The Accidental Proposal (2 page)

‘Because it’s the truth. Come on. Admit it.’

‘No!’

‘“No”, as in you’re not going to admit it, which means she did, or “no” as in you’re not going to tell me?’ He leans back smugly on his stool. ‘Which probably means the same thing.’

‘Shut up, Dan. It’s none of your business. And why are you so interested anyway?’

‘It’s just that . . .’ He starts picking absent-mindedly at a loose thread on his jacket. ‘Well, I doubt I’ll get married myself. Particularly given the way things are going with my love life.’

‘What do you mean? I thought you were still having to fight them off?’

‘Of course I am.’ He grins. ‘This is Brighton. There are women on every corner. Although some of those are prostitutes . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘Anyway, my point is, why tie myself down with just the one? Which is why I’m interested to experience it through your eyes. You know – like a vicar.’

It takes me a few seconds to work out what he’s talking about. ‘
Vicariously
, Dan.’

He suddenly looks a little sad. ‘That’s what I meant. But seriously, as fun as this lifestyle of mine is, I can’t really see myself ever meeting the future Mrs Dan Davis this way.’

‘Well, that’s because you generally have to go out with someone more than the once – you know, have what’s called a “relationship” – before you can think about marrying them.’

‘That’s easy for you to say, mister smug shacked-up,’ he says, his bottom lip trembling a little. ‘But I have to face the fact that I might never get to experience true love, like you and Sam obviously have. So the thought of someone caring enough about me to ask me if I’d marry them is, well, it makes me . . .’ He stops talking, sniffs loudly, then stares off into the distance, lifting a up hand to rub his eye. ‘Especially since my one chance of happiness seems to have found someone else.’

‘Huh?’

Dan leans heavily against the bar. ‘
Polly
, you Muppet.’

‘Ah. Of course,’ I say, immediately feeling sorry for him. Polly is Dan’s significant ex; the girl he dated for a while after he left college, although when his TV career took off, so did she. I’ve always hoped the two of them might get back together, and he even thought about it last year, but a rare moment of selflessness given the fact that she had a boyfriend – or more likely, the fear that if he did, it might have to be for ever – meant that it didn’t happen. Even so, he still refers to her as ‘the one that got away’ – although sometimes I think she’s had a lucky escape. ‘I forgot you still felt that way. Yes, you’re right. Sam did ask me, and . . .’

‘I knew it!’ Dan sits bolt upright and slaps one palm loudly on his thigh. ‘Just like I knew those acting lessons would come in handy. You should have seen your face.’ He grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me gleefully. ‘Admit it. You were about to hand me a tissue, weren’t you?’

‘You bastard.’

‘Sam asked you to marry her,’ he says, in an annoying little sing-song voice. ‘Ho ho. I bet you thought you were going to get something else when she knelt down in front of you.’

‘Dan, it wasn’t like that. She didn’t kneel down in front of me. And do you have to bring sex into everything?’

‘If I can, yes.’

‘Well, just don’t tell anyone, okay?’

Dan shrugs. ‘Discreet is my middle name.’

‘Only if ‘in’ is your first.’

‘Edward, I’m offended. Give me an example of a time I’ve dropped you in it?’

I stroke my chin thoughtfully. ‘Well . . .’

‘You see, you can’t come up with any.’

‘I’m having more of a problem choosing just the one.’

Dan laughs, then drains the rest of his beer and slams his bottle noisily down on the bar. ‘Anyway, however it happened, this calls for champagne.’

‘There’s no need for . . .’

‘Of course there is. It’s not every day that your best friend gets engaged, is it?’

‘I suppose not,’ I say, then sit there, waiting for Dan to order a bottle, but instead, he starts patting his jacket pockets like a parachutist desperately trying to locate his rip-cord.

As his expression changes to one of helplessness, I sigh. In the twelve or so years I’ve known him, and despite the fact that his last TV job paid around five times my annual salary, I could probably count the number of times he’s bought me a drink on the fingers of one hand – even if I’d lost most of those fingers to frostbite. It’s not that he’s stingy; more that Dan changes his outfit so often before leaving the house – even when he’s just coming for a drink with me – that his wallet doesn’t always manage to accompany him.

I wave towards the other end of the bar in an attempt to attract the attention of Wendy, the Admiral Jim’s pretty in a dark-haired boyish-figured Meg-Ryan-in-
You’ve-Got-Mail
kind of way manager. She’s just come back to work after having a baby with her boyfriend, Andy, and is evidently suffering from the late nights and early mornings, as she looks as though she’s doing her best not to nod off.

‘Edward,’ she says, ignoring Dan as usual as she walks over to where we’re sitting. Wendy’s not Dan’s biggest fan, although that’s due to his rather ungentlemanly attitude towards the women he dates rather than the quality of his television work. ‘What can I get you?’

‘A bottle of cham—’

‘Your
finest
champagne, please,’ interrupts Dan, before jabbing a thumb in my direction. ‘Edward’s buying.’

Wendy raises both eyebrows. ‘I’ll just dust one off,’ she says, reaching into the fridge behind her and producing a bottle of Moët, then heading off to retrieve a couple of flutes from the shelf at the other end of the bar. ‘What are you celebrating? Dan finally reaching puberty?’

‘No, Wendy,’ sighs Dan, sliding his empty beer bottle along the bar towards her like a cowboy in a saloon. ‘We just thought it’d make a nice change from this piss-flavoured stuff you sell branded as lager.’

‘Yes, well, there’s a reason yours tastes like that,’ says Wendy, flicking her eyes towards the ladies.

‘I’ve just got engaged,’ I say quickly, trying to defuse the situation.

‘To Sam,’ adds Dan, a little unnecessarily.

Wendy rolls her eyes at him, then breaks into a grin. ‘Congratulations, Edward,’ she says, leaning over the bar to give me a hug. ‘That’s a surprise.’

‘Not as much of a surprise as it was for Edward,’ whispers Dan.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing, Wendy,’ I say, a little embarrassed. ‘And thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she says, peeling the foil off the top of the champagne bottle. ‘So have you set a date?’

‘No. Well, not yet. I mean, it all happened so quickly.’

‘Funny,’ says Wendy. ‘That’s exactly what my flatmate said after she slept with Dan.’

‘Ha, ha, ha,’ says Dan, eyeing her warily. ‘Not.’

I kick him lightly on the shin. ‘Join us for a glass?’

‘I can’t,’ she says, looking at the bottle longingly as she levers the cork out with her thumbs. ‘I’m breast feeding.’

‘Really?’ Dan stares pointedly at Wendy’s less-than-bountiful cleavage, and for a moment I’m worried he’s going to let slip that he refers to her as ‘the pirate’ on account of her sunken chest. ‘The poor little mite must be starving.’

As he swivels back round to face me, chuckling to himself, Wendy smiles sweetly, then fires the champagne cork expertly at the side of his head, causing him to yelp in pain. ‘Well, congratulations again, Edward,’ she says, filling up the two glasses. ‘To both of you. That’s you and Sam, I mean,’ she adds for Dan’s benefit, before heading back to the other end of the bar.

‘You might have told me to duck,’ he says, scowling at her, while rubbing the spot where the cork’s hit him.

‘You’re right
. I might have – if I didn’t think you deserved it.’

‘So come on,’ he says, picking his glass up, clinking it against mine, then downing the contents in one go. ‘How did she ask you?’

I stare at Dan for a moment, then decide I’ve got nothing to lose by telling him. ‘Well, it was yesterday evening, and we’d had a nice day at the wedding, not to mention a few drinks, and we were in bed discussing it, and . . .’

‘You were in bed with Sam and
talking
?’

I ignore his wide-eyed interruption. ‘And – I don’t know – maybe we were caught up in the moment, but all of a sudden, she asked me if I wanted to get married, and before I knew it, I’d said yes. End of story.’

As I take a mouthful of champagne, the colour suddenly drains from Dan’s face. ‘Hang on,’ he says, ‘what were her exact words?’

‘I can’t really remember. “Do you want to get married?” or something like that. You know what my memory’s like when I’ve had a few.’

Dan folds his arms. ‘So, let me get this straight. You were both a bit drunk, and at some random point in the evening, she said, “Do you want to get married?” and you took it as a proposal, rather than a question?’

‘Well, obviously, yes,’ I say, struggling to work out what the difference is.

‘She didn’t get down on one knee, or say, “Will you marry me?” like most people do. And like you tried to have me believe you did earlier?’

‘Well, no, but . . .’

‘And you didn’t think that she might have been asking
generally
?’

I get a sudden uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. ‘Generally?’

‘Yup. Like . . .’ Dan’s face scrunches up in concentration as he tries to come up with an example. ‘If you were talking about America, say, and she’d said to you, “Do you want to visit America?” Well, the obvious answer is, “Yes, one day.” Unless you’re actually standing in the travel agent’s, you can’t possibly think she’s suggesting the two of you go together there and then.’

‘That’s rubbish.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. She was clearly asking me.’

‘Doesn’t sound that clear to me.’ Dan snorts.

‘Yes, well, you weren’t there, were you?’ I say, putting my glass down angrily. ‘And besides, the only way to make anything clear to you is to spell it out. With very short words. And in very big letters.’

Dan holds his hands up. ‘Okay, okay. Keep what’s left of your hair on. I just want to make sure you didn’t get hold of the wrong end of the stick. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘This wasn’t like that, thank you very much,’ I say, glaring at him. Dan is referring to an incident last year, where Sam and I were on holiday in Majorca, and we’d had an argument, and she’d asked me to leave. Turned out she’d been referring to the room, whereas I thought she’d meant the island, and we almost split up because of it.

‘You’re sure it wasn’t?’

‘Yes I’m sure.’ I take a mouthful of champagne. ‘Unlike you, I learn from my mistakes.’

‘There are no mistakes,’ says Dan, putting on a bad American accent. ‘Only experiences.’

I stare up at the ceiling. ‘In that case, it’s certainly been an experience telling you about it.’

He grins, then helps himself to a refill. ‘So, where were we? Oh yes. She’d said, “Do you want to get married?’ And you said?’

I think carefully. ‘Well,
yes
.’

‘And you’re sure she wasn’t talking hypothetically?’

‘Of course.

‘How?’

It’s a good question, and I stifle a burp as I think about it. ‘By her reaction, for one thing. When I said yes, I mean.’

‘She wasn’t sick, then? Didn’t faint, or show you that she had her fingers crossed all the time and didn’t mean it?’

‘Very funny, Dan. No – she . . . she just said, “Good”, then gave me a kiss and went to sleep.’

‘Was that all?’

‘What do you mean, was that all? Like I said, we’d had a bit to drink, it was late, and she was obviously tired. We both were.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He makes a face as he refills his glass. ‘That’s exactly how I’d react if I’d proposed to someone and they’d said yes. By falling asleep. Unless . . .’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless she realized she’d made a mistake – or rather,
you
had – and  was just pretending to be asleep while she worked out what to do next. Lord knows, it probably wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s had to pretend in bed with you.’

‘Dan, for the last time, it wasn’t a mistake. On either of our parts.’

He shrugs, then holds the bottle of Moët out towards me. ‘Well, as long as you’re positive?’

‘I am,’ I say, nodding at Dan’s offer of a top-up, while trying to ignore the feeling of doubt that’s starting to creep over me.

‘Fine.’ Dan pours some champagne into my glass, then puts the bottle down. ‘And you don’t feel . . . No. Never mind.’

‘Never mind what?’

‘Nothing.’ He picks his glass up, then holds it up to the light and peers intently into it, as if fascinated by the bubbles. ‘Forget about it.’

‘No, come on. You were going to ask me if I felt something.’

‘Well . . .’ Dan glances at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘Emasculated. Seeing as she’s the one who did the proposing.’