The Accidental Proposal (21 page)

So there’s my proof. I can’t help feeling stupid, and not just because I’m balancing on a tube of Pringles outside a pub, but because I’ve made the mistake of not trusting my fiancée. What was I thinking? If Sam says she’s coming out to meet Madeleine, then she’s coming out to meet Madeleine.

As I wobble slightly on my perch, I realize that that’s all
this
was – a little wobble – and I’m just about to see if I can lower myself back to the pavement without crushing what’s now going to be my celebratory tube of Pringles when something occurs to me: neither of them has a drink.

I peer back inside, just in time to see a man – who I assume to be the barman – deposit three glasses of wine on their table. For a moment, I relax again, but then remember the Cooper’s Arms isn’t the kind of establishment offering table service and, besides, although I know from the other night Madeleine likes a drink, even if that
was
the barman, he surely wouldn’t be putting
three
glasses down.

Or be sitting down to join them at their table.

Or be picking up the magazine, then nodding approvingly at something Sam’s just shown him.

I get a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach, which sinks even lower when the man looks up from whatever it is he’s been reading. Because as his face creases in confusion at the sight of an eye –
my
eye – that evidently belongs to a seven-foot tall man staring in through the pub window, I realize it’s a face I recognize from the other day. When it was eating cake with Sam at the café.

Instinctively I duck down – a little too violently for the cardboard tube of wafer-thin potato snacks that’s been somewhat miraculously supporting my weight. There’s a pop, followed by a sickening crunch – fortunately not my ankle bone – as the tube concertinas, envelo
ping me in a sour-cream-and-chive-smelling cloud as I hit the ground.

I leap to my feet, then run back round the corner onto Western Road, unable to believe what I’ve just seen. How could I have been so blind, so stupid, so
ignorant
of the fact that my girlfriend, or rather, my fiancée, is having an affair? And what’s more, Madeleine’s in on the whole thing.

Dusting the remains of the Pringles off my trousers, I wipe the dirty smear from my forehead, pick a direction at random, and start walking, trying hard not to cry, but feeling angry at the same time. If Sam really is having an affair, then it won’t be just my crisps that have been crushed.

It’ll be my hopes and dreams for the future.

7.02 p.m.

I’m sitting on the sofa at Dan’s flat when his voice comes booming in from the hallway.

‘Step away from the stuffed crust.’

As Dan advances towards me, I pick up my can of lager defiantly, then take a couple of quick drags on my Marlboro.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Come on, mate, I’m serious. You know those things will kill you.’ He’s sweating heavily which, coupled with the way he’s dressed – in a one-size-too-small-to-show-off-his-muscles white football shirt with ‘Davis’ and, predictably, ‘69’ printed on the back – means he’s probably been out training with Fake Madrid, the celebrity five-a-side football team he plays for.

‘So?’ I pick up the half-empty packet of cigarettes, childishly stuffing it up my jumper so Dan can’t take it.

‘I wasn’t talking about the cigarettes,’ he says, reaching down to grab the Pizza Hut box. ‘Do you know how many calories are in one of these?’

I snatch the box back from him, and for a few seconds we engage in a ridiculous tug of war until it rips in two and the pizza falls out – cheese-and pepperoni-side down, of course – onto Dan’s expensive rug.

‘I don’t care,’ I say, picking it up and placing it the right way up on the coffee table, much to Dan’s disgust. He stares at me for a second or two, then walks over to the kitchen to fetch a wet sponge and some Fairy Liquid.

‘What on earth’s the matter with you? And more importantly, how did you get in here?’

I reach into my pocket and remove a bunch of keys. ‘Your spare set, remember? You gave them to me in case of emergencies.’

‘Yeah, but, by “emergency”, I meant if a woman ever locked me in here and refused to let me go until I’d agreed to go on a second date with her,’ he says, kneeling down and dabbing gingerly at the pizza-with-a-slice-missing-shaped stain. ‘Not just because you fancied a pizza and a fag. And have you forgotten you’re supposed to be getting married next weekend? We don’t want you all lardy in your wedding photos.’

‘The wedding’s off,’ I say, slumping back onto the sofa, splashing some lager onto Dan’s suede cushions.

Dan pauses, mid-wipe. ‘What? Why?’

I shrug. ‘Sam seems to have decided that for me.’

‘So she finally saw sense, did she?’ Dan gets up off the floor and sits down on the sofa. ‘I suppose it was only a matter of time. What was it? The prospect of being married to you was just too much for her to . . .’

‘No, Dan. My suspicions were right. She’s . . .’ I swallow hard, because I can hardly bring myself to say the words, ‘having an affair.’

For perhaps the first time ever, Dan’s actually speechless. ‘What?’ he says, eventually.

‘Sam’s ha—’

Dan holds his hand up. ‘I didn’t mean “what?”, exactly. I heard you the first time. How do you know?’

‘You know that man I told you about the other day?’

‘The one she had coffee with?’

‘Yup.’

‘The good-looking one?’

‘Thanks, Dan. Yes. The good-looking one. Well, I saw him again. With Sam. Tonight. In a pub.’

As I explain this evening’s events, leaving out the Pringle-balancing, Dan’s eyes widen. ‘You must have got the wrong end of the stick,’ he says, when I’ve finished.

‘Will you please stop using that phrase. And anyway, how else do you explain all that, then?’

‘Er . . .’ Dan thinks for a moment or two. Given the amount of affairs he’s had over the years, if anyone could explain it, it’s him, and the fact that he can’t makes me even more suspicious.

‘Exactly.’ I pick up another slice of pizza, pull a few rug fibres off it, then take a huge bite, washing it down with a mouthful of lager.

‘No.’ Dan turns his attention back to his sponging. ‘Not Sam. She wouldn’t. And besides, even if she would, eating, drinking and smoking yourself into an early grave is hardly going to win her back, is it?’

‘I thought you said she wasn’t having an affair. So why would I need to win her back?’

Dan frowns. ‘Hang on, Ed. You sound like you’re trying to catch me out. Surely it’s her you should be doing that to?’

I throw the half-eaten slice back onto the table and put my head in my hands. ‘What am I going to do, Dan? I can’t marry her now.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Haven’t you been listening? She’s having an affair.’

‘You don’t know that. And even if she was, like I said the other day, maybe it’s just one last fling. Something she needs to get out of her system, so she can settle down and be faithful to you.’

I stare at him incredulously. ‘Ignoring the fact that it would be so wrong on so many levels, what if it isn’t? What if she’s been seeing this guy for ages, and wants it to carry on? And why is she seeing him? Is there something I’m not giving her?’

‘Hur hur.’

‘Dan, please. If ever there was a time I need you not to be smutty, it’s now.’

‘Sorry, mate.’ He clears his throat. ‘What proof have you got?’

‘Proof? I haven’t got any proof. It’s just a suspicion. A hunch.’

‘What did you see her do?’

‘It’s not so much what I saw her do.’ I swallow hard, still finding it difficult to relive the cake incident, or even say the word. ‘It’s the fact they were somewhere she knew I wouldn’t see them. And then tonight, she told me she was going for a drink with Madeleine. And it turned out it was with Madeleine and
him
.’

Dan raises both eyebrows, and I tell myself that if he makes another reference to threesomes I’ll hit him, but instead, he seems to be taking the matter seriously.

‘Did you challenge her about it?’

‘Yeah, right. Because that’s a conversation I want to have the week before my wedding. “Hi, Sam, I’ve confirmed the DJ for the reception. Oh, and by the way, are you having an affair?”’

‘You’re having a DJ?’ Dan sighs with relief. ‘Thank Christ you didn’t go for that Scottish stuff. Just make sure they don’t play any of that cheesy eighties music you like. Oh, and what about getting him to have some of that foam they use at the clubs in Ibiza? You know – the stuff that makes the women’s tops go all see-through.’

‘Please try and stop thinking about yourself for five minutes. Weren’t you listening earlier? There’s not going to be any wedding.’

He puts the sponge down on the coffee table. ‘That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?’

‘Drastic?’

He nods. ‘People put too much emphasis on this fidelity lark nowadays, in my opinion.’

I look at him in disbelief. ‘I don’t want your opinion. I want your help. What am I going to do?’

Dan thinks for a moment. ‘I could beat him up for you, if you like.’

For a minute, I do like. But what good would that do? ‘He’s not the problem. Sam is.’

‘Steady on,’ says Dan. ‘Besides, I’m not sure I could take her. Have you seen her biceps?’

‘I didn’t mean for you to beat
her
up, Dan.’

As I flop backwards on the sofa and stare miserably up at the ceiling, Dan reaches over and carefully takes the beer can from my hand, like a policeman relieving a potential suicide of his gun.

‘Ah. No. Of course. But there’s no reason to beat yourself up either. First things first. You need a clear head. Coffee?’

‘I don’t mind if I do. Thanks.’

‘Great,’ he says, leaping off the sofa and heading for his bedroom. ‘Make me one while you’re at it. I’ll just grab a quick shower and throw some clothes on, then we’ll get this sorted.’

7.31 p.m.

It takes Dan about half an hour to ‘throw’ his clothes on, which is just as well, as that’s how long it takes me to work out how to get the little pods into the flash new Nespresso coffee machine that has replaced the cafetière, and I’ve just managed to make myself an espresso by the time he reappears.

‘Thanks,’ he says, taking the cup from me before I’ve had a chance to drink it, then downing half of it with an exaggerated slurp. ‘You not having one?’

I stare at the machine, wondering whether I can be bothered to go through the whole process again. ‘I don’t need a coffee, Dan. What I need is advice.’

‘Okay.’ He sits down at the kitchen table, then indicates for me to do the same. ‘Fire away.’

‘I’ve changed my mind and decided I’m just going to have to confront Sam, so . . .’

‘Whoa!’ says Dan, suddenly sitting bolt upright, though that could just be a result of the caffeine hit. ‘Steady on there, cowboy. What do you want to be doing a silly thing like that for?’

‘How else am I going to find out what she’s been up to?’

‘Why do you want to find out what she’s been up to? And anyway, she might not have been up to anything at all, don’t forget.’

‘Because we’re getting married, Dan. And I can’t possibly marry Sam if she’s been . . . you know’ – I still have difficulty saying the words – ‘cheating on me.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But before you do anything rash, think of the consequences. You go up to her – your fiancée – and say, “Hello, sweetheart, I just wanted to check something before we tie the knot next weekend. Are you shagging someone else?” How do you think she’s going to react?’

‘By telling me the truth, hopefully.’

‘The truth. Which is either a) “Yes, I am seeing someone else, and by the way, the wedding’s off”, or b) “No, of course I’m not, how could you accuse me of such a thing, Edward, and by the way, the wedding’s off”. Just tell me where the upside is for you in that approach, please.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

Dan sighs. ‘Ed, there are some questions you can never ask, especially if you want a relationship to work – “Is it mine?”, for example, or “Would you mind if your mother joined us in bed?” – and this is one of those, which is why you’ve got to let it go. Convince yourself that because she’s marrying you, she can’t possibly be up to anything. After all, who’d have an affair with someone just before they got married?’

‘That Jennifer girl you were shagging last Christmas. Remember?’

‘Ah, but that was different. I knew she was getting married. And she wanted me to be her final fling. So everyone was happy.’

‘Except for the poor mug she was marrying, you mean.’

Dan rolls his eyes. ‘That’s the whole point of a final fling. So you get it out of your system. I believe the clue’s in the word final. So if that
is
what Sam’s doing, then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, you know Sam. She’s not like that. So I’m sure if she is up to something, it’s nothing for you to be worried about.’