The Accidental Proposal (24 page)

As Dan leans smugly back on the sofa, stroking the fat suit in a slightly pervy way, I stare at him in disbelief. ‘I know you’ve got the memory of a goldfish – and one with Alzheimer’s – but let’s see if you can remember something.’

‘Okay. Shoot.’

‘If I had a gun, it would be an act of kindness. Do you remember the circumstances surrounding how I first met Sam?’

Dan nods. ‘Of course I do. It was in a café, wasn’t it?’

I look at my watch, conscious that this might take a while. ‘No, not where, Dan. How.’

He thinks for a moment. ‘Er,
Yellow Pages
?’

I nod encouragingly. ‘And why had I called her, exactly?’

Dan grins. ‘That’s easy. Jane had left you because you’d let yourself go, and you misguidedly decided to try and win her back.’

‘Correct again,’ I say, ignoring his ‘misguidedly’ jibe. ‘And why was that?’

‘Why had Jane left you?’ Dan scratches his head. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

‘No, Dan. I mean, what specific aspect of my “letting myself go” did I employ Sam to help me with?’

He frowns. ‘Well, you were pretty out of shape, for one thing.’

‘Aha,’ I say. ‘Or rather, nearly. But you’re close with shape.’

‘Er . . .’

‘Fat, Dan. I was fat.’

‘Oh yeah.’ Dan chuckles. ‘You were, weren’t you? A right porker.’

‘So
,’ I say, realizing I’m going to have to lead him by the hand through this. ‘Sam met me when I was . . .’

‘Fat?’

‘Exactly. And now, two years later, which for those of us with memories that actually work beyond the previous day isn’t actually that long, you’re suggesting the ideal disguise for me in order for Sam not to be able to recognize me is to make myself look . . .’

‘Fat.’ Dan looks pleased with himself, as if he’s just won a cuddly toy at the funfair, then he frowns. ‘Ah.’

‘Exactly. So it’s not such a brilliant a plan, is it?’

‘Of course it is. I mean, there’s no way Sam’s going to think it’s actually you, is it?’ he says, back-pedalling furiously. ‘Maybe just someone who looks like you used to look. And what’s she going to do? Go across to them and tell them they look like her fiancé once did?’

‘She might. Especially if she wants to offer them a business card.’

‘All right, then. If you won’t wear it to go and check up on Sam, it’ll at least stop any future Jane advances.’

‘How so?’

‘Put it on and go and see her. She’ll think you’ve got fat again, and that’ll drive her away once and for all. I tell you, it’s a no-brainer.’

‘You mean the person who came up with that plan is. Dan, of all the ridiculous ideas you’ve ever had, this . . .’

His face falls. ‘Aren’t you at least going to try it on?’

‘What for?’

‘For me?’ he asks, feebly. ‘There’s a T-shirt and some tracksuit bottoms on the bed that should fit you. I bought them specially.’

I try to ignore how creepy this sounds but, by the look of things, he’s actually gone to a bit of an effort, and the last thing I want is for him to be in a mood for the rest of the evening.

‘Okay.’

‘Excellent.’ Dan rubs his hands together. ‘Give it a go, and if it really is no good, we’ll just have to think of something else.’

Realizing there’s no other way out of this, I carry the fat suit into Dan’s bedroom, strip down to my boxer shorts, and start to put it on. It feels a little strange once I’ve wriggled into the over-sized belly, but that’s nothing compared to how it actually looks. Ignoring the fact that I’ve got a better haircut and I’m not wearing glasses, it’s the old Edward. The old, fat Edward. Or rather, the old, fat,
single
Edward.

I stand there, staring at my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe, until Dan appears at the bedroom door.

‘My God!’

‘What?’

‘I’m having the strangest feeling of, you know . . .’

‘Déjà vu?’

‘I knew you were going to say that!’

‘Yes, very funny, Dan. Again.’ I reach round and try and do up the flapping bits of latex behind my neck, which seem to secure the thing’s many chins. ‘Gah
!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I can’t get it to fasten properly.’

‘Hang on. There’s a knack to it.’ Dan picks up a felt-tip pen from the table next to his bed and walks round behind me.

‘What’s that for?’

‘I just need it to mark the position of the straps,’ he says, drawing what feels like a series of lines on my back, before pulling the fasteners together. ‘There.’

As he stands back to admire his handiwork, I inspect my profile in the mirror, struggling a little to breathe. The fat suit feels a little snug, and more than a little warm, and I’m already starting to feel uncomfortable. ‘Happy now?’

‘Nearly.’

When I turn back round, I’m temporarily blinded by a number of rapid-fire flashes, and when my vision eventually clears, the first thing I see is a smirking Dan sitting on the bed, flicking through a selection of images on his digital camera.

‘What the . . . ?’

‘You mug. I never thought you’d fall for it.’

‘Fall for . . .’

‘I was worried about not having enough material for the speech, especially since you vetoed all the juicy Jane stuff, but now . . .’ He holds the camera up as if it’s a trophy. ‘These will come in very handy, thank you.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

I make a lunge for it, but not surprisingly, the thirty pounds of latex means I’m not as agile as I thought, and I end up almost knocking over one of Dan’s expensive hi-fi speakers.

‘This isn’t funny, Dan.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he says, easily managing to keep away from my flailing attempt at a rugby tackle.

I try to reach round and undo the straps Dan’s just tightened between my shoulder blades, but can’t free myself, and eventually just flop down on the bed. ‘Okay. I give up. How do I get out of it?’

Dan grins. ‘You should have thought about that before you put it on.’

‘I’m not joking, Dan. Take it off me.’

‘Not until you’ve tried it out.’

‘Dan, I . . .’ I pause for a second, then suddenly leap towards him, but he jumps out of reach again.

‘I’m serious. I’m not letting you out of it until you’ve given it a go. In public.’

‘Dan!’

‘See you at the pub,’ he says, side-stepping past me in the doorway, before running out of the flat, me in not-so-close pursuit.

As the door slams shut behind him, I stop to catch my breath, then stare at my reflection in the hall mirror, still shocked that I really used to look this bad, then make an attempt to undo the fastenings again, but with no success – the fat suit’s too tight to wriggle out of, and there’s no way I can reach the fasteners without help.

I lumber round the flat for a minute or two trying to find a solution, but the only idea I come up with is to use one of Dan’s dangerously sharp kitchen knives to cut myself out, but even though they’re hardly ever used for cooking, I don’t really want to damage either them or the suit. Or myself, for that matter.

With a resigned sigh, I walk back into the bedroom. There’s a extra-large T-shirt on the bed with the words ‘Stag Night’ printed on the front, although the ‘t’ in ‘stag’ has been crossed out and replaced with a ‘he’. Reluctantly I pull it on, followed by the tracksuit bottoms Dan’s left for me, and then my shoes – tying my shoelaces with difficulty – and head for the pub.

7.22 p.m.

I’m in the Admiral Jim, doing my best to ignore Wendy’s shrieks of laughter.

‘Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?’ I say. Sam’s having her hen night this evening too, and I’d been hoping Wendy might be long gone by now.

‘What?’ she says. ‘And miss this? Besides, we’re not meeting until eight.’

‘Not in here, I hope?’ I say, anxious for Sam not to see me like this.

‘Don’t worry, Edward. Some place in town. The G-Spot.’

‘Never heard of it,’ says Dan, who’s using the pool table as a barrier to prevent me getting at him.

Wendy laughs. ‘You and most men, unfortunately.’

I manage a couple more circuits of the pool table after Dan, then give up, and collapse onto the nearest chair, which almost collapses itself.

‘Why did they make it so heavy?’

Dan shrugs. ‘Authenticity, I suppose. And given the amount you’re sweating, it obviously works.’

‘I can’t wear it for the rest of the evening.’

‘Why not? You wanted me to make sure nothing happened to you, and trust me, as long as you look like that, nothing will.’

‘But . . .’

‘Besides,’ says Dan. ‘You remember you told me you wished you could be a bigger person where Sam’s affair is concerned?’

‘Yes? So what?’

Dan grins, picks up a pool cue, leans over the table, and pokes me in the stomach with it. ‘Well, now’s your chance.’

9.31 p.m.

I’m sitting in a booth in the Honey Club, one of the many nightclubs just off Brighton seafront. We’ve just come from the lap-dancing bar round the corner, where Candy and Bambi were certainly as impressive as Dan had made out, even though their attempts to give me a lap dance were somewhat thwarted by the fact that wearing the fat suit, I don’t actually seem to have a lap. What was also thwarted was Dan’s attempt to chat Candy up, although that was self-inflicted, thanks to his comment about who had the most silicone: me or the two of them, and by ‘two of them’ I think he was just referring to Candy – which is why we’re sitting here somewhat ahead of schedule.

It’s still quite early, so there aren’t that many people in the club, which is just as well given how self-conscious I’m feeling about how I look. At least I don’t have a long embarrassing journey home later, given the rooms at the Grand we’ve had the good sense to check in to on the way here. I’d have been quite happy to go home to Sam, but Dan’s observation that being sick over your fiancée a week before your wedding probably wasn’t the smartest of moves convinced me that the hotel option made more sense.

I check the clock on the wall for about the fiftieth time. Dan’s been gone for the best part of ten minutes, and I’m peering through the gloom, trying to ignore all the people pointing in my direction and laughing, when I spot him on his way back from the bar. He’s carrying two bottles of beer, but when I try and take one from him, he slaps my hand away.

‘What are you doing?’ he says, squeezing himself into the booth.

I shrug, which sends a ripple effect down through my belly. ‘I thought one of those might be for me.’

‘Nah. They’re both for me. Courtesy of Kelly and Kate over there.’ He waves at two women at the bar. ‘They’re big fans, apparently. And they both wanted to buy me a drink. How could I refuse?’

‘Would you like to give me one?’

He smirks. ‘Funnily enough, that’s just what Kelly said. But I can’t. Give you one, I mean. Kelly, on the other hand . . .’

‘Dan, please. And, why ever not?’

‘Don’t you think it would be a little bit rude? To give one of them away to you? Seeing as they were presents. Anyway.’ Dan nods towards the half-full pint glass on the table in front of me. ‘I was about to make a toast.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I pick my glass up. ‘To the end of an era, you mean?’

‘Oh,’ says Dan, following it with a longer, ‘Ohhhh.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just that it
is
the end of an era, isn’t it?’

I nod, happily. ‘My single life.’

‘Not that, dummy. You and me. No more just the two of us. Now that you’ve got the old ball-and-chain, I mean.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Things change, don’t they, when you’re married.’

‘Not necessarily. Sam and I will still be the same people . . .’

‘No. I’m talking about between you and me.’ Dan puts both beer bottles down in front of him. ‘Before you know it, you’ll be preferring nights at home with her indoors to a drink at the Admiral Jim with your old mate Dan. And that’s fine, really it is. So don’t worry about me . . .’

‘Stop being ridiculous,’ I say. ‘I already prefer nights in with Sam to nights out with you, but we still see each other, don’t we? Besides, I’ve been in one sort of relationship or another pretty much all the time you’ve known me. Things are hardly going to change between us just because I’m married.’

‘You say that now. But wait till the kids come along. Then the chances of you escaping for a swift one are going to be pretty much zero.’

‘You can still come round. You know where we live. And besides, kids will be ages away. And even then, I’m sure they’ll love their uncle Dan.’

‘Uncle Dan.’ He brightens a little. ‘They will, won’t they?’

‘So, tell me something,’ I say, feeling like I’m about to give him a ‘facts of life’ talking to. ‘Has this made you think about your own situation at all?’