The Accidental Proposal (3 page)

‘No I don’t,’ I say, although the correct answer is probably, Well, I didn’t.

‘Because it’s the man’s responsibility, isn’t it?’ he continues. ‘You know, you’re making this huge gesture to her, giving her the biggest thing you can, and she’s taken that opportunity away from you. Although if it were me, she’d already have had the biggest thing I . . .’

‘Dan, please.’ I shake my head at him. ‘Besides, it’s the noughties.’

He sniggers, like he does every time I mention that word, since I made the mistake of telling him it was how Jane and I used to refer to sex.

‘So?’

‘So women have equal status now.’

‘Huh. To you, maybe,’ snorts Dan.

‘Piss off,’ I say, although I’m a little impressed that Dan’s managed to be chauvinistic and insult me at the same time. ‘Besides, it’s better, isn’t it?’

He frowns. ‘How’d you work that one out?’

‘Because it
is
against the norm. So if Sam did propose . . .’

Dan smirks into his glass. ‘If being the operative word.’

‘If Sam did propose, then it means she’s had to make a special effort. Which means she must think
I’m
pretty special. And doesn’t want to lose me.’

He mimes sticking his fingers down his throat, then looks at me earnestly. ‘You’d better check, though.’

‘What? Why?’

Dan puts his glass down. ‘Think about it. The relationship’s fine, right? You’re getting along just great as you are, no reason to change the status quo, and suddenly, one of you accidentally proposes to the other one.’

‘No one proposes accidentally, Dan.’

‘Just hear me out. Say she did. Say the words just . . . slipped out. And before she can go, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant,” you’ve already said yes. She sees how excited you are by it. How flattered. So how on earth does she get back from there without doing some serious damage?’

‘That’s rubbish,’ I say, although not quite as confidently as before.

‘No it isn’t,’ insists Dan. ‘You can’t retract that sort of thing, because if you do, then you don’t just revert to before, where getting married was, although unspoken, on the cards, but instead, you’re actually saying you
don’t
want to marry the other person. Cue all sorts of other issues, and you’re splitting up a few weeks later. Hence the reason she probably kept quiet.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

Dan makes a face. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. I’ve been very careful not to propose to anyone over the last few years, so I know what I’m talking about.’

I put my glass down on the bar and turn to face him. ‘So you’re saying that Sam proposed to me by accident, and then immediately realized that she couldn’t back out of it?’

Dan nods. ‘Yup.’

‘But why would she want me to think we’re engaged if we’re not?’

‘Maybe so she can draw the engagement out, until something else gives her an excuse to get out of it. Has she mentioned it again today?’

‘Well, no, but . . .’

‘There you go, then.’

‘If you let me finish, I was going to say that I haven’t really seen her. She’s been out with Madeleine all day.’

Dan looks up sharply. ‘Who?’

‘Madeleine? Sam’s best friend?’

‘And why have I never met her?’

I sigh. ‘Why do you think?’

‘Fair enough.’ Dan grins, and picks the bottle up again. ‘But you’ve got to agree that sounds pretty suspicious.’

‘What’s suspicious about it?’

‘Well, for one thing, if I’d just got engaged, I wouldn’t be out celebrating with you.’

‘Thanks very much,’ I say, fighting the urge to snatch the champagne back from him.

‘You know what I mean.’

I stare at him for a few seconds, hoping he’s misread the situation, but unfortunately, if Dan ever got asked to do
Celebrity Mastermind
, ‘women’ would be his specialist subject. ‘So how
can
I check?’ I say eventually, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

‘Well, the most obvious thing would be to call her bluff.’

‘And how do I do that?’

Dan leans over and punches me on the shoulder, which I guess is meant to be reassuring, but only ends up giving me a dead arm. ‘S’easy. Get her to the front of a church, have a vicar ask her if she wants to go through with it. If she says “I do” then you’re home and dry.’

‘As opposed to high and dry. In front of everybody. And that’s assuming she turns up.’

‘Well, you can’t just come out and ask her, can you?’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with saying, “Sam, you know yesterday, when you proposed to me, were you being serious?”’

Dan looks at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Because what’s she going to do? Say “actually, no”, and hope the two of you can just laugh it off? Besides, if you want a direct answer from a woman then you can never ask her a direct question. It’s the way their minds are wired.’

‘Dan, will you please stop generalizing. Especially where women are concerned.’

‘But it’s true.’

‘No it isn’t. That’s like saying that everyone who’s Japanese knows karate.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He leans in to me, then lowers his voice. ‘Although that, funnily enough,
is
true. I mean, there’s no proof, but it’s a fact.’

‘Whatever. But I can hardly wait until I’ve got Sam at the front of the church to find out whether she was actually proposing to me, can I?’

Dan turns and peers towards the other end of the bar, where Wendy is making herself a double espresso, stifling a yawn as she does so. ‘Believe it or not, flatso over there has actually hit on the perfect solution.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s simple,’ he says. ‘If you can get Sam to set a date, and it’s some time this century, then that’ll prove she’s serious. I mean, that’s the whole point of being engaged, isn’t it? So you can get married.’

As Dan sips his champagne smugly, I have to concede that it’s not such a bad plan, and not only because – thanks to him – I’m now a little worried that I
have
misread the situation, but also because of my existing insecurities where Sam and I are concerned. Maybe it’s the legacy of being dumped so dramatically by Jane a couple of years ago, but there’s a part of me that’s mystified – almost on a daily basis – that someone like Sam wants to go out with someone like me, so if I do get her to set a date, then perhaps that feeling will stop too. But at the same time, I realize that there’s another reason why I should push for it. Because I love her. And if it
is
true, and she
did
actually propose, then I can’t wait to be married to her.

I glance at my watch, wondering whether I should go home and do it now, but it’s late, and Sam will probably be getting ready for bed. I’ll just have to wait until the morning. Which means that for tonight at least, I might as well enjoy being engaged.

I drain my glass in a couple of gulps, then pick up the bottle of Moët and help myself to a refill. ‘You know, you’re cleverer than you look.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ says Dan, holding his glass out for a toast, without realizing what he’s just said. ‘Here’s to the big day. Hopefully.’

‘To the big day,’ I say, and then suddenly, something else occurs to me. ‘Actually, Dan, strike that. When I say you’re cleverer than you look . . .’

‘Fuck off.’

‘No – I mean, you’re a genius!’

‘I am?’

‘Yes; the big day. I might have missed out on the chance to make a grand gesture by proposing to her first . . .’

‘Assuming that she did, of course, actually propose to you.’

‘. . .but at least I can make it up to her. By giving her what every woman wants.’

Dan frowns. ‘Me?’

‘No. A great big wedding!’

Dan breaks into a broad smile, then clinks his glass loudly against mine. ‘Now that, Edward, sounds like a plan.’

6.51 a.m.

I’m woken up by the sound of the bedroom door shutting – Sam getting ready to put another victim – sorry,
client
– through their paces, probably. She works as a personal trainer, mainly using the seven-mile (and I only know the distance because she’s made me run the length of it enough times) stretch of Brighton and Hove seafront to train her clients. Most weekdays, she’ll be up and out before I’ve even stirred and, despite the fact that we’ve been living together for the best part of a year, I still haven’t quite managed to get used to her crack-of-dawn starts, or the fact that whenever she tells me she fancies an early night, that’s exactly what she means.

I’m feeling a little sick, although that’s probably more down to the amount of alcohol I consumed last night – having decided to stay in the pub until I was sure Sam would be asleep – than my nervousness at asking her to set a date when I get up. And, anyway, as I’ve been telling myself all night, I shouldn’t be nervous; despite what Dan said, we are already engaged – at least, I’m pretty sure we are, having replayed the proposal over and over in my mind. So setting a date is simply the next step. Even though right now it feels like a pretty huge one.

I mean, some people might get engaged simply to take the relationship to another level, but for me, it’s definitely the preliminary stage to getting married, and if Sam feels that way too – and I’ve no reason to think she doesn’t; after all, we’re already living together – then what’s the point of dragging it out? And while the one thing Dan’s right about is that I do now wish I’d asked her first, I’m also really flattered she asked me.

With Jane, even though we were together for nearly ten years, marriage was just something we didn’t discuss, maybe because I thought we’d just drift along together until it happened. And while what
actually
happened was that I let myself go, got fat, smoked too much, stopped caring about my appearance, and therefore (according to Jane) stopped caring about her, so she dumped me, I have my suspicions that an additional contributory factor in the dumping might have been because I didn’t ever get down on one knee in front of her.

The funny thing is, when I think about it now, Jane and I getting married wouldn’t really have meant anything. It would have just been the next thing to do, as if because we’d been together for so long why not just go ahead and make it legal – and where’s the romance in that? Because by then, the proposal isn’t such a big deal whoever does it, the wedding is greeted with a lot of ‘about time too’ jokey comments, and then the next day, we’d have gone back to being exactly who we were beforehand, except I’d have a large hangover, she’d have my surname, and we’d both have a few too many toasters. Nothing would really have been different, so what would have been the point?

Whereas with Sam, it
will
be different. Her becoming my wife is a step forward – for both of us. And it’s not just me saying ‘hands off’ to every other man; it’s because I want to take the relationship to another level, maybe even start a family. More importantly, I want Sam to know I love her, and that I’m committed to building a future with her. Our future.

I glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, then jump out of bed and stride purposefully towards the bathroom, conscious that I need to catch Sam before she heads out to work. Because as far as I’m concerned, that future can’t start soon enough.

7.21 a.m.

By the time I get out of the shower, I’ve changed my mind as to my tactics. While I’m still planning to ask Sam to set a date, I’m only going to do that when
she
brings up the whole engagement thing, which she’s bound to, especially as she must have told Madeleine all about it yesterday, just like I did Dan. That way, I won’t have to raise it out of the blue and risk being shot down. And this plan is doubly good, mainly because I still haven’t managed to work out
how
to raise it.

When I walk into the kitchen, she’s standing by the window, dressed in one of her usual figure-hugging tracksuits, and snacking on a packet of rice cakes. Sam certainly practices what she preaches, and expects her clients – past
and
present – to as well, which is why I’m hoping the half a litre of mouthwash I’ve just gargled with will mask the smell of the packet of sour-cream-and-chive-flavour Pringles I ate from my secret stash when I got home last night. Not that I’m a client any more, although that is how Sam and I met; when I’d hired her to help me get back in shape so I could (misguidedly, according to Dan) try to win Jane back. Little did I know at the time that the emphasis with Sam would shift from the ‘training’ to the ‘personal’ as our sessions progressed. But I’m extremely pleased it did.

‘Morning, gorgeous,’ she says, standing on tiptoe to kiss me.

‘You talkin’ to me?’ I say, doing what I think is my best Robert De Niro in
Taxi Driver
impression, although when I listen to myself, it sounds more like I’ve got a heavy cold.

‘I don’t see anyone else here.’

‘Well, in that case, good morning.’