom lip out childishly. ‘No,’ I say, implying the exact opposite.

There’s an awkward silence, then Dan taps his fork against the rim of his glass. ‘We’re still here, by the way.’

‘Sorry. So, er, can I get anyone anything?’ I say, picking up the After Eight box and handing it round. Despite the number of wrappers still in there, it feels alarmingly light, and I’m hoping I haven’t eaten them all.

Madeleine dabs her eyes with the serviette, then looks at her watch. ‘No, thank you. Thanks for a lovely evening, but I ought to be going,’ she says, getting up from the table. ‘It’s a school night, and I’ve got a long walk home.’

Quick as a flash, Dan’s out of his chair. ‘I ought to get off too. Hey, Mad Elaine, we should swap details,’ he says, adding ‘in case we need to discuss wedding stuff,’ when he sees me glaring at him.

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘What’s the best way to get hold of you?’

Dan, to his credit, doesn’t give her his usual ‘with both hands’ answer. ‘Email’s probably best. Just use my name at hotmail dot com.’

‘Hot male?’ says Madeleine. ‘I could have probably guessed that last part.’

Dan looks at me awkwardly, as if to say it isn’t his fault, so I just roll my eyes. ‘I’ll give you a lift home if you like,’ he says, walking her to the door.

Madeleine hesitates for a moment, then smiles at him. ‘Okay, then. Ozzie will be wondering where I am.’

‘Who’s Ozzie?’ says Dan, his face falling suddenly. ‘Your boyfriend?’

Madeleine laughs. ‘No. My cat.’

‘Ah. A cat.’ says Dan, and I brace myself, thinking that she’s fallen at the final hurdle; Dan has a number of theories about women who own cats, and none of them are complimentary. Instead, he smiles broadly. ‘I mean,
aah
. A cat.’

Madeleine takes the arm he’s offered her. ‘So, Dan, are you an animal lover?’

Dan shrugs. ‘I’ve had no complaints,’ he says, winking at me as he walks her out of the door.

8.01 a.m.

I don’t hear Sam get up for work this morning, and in fact it’s Dan who wakes me, by texting first thing to assure me that despite having to fight off her advances in the car last night, all he did was drop Madeleine off at home. After I’ve re-read his message three times in disbelief, I lie in bed basking in the things Sam said about me yesterday.

Despite my childish outburst last night, I’ve realized I’ve got no choice but to go along with her wishes and make the best of this whole registry office thing, and so have decided I won’t mention it again, even though when I pop back for lunch, I catch her reading what looks like one of the wedding magazines I brought home the other day, although she slides it hurriedly underneath a copy of
Health and Fitness
when she hears me come in.

6.53 p.m.

When I get home this evening, Sam’s peering intently at her laptop, which is open on the kitchen table in front of her. ‘Still working?’ I say, nodding towards the screen.

‘Just sorting out a few things.’ She punches the ‘sleep’ button, and smiles up at me. ‘Speaking of which, here’s something you might be interested in.’

I stare at the scrap of paper she’s just handed me. ‘What’s this? A phone number?’

‘For Billy. One of my clients works for Shelter. She thinks there might be a place coming up in one of their hostels.’

‘Oh. Right.’

Sam frowns at me. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t think Billy has a phone. Or the best phone manner.’

She sighs. ‘It’s for you, Ed. Seeing as you’re so good at giving people rings, why don’t you give them one and see if you can’t get him in?’

‘Ha ha,’ I say, leaning down and kissing her. ‘Very funny.’

‘You’d be doing him a favour.’

As I think about it, I realize that I wouldn’t just be doing him a favour, I’d be doing myself one too
. By saving myself ten pounds a week on
Big Issue
s.

‘And you think they’d be okay with him? I mean, his dietary requirements are, well, special.’

Sam smiles wryly. We both know I’ve left the word ‘brew’ off the end of that sentence. ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

‘Okay. I’ll give it a go.’

Whether I can convince Billy to give the hostel a go is another thing entirely.

9.06 a.m.

I roll over in bed, surprised to see that Sam’s already up and pulling on her tracksuit. Groggily, I assume it must be Monday, and have a moment’s panic when I see the time.

‘Relax,’ she says, sitting down on the bed next to me to put her socks on. ‘It’s Saturday.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I pull the duvet back over my head, then sit up again suddenly. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘Client meeting,’ says Sam, leaping up from the bed, before disappearing into the bathroom.

‘On a Saturday?’

‘Sorry, Edward,’ she shouts, above the noise of the sink tap. ‘Couldn’t be avoided.’

‘Will you be long?’ I say, a little put out. Sam hasn’t had a Saturday client since we’ve been together.

‘An air show,’ she says, although once I’ve allowed for the fact that she’s talking to me while brushing her teeth, I realize she actually said ‘an hour or so’.

‘Want me to come and meet you afterwards?’

There’s the sound of gargling, and then, after a very ladylike spit, ‘No, that’s okay. I might just go straight to the gym.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, half-heartedly. ‘I could do with the exercise.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ says Sam, quickly. ‘Besides, don’t you have to meet Dan this morning?’

‘Dan? What for?’

She pokes her head through the doorway and raises both eyebrows. ‘Our division of labour?’

‘Ah. Yes. Of course. I hadn’t forgotten,’ I say, although in truth, I had. The memory of my and Sam’s conversation last night about her organizing everything up to and including the wedding, and me sorting out everything afterwards – which really just includes the reception and the honeymoon – having been dulled a little by the bottle of wine I’d consumed during the course of the evening.

Sam doesn’t say anything just lowers one of her eyebrows, then disappears back into the bathroom.

10.02 a.m.

I’m just walking out of the door when my mobile rings. It’s Dan.

‘Something’s just occurred to me,’ he says. ‘What’re you getting married in?’

I look at my watch. ‘Fourteen days, four hours and fifty-eight minutes. Why?’

‘No, you Muppet. I mean, what will you be wearing?’

I shrug, which is a pretty pointless gesture down the phone. ‘I don’t know. A suit, probably.’

‘Which suit?’

‘The Paul Smith.’

‘But it’s black.’

‘So?’

Dan sighs loudly into the handset. ‘It’s a wedding, not a funeral, mate. And in any case, you can’t get married in an old suit.’

‘Why not? Is it bad luck?’

‘Only for those of us who happen to be caught in the same photograph as you.’ He sighs again. ‘Come on. The Lanes. Now,’ he orders, referring to Brighton’s trendiest – and most expensive – shopping area.

‘Okay, okay.’ I pat my wallet gingerly, my credit card still tender from my trip to Tiffany’s. ‘See you in ten.’

10.51 a.m.

‘What’re we doing in Moss Bros?’ whispers Dan, trying to fit a cummerbund round his ‘Bed Taker’ T-shirt. ‘I thought you weren’t doing the traditional dress thing.’

‘We’re not.’ I turn round to face him from where I’ve been adjusting my cravat in the changing room mirror. ‘I just wanted to see what it looked like, that’s all.’

‘I think the word you’re looking for . . .’ Dan picks up my top hat from the chair, and places it on his head in a jaunty Daniel Day Lewis in
Gangs Of New York
kind of way. ‘Is ridiculous.’

I snatch it back from him. ‘Do you mind?’

He grins. ‘You’d never get me in one of these penguin suits,’ he says, tugging annoyingly on the tails of my jacket. ‘Besides, is this really how you want to be dressed in your wedding photos?’

‘Well, one of us should at least look like we’re getting married. And if it’s not going to be Sam . . .’

Dan shakes his head. ‘If you feel that strongly about it, why don’t you just do it? Show her who’s boss. Remember, women are like cars.’

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve got to put your foot down every once in a while.’

‘Very funny, Dan.’

‘I’m serious. It’s good for them. Cars
and
women.’

‘Sam already knows who’s boss, and it’s not me. Besides, this is her big day, and I’m afraid what she says goes. So me turning up dressed like this . . .’ I sigh loudly, and reluctantly unbutton my waistcoat.

In the mirror, I can see Dan making the ‘L for Loser’ sign on his forehead with his finger and thumb, although he pulls his hand away when he realizes he’s been spotted. ‘Well, if you can’t be the boss . . .’ He walks over to the designer suit rail at the far end of the shop, and selects a dark grey suit with a ‘Hugo’ label hanging from the jacket. ‘Be the
Boss
.’

11.26 a.m.

After a slightly embarrassing incident in the travel agent’s, when I ask for a brochure for Lake Como, and Dan thinks I’ve said Lake Homo, I’m waiting outside HMV, where Dan is trying to get his money back on the DVD he bought yesterday. After five minutes, he comes back out.

‘Everything okay?’

‘They wouldn’t give me the fiver back, but they eventually let me exchange it,’ he says, holding up a small plastic HMV bag. ‘I had to threaten them with the trades descriptions act, and everything.’

‘What was the problem?’

‘Let’s just say it didn’t quite do what it said on the tin.’

‘What didn’t?’

‘The DVD.’

‘I’m sorry, Dan. What DVD?’

‘The one I’ve just exchanged.’

‘And what was it?’ I ask, patiently.

‘Something called
The Birds
.’

‘And?’

‘It was a horror film.’

‘Ye-es?’

‘What do you mean, “Ye-es?”’

‘I’m sorry, Dan. You’ve lost me.’

‘With a title like that, what would you expect it to be about?’

‘Well . . . birds.’

‘Precisely. But instead, it’s about
actual
birds. And not, you know . . .’

‘Women?’

‘I know!’ says Dan. ‘Kind of ruined the mood with my date last night, I can tell you.’

It takes me about two minutes to stop laughing. ‘You thought it was a porno?’

‘Might have done.’ Dan turns away, as if he’s looking to cross the road, but in reality he’s trying not to let me see he’s embarrassed. ‘Especially since it was directed by someone called . . .’

‘Hitchcock is one word, Dan. Not two.’ I shake my head slowly. ‘How could you not have heard of it? It’s a classic.’

‘So? So is
Shaving Ryan’s Privates
.’

I manage to compose myself. ‘Yes, Dan. You’re right. Easy mistake to make. But why on earth did you go to all that trouble for a fiver?’

Dan reaches into his pocket, and removes what looks like a bank statement. ‘I had a bit of a shock this morning.’

‘What’s this?’

He shrugs. ‘I never normally open them, to be honest. But what with being unemployed and all that, I thought I’d better check just how healthy the old finances were.’

‘And?’

He unfolds the piece of paper, and hands it to me, pointing to a figure at the bottom. ‘See for yourself.’

‘Six hundred and fifty-two pounds?’

Dan grimaces. ‘Exactly. I can’t believe that’s all I’ve got left. I mean, I’m hardly extravagant, but . . .’

‘Dan.’

‘What?’

‘This is your credit-card statement,’ I hand the piece of paper back to him, ‘not your bank statement.’

‘Ah.’ There’s a pause, and then, but brighter this time, ‘Ah.’

As I try hard not to laugh again, Dan stuffs the statement back into his pocket, then pretends to be interested in the contents of his HMV bag.

‘So, dare I ask what other X-rated “classic” you got in exchange?’

Dan doesn’t say anything, but just reaches into the bag, hands me the DVD, then nudges me suggestively.

It’s
Fiddler on the Roof
.

1.11 p.m.

Dan’s kindly agreed to hide the suit for me until the wedding, so at least I’ll have something to surprise Sam with on the day. When I get back to the flat, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, talking into her mobile, although she snaps it shut when I walk in through the door.

‘How’d it go?’

‘Great.’ I walk over and kiss her. ‘You?’

‘Yes. Good.’ Sam pulls out the chair next to her, and indicates for me to sit down. ‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘So did you and Dan have any thoughts? About the reception.’

‘The reception?’
Damn
. In all the excitement of buying only my second-ever designer suit, that had completely slipped my mind. ‘Of course.’

‘And what were those thoughts, exactly?’ she asks, when I don’t enlighten her further.

‘Well, that we’d have one, obviously. And, you know,
after
the ceremony,’ I say, although I can’t help feeling the word ‘ceremony’ still seems rather inappropriate, given that we’re just going to be signing a bit of paper.

Sam folds her arms. ‘And I suppose you want to have it at the Admiral Jim?’

‘What?’ I look up suddenly, remembering the conversation I’d had with Wendy about precisely that the other day. ‘Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but now you mention it . . .’

‘I was joking, Edward. Over my dead body,’ she says, her tone making it plain that it would be the most ridiculous idea in the world. ‘You spend enough time in there as it is.’

‘Is that a bit of wifely nagging I can hear?’

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’ Sam retrieves a large spiral-bound notebook from her rucksack and opens it at a new blank page. ‘So, as you were saying . . .’

‘Yes, well, I, er . . .’ I smile back at her, desperately trying to think of somewhere appropriate, then suddenly realize this might actually be my opportunity to do something on a grander scale – grander at least than the registry office. And in fact, where’s the best place for a grand reception in Brighton? ‘I thought we might, you know, have it at the Grand.’

‘The Grand Hotel?’ says Sam, more than a little surprised. ‘On the seafront?’

‘Why not?’

‘But . . .’