The Accidental Proposal (29 page)

‘Look who’s home,’ she says, smiling at me as she shuts the front door softly behind her.

‘Morning.’

‘Afternoon, I think you’ll find,’ says Sam, tapping her watch, then walking over and kissing me gently on the top of my head. ‘Bit of a hangover?’

‘You could say that,’ I mumble, adding, ‘How was your hen night?’ in a feeble attempt to change the subject.

‘Good, thanks. Very civilized. Just a few drinks with the girls.’ She fetches a glass of water and packet of paracetamol from the kitchen. ‘So,’ she says, sitting down next to me. ‘Did you have fun?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, weakly. ‘I think so.’

‘What did you get up to?’

I take a deep breath, then let it out again. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember.’

As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize how implausible they sound and, as I help myself to a couple of paracetamol, I promise myself that at some point I will tell Sam exactly what happened – once I find out what that actually is. But instead of being suspicious, Sam actually looks a little relieved.

‘No? Or can’t you tell me?’ she says, nudging me playfully in the ribs. ‘You know, “What happens on tour stays on tour”.’ she adds, doing a passable impression of Dan.

My first instinct is to blurt everything out. But blurt what out?
I think I might have slept with someone last night, but I don’t know who?
Where on earth does that conversation go?

‘We just, you know, had a few drinks.’

‘Quite a few, by the looks of you,’ says Sam, resting a cool hand on my forehead. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

Because that’s where all the trouble started
. ‘No, thanks. I’m probably better staying up and about.’

‘And how is Dan feeling today?’

Guilty, hopefully
. ‘Oh, you know.’

‘Well as long as you both had a good time,’ says Sam, patting me on the hand, then jumping up from the sofa.

That’s the trouble, I want to say, as she heads for the shower. I just don’t know.

8.31 a.m.

I’m in the Mini with Billy, driving very carefully along Marine Parade, still feeling a few traces of yesterday’s hangover. Although there are a few more pressing things I should be doing, particularly given the weekend’s events, today’s the day he’s due to move into the hostel and, as Sam reminded me first thing this morning, I promised I’d take him there.

He’s a little nervous, despite having downed-in-one the can of Special Brew he requested when I offered to buy him breakfast, and is currently chain-smoking a series of suspicious-smelling cigarettes as we slowly weave our way through the usual morning traffic jam. I’ve asked him not to smoke in the car, so he’s obligingly sticking his head out of the window, his roll-up clamped between his lips. This, of course, makes conversation awkward, although this is just as well, seeing as I haven’t thought up an appropriate response to the gruff ‘If it looks shit, then I’m coming to stay at your gaff instead’ comment he greeted me with this morning.

Fortunately, the hostel’s a pleasant-looking Regency-style building, just off Marine Parade, and as we pull into the car park, Billy widens his eyes appreciatively.

‘You see?’ I say, as I switch the engine off. ‘You couldn’t wish for a less shit-looking place.’

‘Maybe.’ Billy eyes the hostel suspiciously through the windscreen, then turns round to check that his black bin-bag full of his belongings is still on the back seat. ‘
Nice car, this.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Must’ve set you back a bob or two?’

‘Not really,’ I say, conscious Billy’s stalling for time. ‘I bought it second hand, actually. One lady owner.’

Billy makes a face. ‘Why’d they always say that as if it’s a good thing?’

I smile back at him, then unbuckle my seatbelt, and climb out of the car. ‘Come on. They’re expecting you.’

Billy takes a last long drag on his cigarette, then flicks the butt out through the passenger window. ‘What if I don’t like it?’

‘It’s not prison, Billy,’ I say, walking round and opening his door for him. ‘You can come and go as you please.’

Billy laughs as he gets out of the car. ‘Unlike what you’re getting yourself into next Saturday.’

‘Yes, that’s very funny,’ I say, flatly. ‘Good one.’

‘Cheer up, Ed. Only pulling yer leg, aren’t I?’

Billy reaches into the back of the car and retrieves the bin-bag, then peers nervously at the hostel, but doesn’t make a move towards it. We stand there for a second, and strangely, I find myself wondering whether this will be what it’s like when – sorry,
if
– Sam and I have kids, and I’m taking them for their first day at school.

‘Good luck,’ I say, fighting the urge to give him some lunch money, then losing the fight rather quickly.

‘You’re a good bloke, Ed,’ he says, staring at the twenty-pound note I’ve just stuffed into his hand. ‘And ignore me. I reckon you’ve got a good one there with that Sam.’

‘Thanks, Billy.’

He smiles his gap-toothed smile, then takes a step towards me, and for a second I’m worried he’s going to hug me, but instead, he jabs a nicotine-stained finger into my chest. ‘So whatever you do, don’t fuck it up.’

And as I watch him walk towards the hostel door, I can only hope that I haven’t already.

9.06 a.m.

I get into work to find emails from a couple of candidates telling me they’re accepting the job offers I got them, and while that’ll go some way to paying for Sam’s engagement ring, I don’t feel much like celebrating. There’s also a voicemail from Natasha informing me that she’ll be out at meetings all morning, which probably means she’s gone away for the weekend with someone and they’re making a long one of it, but that suits me fine, as it gives give me more of a chance to think about what happened. Trouble is, the more I
do
think about it, the more I realize that Dan’s right; there’s one glaring possibility I need to get out of the way first. And I so don’t want it to be true – because if it turns out that Jane and I did spend the night together, and Sam finds out about it, then it definitely will be – as the T-shirt Dan made me wear on Saturday night said – game over.

12.02 p.m.

With about as much enthusiasm as a child waiting for a dentist’s appointment, I’m hanging around outside Jane’s office, waiting for her to pop out to the sandwich shop on the corner so I can ‘just happen’ to be walking by. Unfortunately, what I don’t happen to have is any kind of strategy, although I’m hoping I won’t need one, and that Jane will kick off the conversation, possibly by saying something like ‘long time no see’ or even, I suppose, ‘you were fantastic on Saturday’. But when she eventually emerges through the revolving doors, there’s no such luck.

‘Edward,’ she says, after a double take once she recognizes who it is that’s just rather clumsily bumped into her. ‘What are you doing here?’

I try to read her face for any signs of what might have happened between us, or any recognition that we’ve been intimate, but there’s nothing. Then again, Jane was always good at keeping secrets. As I’d found out to my cost in the past.

‘I was just, you know, passing.’

‘Oh,’ she says, a trace of disappointment in her voice. ‘Right.’

I stand there awkwardly, knowing what I want to say, but not knowing how to raise the subject. I can’t just come out and say, ‘Jane, did we sleep together the other night?’, because if we did, she’s hardly going to be pleased I can’t remember, plus even if we didn’t, but I tell Jane I can’t remember what happened that evening, she might put two and two together, realize it’s the perfect opportunity to split Sam and I up, and insist we do. I mean, if I can’t remember who I spent the night with, then that also means I can’t remember who I
didn’t
spend the night with. So it might as well have been Jane, if you see what I mean.

And what if she
does
tell me that in fact it was her? How will I ever be able to disprove it? She used to excel at filing away these little snippets of information about someone and bringing them up just when they could cause maximum damage. And like Dan said, what better time to do that than when Sam and I are about to say ‘I do’, particularly when Jane still hasn’t forgiven Sam for ‘stealing’ me from her?

No, I need to be clever, to find out whether Jane knows I know, or knows I don’t know, and draw it out of her. What’s the best way to do that? Leading
her
into admitting it.

‘So . . .’

‘So?’

Ah. It doesn’t seem to be working. Mind you, ‘So’ is hardly the most enticing of opening gambits. ‘So even though I
was
just passing, I did want to, you know, talk to you about something.’

Jane raises one eyebrow. ‘Oh yes? What?’

Good question. Maybe if I start talking about my stag night in general, then that’ll lure it out of her. ‘Well, er . . . I wanted to talk to you about Saturday.’

‘The wedding’s on Saturday, is it?’ She smiles. ‘I was wondering, seeing as I hadn’t received my invitation yet.’

Bollocks
. Not only did that not work, but now Jane thinks I’ve let slip when the wedding is. And while I’d been hoping to avoid her finding out the date so she wouldn’t actually come, I can hardly lie to her face. ‘Um, yes. And I’m sorry about that. We, er, didn’t have your address.’

‘Oh. Fine.’

As Jane stands there expectantly, it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s waiting for me to hand an invitation over. I put on a show of patting my pockets, then make the ‘what an idiot I am’ face. ‘Would you believe I’ve forgotten to bring it?’

For a moment, it’s quite clear that Jane doesn’t believe it. ‘Just tell me where it is, then.’

I shrug. ‘At home, probably.’

‘The
wedding
, Edward. Which church?’

‘Ah. We’re not actually getting married in a church. It’s at the town hall.’

‘What time?’

I sigh. In for a penny, in for a pound. ‘Four o’clock. So you’re still coming?’

‘Still coming? Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. As long as you’re okay with me being there?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Although I have to say I’m surprised,’ she continues. ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.’

‘Forgotten?’

She nudges me, then lowers her voice. ‘About giving me one.’

Ah. Does she mean ‘an invitation’, or is she talking about the other night? ‘Um . . .’

‘Oh, and before I forget, I hope you had a nice time?’

‘A, er, nice time when?’

‘Your stag night, silly.’

Oh
no
. It
was
her. Although she’s being extremely polite about it. And while I suddenly feel sick, I still need to keep my wits about me. Damage limitation, and all that.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘But it was a one-off, Jane. And you have to understand that it will never happen again. Ever.’

Jane looks at me strangely. ‘Unless you get married again, of course.’

Huh? Is she suggesting she’ll sleep with me every time I get engaged, or is she just talking about my stag night in general, in terms of having one, rather than, well, having
her
. I still don’t have enough information to be sure one way or the other, but I’m conscious I need to tiptoe around the subject.

‘You’re being very understanding about all of this.’

‘Especially after what happened between us?’ she says, sarcastically.

I look up sharply. ‘Yes. But what happened between us, exactly?’

‘Christ, Edward,’ she says, suddenly angry. ‘Did it mean nothing at all to you?’

I’m at a loss as to what to say. Is Jane talking about the other night, or the previous ten years? I’m aware that there perhaps isn’t a right answer to her question, except for not answering at all. But there’s a flaw in that plan too, because after a few seconds, Jane starts crying.

‘Jane. Please. Don’t.’ I hand her a tissue from the packet in my pocket I’ve brought for just such an eventuality, but she waves it away. ‘I thought you said you were happy for me?’

‘How can I possibly be? I dumped you so you’d go and sort yourself out and come back to me a new man. I didn’t think you’d be so heartless to rush out and find yourself a new woman.’

I want to defend myself, but I also don’t want things to be bad between me and Jane. And while I don’t think we can ever be friends, I certainly don’t want to go through life hating her, or worrying that she hates me. I decide on the diplomatic approach.

‘It’s tough for me too, you know. But I have to accept that maybe I missed my chance with you.’

‘But you didn’t,’ she says, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Or rather, haven’t.’

‘Yes I have, Jane. I’m with someone else now. And about to marry them. I’ve moved on.’ I smile sympathetically, then reach out and take her hand – unfortunately the one she’s just used to wipe her nose. ‘And you’re going to have to move on too.’