by Matt Dunn
‘Ben?’ She looks up from her copy of Guns and Ammo, which I’m hoping she’s pulled out at random from the pub’s magazine rack, rather than brought in specially.
I grin self-consciously down at her. ‘Hello, stranger.’
She breaks into a smile, then gets up awkwardly to greet me, though her awkwardness is more to do with the fact that I’m standing a little too close to her, and she’s got her drink in one hand and magazine in the other, so has to reach past me and put them down on the table before getting out of her seat, thus putting her face embarrassingly close to my groin.
It’s clear we don’t quite know what to do. A handshake’s too formal, and while a hug might work if we had seen each other a bit more recently, an eight-year gap is a tricky one to judge. I settle for a kiss on the cheek, though have to embarrass both her and myself when she goes for the continental ‘two-style’ kiss while I’m already sitting down after the one.
‘So, how have you been?’
‘Good, thanks. You look . . .’ I’m warming to my task now. ‘G-R-8. I mean, great.’
‘Thanks.’ Linda blushes slightly. ‘You’ve grown your hair.’
‘That’s not all. Not that I’ve grown anything else. I mean, I’ve made some other changes. In my life, that is . . .’ I stop talking, wondering why I’m so bad at this. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’ll get you one,’ says Linda, reaching for her handbag and standing up. ‘A lager?’
I shrug affably. ‘Why not?’
I take a quick glance at her fingers as she walks past me. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of a wedding or even engagement ring. This is looking better. And as the evening progresses, it gets better still, because as we swap details of who we still keep in touch with from college – which on my part seems to be no one, while Linda’s a walking Friends Reunited, reeling off how so-and-so’s just had a baby, or you-know-who’s got married – not once does she mention a partner, or anyone who could be remotely perceived as a boyfriend. Once she’s finished bringing me up to speed, I clear my throat.
‘So, never married, eh?’
She laughs, then holds up her left hand and wiggles her ring-less fingers. ‘Nope. I’ve been waiting for the right person. You?’
For a second, I wonder whether she’s suggesting that I might be the right person, but then realize she’s just asking me a question. ‘No. Same here. Although, do you remember that one drunken night?’ I say, deciding this is my opportunity to deal with the elephant in the room. ‘At college. At that party?’
Linda smiles. ‘There were a lot of parties, Ben. And a lot of drunken nights.’
‘You know, at what’s-his-name’s house?’
‘Well, that narrows it down.’
Ah. I can see that as far as Linda’s concerned, the elephant’s not actually in the room, and what’s more, I’m going to have to drag it in, sit it down, and physically point it out to her. ‘You know, the one when we promised to marry each other by the time we reached thirty? If neither of us had, you know, met someone else?’
I laugh, to try and make light of what, in the cold light of day, sounds like a ridiculous arrangement, and fully expect Linda to join in, but instead she looks at me a little strangely.
‘No.’
Ah. This is a setback I hadn’t counted on. ‘Yes, you must remember. We were round at that party, where that bloke you used to go out with got off with . . .’ Damn. What was her name? ‘And so we decided that we’d get married. As a kind of fall-back plan. If we weren’t married to anyone else. By, er, thirty.’
Linda starts to edge imperceptibly away. ‘What are you talking about, Ben?’
‘Our . . . agreement.’ I’m getting insistent now, and it seems to be scaring her off. ‘We even shook hands on it,’
I say, conscious that my hands are shaking now.
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Well ...’
As Linda stares at me, I pick up my lager and take a sip, wondering whether I should just get up and leave, but then she suddenly lets out a short laugh. ‘I do.’
I nearly spill my drink. ‘Do what?’
‘I was kidding you. Of course I remember.’
‘You do?’
‘I do,’ repeats Linda, although the way she phrases those two little words makes them sound a little chilling. ‘I just didn’t realize it was legally binding.’
‘Oh.’ I put my beer down carefully, not quite knowing what to say next. ‘Right.’
‘So, that was the reason for your text?’
‘Well, not just that, obviously,’ I say, trying desperately to think of something else that might sound plausible. But before I get a chance, Linda laughs again.
‘Yes it was. You thought that you could just get in touch out of the blue and make me honour some drunken “agreement’’’ – I can hear the speech marks around the word – ‘that you and I made eight years ago?’
‘Er, yes. Well, not make you, exactly. Just see if you, you know, remembered it,’ I say, my plan to bring it up and, if she reacted strangely, just sweep it under the table suddenly seeming a little bit shaky too.
Linda fixes me with a disbelieving stare. ‘How dare you think that I’d be so desperate that I’d drop everything to marry you. What if I was involved in a happy relationship?’
I’m a little insulted by her dismissive tone, and can’t help defending myself. ‘Well, you’re not, are you?’
‘Not what?’
‘In a relationship. Happy or otherwise.’
‘No,’ says Linda. ‘But that’s beside the point.’
‘It’s exactly the point,’ I say. ‘And that’s why it makes perfect sense to at least investigate the possibility. We were friends at college. Good friends.’
‘So good that you didn’t bother to keep in touch with me when we left.’
‘Yes, well, ignoring that small point for a moment. We’ve both obviously gone through the ringer in terms of relationships since then, and still not managed to find someone.’
‘No, but ...’
‘And let’s face it, neither of us is getting any younger.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, letting my eyes flick over to a woman with a baby in the corner. I do it in a subtle way, but Linda still follows my gaze.
‘Oh, of course,’ she says, widening her eyes. ‘I’m a woman, I’m almost thirty years old, and therefore I must be desperate to have a baby. That’s the best reason for marrying a virtual stranger I’ve ever heard. In fact, I’ve changed my mind. Quick – let’s elope. Right now.’
‘Elope?’
Linda shrugs. ‘Why not? I mean, I’ve got a couple of meetings scheduled for tomorrow, but I’m sure I can bump them back a day or two. Oh no, hang on, there’s the honeymoon to think of. Where were we going to go?’
‘Well, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but—’
‘Hawaii’s nice. Or maybe the Maldives. One of those little huts on stilts. I’ve always wanted to stay in one of those.’
Ah. I hadn’t really factored this in. And my credit card is nearly at its limit. ‘Well, maybe we could forget the honeymoon,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood a little. ‘I mean, you just spend all of your time in bed, don’t you? So it doesn’t really matter where you go.’
‘Of course, Ben. Silly of me. After all, like you so kindly pointed out, I’m just so keen to get on with making babies. Now how many shall we have? One? Two? What about four?’
‘Well, I don’t—’
Linda reaches across the table, and rests her hand on top of mine. ‘Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? I mean, we haven’t even done it properly.’
‘Done it?’
‘No. And don’t you think we ought to? Before we go any further.’
Surely she can’t mean sex? Although that is pretty forward-thinking of her. I mean, what if we’re not compatible in the, er, ‘bedroom department’? ‘Well, okay.’<
br />
‘So, go on then.’
I frown at her for a moment. ‘Go on then what?’
Linda glances down towards the carpet. ‘You know. Down you get.’
I follow her gaze. To be honest, the carpet looks a little, well, mouldy. ‘What, here?’
‘Why not? I was drunk the last time you did it, and here’s as good a place as any.’
‘If by “it” you mean, er, sex,’ I say, ‘I’m not sure we ever actually did it.’
She smiles, then shakes her head. ‘No, silly. I mean your proposal.’
‘Oh.’ I laugh, though it’s more of a nervous laugh than an amused one. ‘Right.’
Linda stares unblinkingly back at me. ‘So go on then. Propose. And do it properly this time.’
‘What – once more, with feeling?’ I say, sure that she’s joking now.
Linda laughs again. ‘Of course. Now, get on with it,’ she says, rather loudly.
‘But—’
‘Ask me again, Ben.’
‘Linda, I—’
‘Ask me again!’
As Linda starts to get a little hysterical, I begin to realize that perhaps I’ve made a mistake by coming here this evening, and what’s more, I’m starting to worry myself whether our agreement was legally binding. ‘Keep your voice down,’ I say, aware that one or two of the other tables are looking round at us.
‘Keep my voice down? But I want to share it with the world. After all, it’s not every day you get engaged, is it?’
‘Linda, we’re not getting engaged today. I don’t know what you—’
‘You’re right, Ben. I mean, technically we got engaged back at college, didn’t we? It’s just been a rather long engagement.’
I try to remove my hand from underneath hers, which takes a lot of effort. ‘Listen, I didn’t come here to ask you to marry me. I just wanted to see whether we had any basis to go forward. That sort of thing. But I can see that we haven’t, and . . .’
Linda suddenly sits bolt upright. ‘So, you’re calling it off?’ she says angrily.
I look at her across the table, wondering if she’s actually a bit mad, rather than just mad at me. ‘Well, er, no. I mean, there’s nothing to call off.’
Linda stares back at me for a second or two, then bursts out crying. Very loudly. Huge, shoulder-heaving sobs, that have the effect of making everyone in the pub stop talking. I lean across and put a hand on her arm to try to calm her down, but she shrugs me off, and then next thing I know, the barman is towering over me.
‘Everything all right, love?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ I say. ‘She—’
‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ he says, glaring down at me. ‘Unless you’re suggesting I’d be calling you “love”?’
‘No. Sorry. Of course not.’
Linda sniffs a couple of times, and then blows her nose loudly on a serviette. ‘He’s just called off our engagement,’ she says, practically to the whole pub.
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I say, as an angry murmuring travels round the room. ‘She . . .’
‘How long have you been engaged?’ asks a woman from the next table.
‘Eight years,’ sniffs Linda.
I start to protest, but the woman gives me a dirty look. ‘Eight years?’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Well, if he hasn’t made an honest woman of you by now, I’d say you’re best out of there.’
‘Quite right,’ says an old man from the bar.
As Linda starts crying again, I’m wondering how on earth I’m going to get out of this, when fortunately the barman provides me with the perfect excuse. ‘I think you’d better leave,’ he says, folding his arms and nodding towards the door.
I glance anxiously around the pub, then look across the table at Linda, who’s sobbing quietly into her wine glass. I’d like to think that she’s putting on an act, but even if she isn’t I’m still keen to make my escape as quickly as possible. ‘Are you going to be okay?’
‘Just go, will you?’ she sniffs.
‘Now,’ adds the barman, helping me out of my chair.
And the truth is, unlike Linda, I don’t need to be asked twice.
Chapter 9
It’s Monday lunchtime, and I’m in my studio, having just come back from chasing up another of Ash’s ‘leads’, when my mobile goes.
‘How’d you get on with her?’
‘Er . . . Who?’ I say nervously, although I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell Ash I was going to see Linda last night. Not that I’m planning on telling anyone what happened. Ever.
‘With that woman,’ says Ash. ‘This morning?’
‘Oh. Right. Ash, for the millionth time, I don’t do that kind of thing.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘It’s demeaning.’
‘So is having no money. Besides, painting pet portraits might not be high art, but loads of people . . .’
‘Ash, it wasn’t her pet she wanted a portrait of. And in future, when a scary old lady asks you whether I’d be prepared to go round to her house and paint her pussy, please check that she actually owns a cat first.’
Ash laughs. ‘Ah. Sorry,’ he says, sounding anything but. ‘Anyway, let us in, will you?’
I peer out of the window to see Ash and Priti standing outside, and I’ve half a mind to pretend I’m not here, but Ash is carrying three Styrofoam cups of coffee from Mr Bean, the cafe on the corner, and to be honest, given my current mood, I could do with a caffeine boost.
‘Afternoon,’ he says, handing over one of the steaming cardboard containers.
‘Is it?’ I look at my watch, before realizing I’ve forgotten to put it on again, then shut the door behind them. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
Ash makes a face. ‘I’m just about to take Priti to the airport.’
Priti puts a hand on his arm, and smiles up at me. ‘And I wanted to come and say goodbye.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, goodbye, Priti.’ As soon as I’ve said it, I realize how rude that sounds. ‘Sorry. Just ignore me.’
Ash stares at me. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing.’ I take a sip of coffee. ‘Everything. I only made the mistake of telling my mum and dad how the two of you met.’
‘So what?’ Ash shrugs. ‘It’s hardly a secret.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Ash. But now they’ve gone and offered to do the same for me.’
‘Really?’ Ash carefully hands his coffee to Priti for safekeeping, then starts to laugh, and before long he’s fighting for breath.
‘It’s not funny, Ash,’ I say, once he’s finished, which only has the effect of starting him off again.
‘No, Ash,’ says Priti, shushing him. ‘In fact I think it’s rather sweet.’
‘Sweet?’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s a disaster.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s so embarrassing, that’s why.’
Priti puts her coffee down on the windowsill. ‘Well, we’re not ashamed of it.’
‘I don’t mean it like that. And no offence, but your lot do it all the time, don’t they? Mine don’t. And the last thing I want is to be set up.’
‘Why ever not?’ asks Priti, a little naively, I feel.
‘Well, for a start . . .’ I stop and think for a second. Why not, apart from the obvious taste issues? ‘Well, because it’s just not the way it works here, is it?’
Priti shrugs. ‘Well, maybe it should be. I mean, it obviously does work, given that there’s over a billion of us now. Plus I’ll tell you something, for us women, it’s a hell of a lot easier than going through the normal process. And incidentally, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be the same for you “lot”,’ she adds, borrowing my rather un-PC phrase, ‘in fact, thinking about it, I’ve got lots of non-Indian mates who’d jump at the chance.’
‘What – to go out with Ben?’ says Ash. ‘You don’t have their names and addresses, do you?’
I ignore him. ‘But isn’t it a bit, well, false?’
Priti lau
ghs. ‘What, unlike logging on to some website and falling for a picture of some blonde babe, when in reality she’s ready to collect her bus pass? I tell you, Ben, the world of dating is hard enough out there as it is. So any help you can get is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned. And most women would probably agree with me.’
‘Really?’
She smiles. ‘Really.’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry, Priti. I’m just worried that any women I meet this way are going to find it a little, well, strange.’
‘It’s not strange at all.’ Priti thinks for a moment. ‘In fact, do you know the most refreshing thing about it?’
‘What?’
‘You don’t have to go through all that disappointment. That long-term process where you meet someone, think they might have potential, and then end up losing them because they’re unable to commit.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ says Ash.
‘I’m serious. This way, you’re being introduced to someone who you know is up for commitment from day one.’ She grabs Ash’s hand. ‘And that makes the whole thing easier.’
‘Easier?’ I say.
Priti nods. ‘Much. You should give it a go.’
Ash puts his arm round her shoulders. ‘Ask my folks, if you like.’
‘Ash, that’s very nice of you to suggest it. And no offence to Priti, but I’m hardly going to want the rejects your mum and dad went through . . .’
‘Not to set you up, Ben. I mean to tell yours how to go about it. Properly. Rather than coming out clubbing with you every Saturday.’
As Ash starts to snigger again, I shake my head. ‘I’m not sure.’
Priti frowns at me. ‘Why ever not?’