The Accidental Proposal (23 page)

I’ll be angry, of course, if she has been seeing someone else behind my back. But should I be angry with her or with myself? After all, if she feels the need to see someone else then, despite
Cosmo
, that must only be because she’s not getting what she wants from me. And while that might conceivably be her fault for not asking for it clearly enough, I can’t help but feel it’s also mine for not knowing how to make her happy. After all, Jane was very quick to blame me for her indiscretion. And while Jane was always quick to blame anyone for her mistakes but herself, I could kind of see she had a point.

I could put my foot down, of course. Tell Sam it’s got to stop, or the wedding’s off. Even give her a few days grace to wind it down. I mean, that’s not unreasonable, is it? But then again, do I really want to marry her if she’s been seeing someone else? A part of me says yes, of course, like it’s an auction, and I’m the last successful bidder. I mean, she’s had boyfriends before me, and she’s slept with them – I can’t deny that, just like she can’t deny that I’ve got a sexual history with Jane and, er . . . well, Jane, mainly – and so I’ve got to live with that fact. Looking at it clinically, and ignoring the overlap, this is kind of the same thing, and so if I really want to go through with this marriage, then it’s also something I’ve got to live with – as long as it
does
stop. And as long as I’m okay with the reasons why it started in the first place.

But in all of this, the thing that really gets to me is that I thought I’d learned enough from Jane and me to be able to prevent it from happening again. I’m attentive, caring, and probably work harder at being Sam’s boyfriend than I do at any other aspect of my life – including my job. To be honest, I can’t see what more I can do. So if she is seeing someone else, and we end up splitting up because of it, then I’m going to give up this relationship lark. I obviously just don’t understand it.

So that’s what I’ll do, I decide. Give her the opportunity to admit what she’s been up to, and hope she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me. And what better opportunity than over a large, steaming plate of her favourite dish?

8.48 p.m.

By the time Sam comes in, I’ve brushed my teeth about five times to make sure there’s no trace of either the cigarettes or the alcohol on my breath, and am in the kitchen, ladling spaghetti Bolognese onto a couple of pre-heated plates. I’ve already set the table with candles, put a flower pinched from next-door’s garden in a vase, and opened a bottle of wine – which I can tell from her look of pleasant surprise she appreciates – and after kissing her hello, I direct her to her seat and, trying to hide my nervousness, sit her down.

‘So,’ I say, sprinkling about half a ton of Parmesan over the mound of pasta on my plate. ‘I was thinking. This wedding of ours.’

‘What about it?’ says Sam, taking the bowl of cheese from me and sprinkling even more over hers.

‘It’s a good chance for a new start, isn’t it? Admit all our little secrets. If there’s anything we haven’t been, you know . . .’ I take a large mouthful of red wine, ‘completely honest about.’

Sam stops twirling spaghetti on her fork and looks up at me. ‘Oh-kay . . .’

‘Because we’d be starting married life afresh, wouldn’t we?’ I take another gulp of wine, conscious I’ve finished most of my glass. Sam, on the other hand, has hardly touched hers. ‘So it’s only fair we should be allowed to own up to anything we haven’t been a hundred per cent straight with each other about. Get it out in the open, as it were.’

‘Really? I mean, aren’t you supposed to let sleeping dogs lie, and all that?’ She smiles. ‘And I don’t mean that in the sense that Dan would.’

Oh no. She does really have something to tell me, or rather, something
not
to tell me. ‘No. I, er, think it’s healthier this way. So go on. You first.’

‘Well . . .’ Sam reddens slightly, then stares down at her plate. ‘There is something.’

‘What?’ I say, my voice faltering slightly.

‘It’s just . . . This.’ As Sam starts to push her food nervously around with her fork, I’m getting even more worried. ‘I don’t like the way you do it.’

‘What?’ I swallow hard. ‘What’s wrong with the way I do it?’

Sam shrugs. ‘I’ve had better, to be honest.’

‘Better? Better how?’

‘You never put enough meat in, for a start.’

‘Pardon?’

‘And it’s
never saucy enough for my liking . . .’

‘N
ever saucy enough?’ I stare at her in horror for the few uncomfortable seconds it takes me to realise that she’s not, in fact, talking about my bedtime performance. ‘You mean my
spaghetti Bolognese
?’

Sam nods, then pushes her plate away. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘But it’s my . . .’ I try to stop my voice from faltering. ‘Speciality.’

‘I’m sorry, Edward. But I’ve never liked it.’

For a moment, I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry. ‘You’ve never said anything. Before, I mean.’

‘That’s because I knew you liked it, so I didn’t want to offend you. Especially since it’s your . . . you know.’

‘Ah,’ I say, definitely landing on the ‘relieved’ side of the fence. ‘Point taken.’

Sam reaches across the table and grabs my hand. ‘You’re not upset?’

‘No,’ I say. Of course I am. But in the overall scheme of things, I suppose it’s not so bad. ‘And there’s nothing else?’

She squeezes my fingers tightly. ‘There’s nothing else, Edward.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive.’

I stare at her, trying to swallow the huge lump in my throat. ‘Promise me something, will you?’

‘Anything,’ says Sam, and the way she says it makes my heart leap.

‘Just that you will tell me if there’s any other of my . . .
specialities
you don’t like?’

‘Of course.’ Sam lets go of my hand, then stands up and leans over the table to kiss me. ‘In fact, why don’t you clear up while I go and get ready for bed, and then we can discuss them there?’

As Sam busies herself in the bathroom, I wolf down a few forkfuls of pasta – I’ve a feeling I’m going to need the energy – then scrape the contents of her plate into the kitchen bin. As I catch sight of my reflection in the kitchen window, it’s a much happier, more relaxed-looking me I see smiling back – and not just because we’re about to have sex – though admittedly, that does help. I mean, who in their right mind would go out to meet their lover then come home and have sex with their fiancé? Besides, as Dan pointed out, I’ve got no choice but to trust her, which means I have to accept that nothing’s going on. Especially since I’ve just given her the opportunity to come clean.

But one thing’s painfully obvious to me. The way I feel over a minor thing like Sam not liking my cooking makes me realize that if she was actually having an affair, I’d probably want to kill myself.

6.59 p.m.

Tonight is my stag do, and I’m a little nervous, particularly because all Dan’s told me about the evening’s entertainment is that I’ve got to be at his flat at seven o’clock sharp. And while I’ve spent most of the day finalizing wedding arrangements with Sam, and almost managed to convince myself that she can’t be having an affair, there’s still a part of me that needs to know just who this mystery man is that she’s been seeing. And just what the ‘seeing’ has involved.

I’m a minute early when I ring Dan’s buzzer, and after a few seconds, he pokes his head anxiously round the door.

‘Oh. It’s you.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

Dan holds up a soggy takeaway bag. ‘Sushi delivery. Or rather, re-delivery. I’ve just had an argument with the company on the phone.’

‘Why?’

‘Bloody stuff’s always cold by the time it gets here.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Although I don’t think they’re coming. It’s been hours since I called them. Now get out of the way. You’re obscuring my abs.’

As Dan throws the door open, I notice he’s not wearing a shirt, probably because he’s hoping there’ll be some paparazzi waiting to snap him.

‘Dan, there are no photographers here,’ I say, trying unsuccessfully to push past him. ‘Besides, does it not occur to you that it might not fit in with your image?’

He takes one last look up and down the street, then gazes down at his perma-tanned stomach, tensing and relaxing his six-pack. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re half naked . . .’

‘That’s the idea, Eddie-boy.’

‘. . . and answering the door to a man.’

Dan looks at me for a second. ‘Good point. Although it might help my gay fan base. If you were a bit better-looking, that is.’

‘Thanks very much.’

‘Don’t mention it. So,’ he says, ushering me inside, ‘all ready for your big night?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Got your passport?’

‘No.’ I say, a feeling of mild panic suddenly descending. ‘Why?’

‘Only kidding! You’re so easy.’ Dan picks up his T-shirt from the back of a chair and slips it on. There’s a logo of a computer screen with a digitized bride and groom on the front, and when I look closer, I can see the words ‘Game Over’ printed underneath.

I sigh. ‘Yes, Dan. Very funny.’

‘Wait till you see yours,’ he says, then catches sight of my expression. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘What do you think?’

Dan rolls his eyes. ‘Not this “Sam’s having an affair” bollocks again?’

‘I can’t help it. I mean, I’ve tried to convince myself she’s not, but despite what she said last night, I still can’t quite let it go.’

‘What about the
Cosmo
quiz?’ he says, sounding a little hurt.

‘I think you’ve answered your own question there. Besides, I need some proof.’

‘Proof that she’s
not
up to anything? That’s a little bit harder to get than the other way round. Unless . . .’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you’ve got a friend who’s a genius.’

The feeling of mild panic returns suddenly, and it’s a little less mild this time, particularly because Dan’s hopping around like he needs the toilet.

‘What have you been up to?’ I say, regarding him suspiciously.

‘Nothing,’ says Dan, before breaking into a huge grin, ‘apart from finding a way to solve all of your problems.’

‘Really? How?’

‘I had a suspicion that you weren’t convinced. So I’ve come up with a plan for you to put Sam and this mystery bloke to bed once and for all.’

‘Yet again, thanks for the imagery, Dan.’

‘Sorry.’ He takes me by the shoulders and guides me into his front room. ‘But honestly, it’s foolproof.’

‘What is?’

‘My idea.’

‘It would have to be if you came up with it,’ I say, under my breath. Fortunately, he doesn’t hear me.

‘Wait there.’

As Dan scampers excitedly off into his bedroom, I sit down heavily on the couch, dreading what’s coming next. I’ve seen Dan’s ‘foolproof’ ideas before, and they usually end up either injuring me, costing me money, or sometimes both.

‘Ta-da!’

Dan leaps back in through the doorway, holding what looks like a deflated inflatable woman. Or what’s left of one, anyway.

‘Er . . .’

‘What did I tell you?’ says Dan, holding it out towards me, though I’m somewhat reluctant to take it from him, especially if it is what I think it is. ‘Genius!’

‘I’m not sure I want to touch it.’

‘Don’t be such a wuss,’ he says, lobbing it at me, so I’ve got no option but to catch it. ‘It’s particularly lifelike, don’t you think? And it was expensive. Made in Scandinavia. Besides, I’ve only used it a couple of times.’

I drop it onto the cushion next to me in revulsion. ‘Thanks for the thought, but I don’t see how one of your sloppy-seconds sex-toys is going to help me forget about Sam and her fancy man.’

Dan stares at me for a second, then bursts out laughing. ‘No, you Muppet. It’s a fat suit.’

‘A . . . Fat suit?’

Dan does an impression of one of those nodding dogs you see in the back of an old person’s car. ‘It was made for me for that pilot show we did called
Fat Chance
. I’d put it on and go out on the pull, expecting to be blown off by every woman I spoke to. Trouble was, it turned out that even an overweight Dan Davis was a hit with the lay-deez. So we had to shelve it. They let me keep the suit, though.’

I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the fact that Dan is talking about himself in the third person. ‘So how does you dressing up in a fat suit help me, exactly?’

Dan sits down next to me, careful to avoid the pile of latex. ‘I don’t wear it, Ed. You do.’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s a brilliant plan. Slip this on, wear some baggy clothes, a cap and dark glasses, and you can follow Sam everywhere. Even sit next to her, and she won’t be able to tell it’s you. Then you can check up on what she’s been doing. Sorted.’