by Dunn, Matt
‘You can take that both ways.’
‘No, I mean it in a positive sense. And not just because I was able to measure everything against the relationship I had with Jane.’
‘It must have been pretty special, I guess?’
I wait for the punchline, but none comes. ‘Er, yes, actually.’
‘And how did you feel when she asked? You know, at the precise moment you had to answer. I was reading this thing the other day about people who drown. Apparently there’s a lot of struggling, and then right at the point of death, they experience this feeling of calm, almost like euphoria.’
‘And?’
‘Was it like that?’
I laugh. ‘Not at all.’
‘Because it’s quite a heavy question, isn’t it? I mean, it’s all right just going out with someone, but to put them on the spot and ask them if they want to spend the rest of their lives with you. Legally . . .’ Dan whistles loudly.
‘Why are you so interested, all of a sudden? This better not be for your best man speech.’
He grins. ‘Nah. I’m just curious.’
‘Curious? Or interested?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Curious suggests you want to know for the hell of it. Interested means you want to know because it’s something you’re considering yourself.’
Dan makes a face, as if I’ve just suggested he takes all his clothes off and runs up and down the seafront. ‘Yeah, right. Dan Davis, get married. A ha ha ha ha ha.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, because . . .’ splutters Dan. ‘For one thing . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Er . . .’
‘Come on. Is it something you could see yourself doing? One day?’
Dan drains the last of his beer. ‘Doubtful.’
‘Not even with someone like Polly?’
He winces a little at the mention of her name. ‘Someone like Polly? Yes, maybe. But that’s never going to happen, is it?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there’s no one like Polly, and the actual Polly’s with someone else now. Besides, even if she wasn’t, she might not want . . .’
‘You?’
‘To get married,’ says Dan, as if I’ve just made the most outrageous suggestion. ‘Anyway, it’s you we’re talking about here.’
‘No it isn’t. You brought it up.’
‘I did, didn’t I? Which means I can decide when I want to stop talking about it too.’
‘But—’
‘Nope.’
‘Dan, I—’
‘Edward!’ He makes the ‘talk to the hand’ gesture. ‘Subject closed.’
‘Fine,’ I say.
Although by the look on his face when I mentioned Polly’s name, I suspect it’s anything but.
Thursday 9 April
7.55 p.m.
Sam’s been happily showing the ring to all and sundry, and even wears it to work, which is something I’m pleased about, as it might – finally – stop her getting regularly hit on by her clients. I can’t blame them, though; it’s what I did.
She’s also been phoning round various friends and family to check they’re free on the twenty-fifth, which I suppose proves to me that she’s serious about the wedding going ahead. I’ve been trying to be more enthusiastic about the registry office too, and while I can’t say the idea’s exactly growing on me, I can see that I don’t have a lot of choice.
Come Thursday evening, I’m in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the food we’re serving Dan and Madeleine, who – given that they’ve never met, and since Sam’s decided to ask Madeleine to be her maid of honour – we’ve invited round for dinner this evening to discuss their involvement in our (not so) big day.
Of course, when I say ‘putting the finishing touches to’, what I really mean is ‘putting in the oven’, as it’s Sam who’s been slaving away all afternoon to make some sort of cheese and vegetable bake. I had offered to make my speciality – spaghetti Bolognese – although when I say ‘speciality’, it’s about the only thing I can cook that isn’t, well, canned, but as Sam reminded me, Madeleine’s a vegetarian.
As to what sort of vegetables I’m baking, I’m not that sure because, to be honest, the only ones I can name come on a round cheese- and tomato-covered base on the rare occasion Sam lets me order us a takeaway Veggie Wedgie from Pizza the Action for dinner but (as she always points out) those aren’t ‘proper’ vegetables anyway. I’d prefer their Meat Treat, but even though (again, according to Sam) the kind of meat you get on a pizza isn’t proper meat either, and despite my observation that surely that makes them both as bad as each other so we might as well go the meat route, I rarely get my way.
But whatever it is we’re eating, I’m happy. This is the first official ‘engagement’ Sam and I have had as a couple since we, well, got officially engaged. And the way I see it, the more things we do like this, the more real this whole getting married business becomes.
As the doorbell rings, Sam puts a hand on my arm. ‘Try and control Dan this evening, will you? I don’t want him making a play for Madeleine and there being an atmosphere at the wedding.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say, ‘but it’ll be difficult. After all, she’s just his type.’
Sam reaches up and brushes off a piece of cheese from the front of the Spanish bullfighter apron I’m wearing; my Christmas present from her mother. ‘How is she his type?’
‘She’s female,’ I say, heading off to answer the door.
8.14 p.m.
Sam, Madeleine and I are sitting in the lounge, waiting for Dan to turn up, while Dan is probably sitting outside in his car so he can be ‘fashionably’ late. I suspect this for two reasons: firstly because it’s what he always does, as he likes to make an entrance, and secondly because I heard what sounded like him noisily parking the Porsche just down the street ten minutes ago.
It’s particularly annoying because there’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge that I’ve bought so we can toast our forthcoming nuptials, and which I can’t, of course, open until he gets here, so we’re sitting without a drink. Madeleine’s a bit nervous, and could therefore probably do with one, especially since she’s a little bit star-struck at the prospect of meeting Dan. Whether she is actually his type, I’m not sure; she’s not unattractive, and she’s certainly ‘blessed in the chest’, as Dan would say, which are both plus points, if you excuse the phrase, as far as he’s concerned. But besides being a vegetarian, she’s also a homoeopath, and if I know him, that’s possible a little too tree-hugging for Dan.
I’m nervous too. Given that Dan’s my best man, and Madeleine’s going to be Sam’s maid of honour, it’s important they get on, and to that end, I’ve already warned him away from getting drunk and making any of his usual loaded ‘So do you never put any kind of meat in your mouth?’ type observations. It’s therefore a relief – when he eventually rings the doorbell, and once I’ve done that pointless introduction thing where I say, ‘Dan, this is Madeleine, Madeleine, this is Dan’, stressing their names as if both of them are simple or deaf – that he seems to be on his best behaviour.
‘Lovely to meet you, Dan,’ says Madeleine, holding out a hand towards him, which he grabs, planting a kiss on her cheek in the same smooth movement.
‘Edward,’ he scolds, turning towards me, ‘you didn’t tell me tonight was bring a dish.’
It’s a corny line, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Sam groaning, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Madeleine, especially since Dan hasn’t let go of her hand yet.
‘I’m a big fan,’ she says, which immediately sets my alarm bells ringing. Normally that’s an incentive for Dan to find out just how big, but instead, he just smiles.
‘Thank you. That’s nice to hear. So tell me,’ he says, ‘how did you get the nickname?’
‘Nickname?’
‘I mean, are you just a bit reckless, or, you know . . .’ he circles one finger nex
t to his temple, while sticking his tongue sideways out of his mouth, ‘actually loopy?’
Madeleine laughs nervously. ‘I’m not sure what you . . .’
‘Mad Elaine.’ Dan looks puzzled. ‘Isn’t that how Ed introduced you?’
As Sam and I don’t know where to look, there’s an awkward silence, made even more awkward by a confused-looking Dan staring at each of us in turn, but then, suddenly, Madeleine bursts out laughing. ‘You are funny,’ she says, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. ‘Sam warned me you were a charmer, but she didn’t say you had such a good sense of humour too.’
Dan looks across at me, evidently pleased that Madeleine’s laughing, but not quite sure why. ‘But . . .’
‘Dan,’ I say, quickly, ‘can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?’
‘What? Oh, sure.’ He reaches into the Waitrose bag he’s carrying and removes a bottle of Perrier. ‘I need to put this in the fridge, anyway. Don’t go away, Mad Elaine.’
As Madeleine erupts into peals of laughter again, he flashes her the famous Dan Davis grin, then follows me as instructed.
‘What are you playing at?’ I whisper, as I pretend to adjust the oven temperature.
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘Firstly, her name is Madeleine. One word, not a description.’
‘But it’s pronounced . . .’
‘That’s because she’s French. Or at least, her parents are.’
‘Ah.’
‘And secondly. . .’ I snatch the bottle of Perrier from him. ‘Mineral water?’
‘Well,’ says Dan, gravely, ‘I am driving.’
‘What for? You live five minutes away.’
‘You told me not to get drunk this evening. So I thought if I drove, I’d be more likely to stay sober.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I immediately feel guilty. ‘Sorry. And you’re not trying to chat her up?’
Dan sighs. ‘Ed, if you think that accusing a woman of being a mentalist is a good way to get into her knickers . . . let’s just say it’s a miracle you’ve managed to find one to marry you.’
‘Yes, well,’ I say, removing the champagne from the fridge, and replacing it with the Perrier. ‘It just looked like you were doing, you know, your usual.’
‘You said you wanted us to get on, didn’t you? So I’m just being friendly.’
‘Okay. Point taken. Sorry.’
Dan rests a hand on my arm. ‘Apology accepted.’
We head back into the lounge, where Sam and Madeleine are sitting on the sofa. I pop the bottle open, and fill up three of the four glasses on the coffee table.
‘Are you sure you won’t have one, Dan?’
He takes one look at the bottle, then sits down next to Madeleine, his arm snaking around her waist to give her a squeeze.
‘Oh, go on, then,’ he says. ‘Just the one. I can never resist anything French and bubbly.’
And as Madeleine starts to giggle for the third time this evening, I can already tell it’s going to be a long night.
10.42 p.m.
It’s getting late, and – apart from one awkward moment, when Madeleine told Dan she was a homoeopath, and Dan replied ‘kinky’, resulting in me having to whisk him back off into the kitchen to explain that it wasn’t some perverse sexual practice – the evening seems to have gone well. Madeleine’s been flirting with Dan the whole evening, but true to his word, Dan’s nursed the same glass of champagne all night, and so while the rest of us are pleasantly merry, he’s in a strangely reflective mood.
We’re having coffee, and I’m trying to sneakily eat a few extra After Eights without Sam noticing by slipping them out of their wrappers while still in the box, when Dan suddenly turns to Sam and clears his throat.
‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘why exactly did you ask Edward to marry you?’
This takes me by surprise, especially when Sam glances across at me, meaning I have to stop chewing the latest After Eight she hasn’t seen me take and start sucking it instead. And even though I’m embarrassed that Dan’s brought it up so brazenly, I nod at her to suggest she should go ahead and answer, although more as a diversionary tactic so I can swallow the contents of my mouth.
‘It seemed like the obvious thing to do,’ she says, fingering her engagement ring. ‘Especially when I found out I was pregnant.’
Thirty seconds later, after Dan’s finished whacking me on the back to dislodge the remains of the After Eight I’ve just inhaled in shock, and it’s finally become clear to me that Sam was joking, everyone stops laughing.
‘Yes, Sam,’ I croak, before guzzling down some of Dan’s Perrier. ‘Very funny.’
‘Seriously, though,’ he says, still trying to hide a smile. ‘Why are you marrying Ed?’
I shoot him a glance, unable to work out why he’s doing this. Maybe he thinks he’s doing me a favour, trying to put my mind at rest by hearing it from the horse’s mouth. Maybe he wants to hear a woman’s point of view, so he can understand Polly better. But either way, I’m anxious to change the subject.
‘Dan, I hardly think now’s the time or the place,’ I say, reaching over to refill my water glass.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘I’d like to hear it.’
In truth, there’s a part of me that would like to hear it too. But probably not in front of anyone else. And especially not in front of Dan, particularly given the speech he’s going to be delivering in a couple of weeks’ time.
‘I mean,’ he continues, ‘when you first met him, he wasn’t such a catch, was he? And he was going out with someone else. Although he was the only one in that particular relationship who still believed that.’
‘Thank you, Dan.’
‘Well . . .’ Sam reaches across the table, and grabs my hand. ‘That was the thing. I got to know him first, and saw the things he did for other people like Mrs Barraclough, Billy, and – no offence – even you, and I realized what a lovely, decent guy he was, and – again, no offence, Dan – there aren’t that many of them around. And when I saw how much he wanted Jane back, how much he obviously cared about her . . .’ She smiles, and squeezes my fingers tightly. ‘I also knew she’d broken his heart, and saw how much that had hurt him, and so I knew he’d never do the same to me, because he’d never want to inflict that kind of pain on someone else. And then, as the new – or rather, the old Edward started to emerge . . . I mean, I fancied him, obviously. But the fact that he was prepared to work so hard, put himself through so much agony, and make so many changes, just to try and win her back, well, I thought to myself: he must really love her to do such a thing. And I remember thinking how lucky she was, and hoping that one day I’d meet someone who felt the same way about me. I just didn’t know at the time that I already had.’
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never really heard Sam talk like this before. And I’m not the only one; there’s a silence round the table, and I can tell that even number-one cynic Dan is touched, as he shakes his head in admiration.
‘Wow.’
Sam’s blushing now, and I’m pretty sure I must be too. ‘You asked.’
Suddenly, there’s a loud sob from Madeleine’s end of the table. ‘That’s beautiful.’
‘Which is why it’s a shame I can’t prove that to you by us having a proper big wedding with all the trimmings,’ I say, handing Madeleine a serviette at the same time.
Sam shakes her head. ‘You don’t need to prove it to me, Edward. Not like that, anyway.’
‘Well, maybe I want to,’ I say, sounding like a petulant teenager.
‘I thought we’d discussed this,’ says Sam. ‘Is it still that important to you?’
I gaze across the table at her for a moment, then stick my bottom lip out childishly. ‘No,’ I say, implying the exact opposite.
There’s an awkward silence, then Dan taps his fork against the rim of his glass. ‘We’re still here, by the way.’
‘Sorry. So, er, can I get anyone anything?’ I say, picking up the After Eight box and handing it round. Despite the numb
er of wrappers still in there, it feels alarmingly light, and I’m hoping I haven’t eaten them all.
Madeleine dabs her eyes with the serviette, then looks at her watch. ‘No, thank you. Thanks for a lovely evening, but I ought to be going,’ she says, getting up from the table. ‘It’s a school night, and I’ve got a long walk home.’
Quick as a flash, Dan’s out of his chair. ‘I ought to get off too. Hey, Mad Elaine, we should swap details,’ he says, adding ‘in case we need to discuss wedding stuff,’ when he sees me glaring at him.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘What’s the best way to get hold of you?’
Dan, to his credit, doesn’t give her his usual ‘with both hands’ answer. ‘Email’s probably best. Just use my name at hotmail dot com.’
‘Hot male?’ says Madeleine. ‘I could have probably guessed that last part.’
Dan looks at me awkwardly, as if to say it isn’t his fault, so I just roll my eyes. ‘I’ll give you a lift home if you like,’ he says, walking her to the door.
Madeleine hesitates for a moment, then smiles at him. ‘Okay, then. Ozzie will be wondering where I am.’
‘Who’s Ozzie?’ says Dan, his face falling suddenly. ‘Your boyfriend?’
Madeleine laughs. ‘No. My cat.’
‘Ah. A cat.’ says Dan, and I brace myself, thinking that she’s fallen at the final hurdle; Dan has a number of theories about women who own cats, and none of them are complimentary. Instead, he smiles broadly. ‘I mean, aah. A cat.’
Madeleine takes the arm he’s offered her. ‘So, Dan, are you an animal lover?’
Dan shrugs. ‘I’ve had no complaints,’ he says, winking at me as he walks her out of the door.
Friday, 10 April
8.01 a.m.
I don’t hear Sam get up for work this morning, and in fact it’s Dan who wakes me, by texting first thing to assure me that despite having to fight off her advances in the car last night, all he did was drop Madeleine off at home. After I’ve re-read his message three times in disbelief, I lie in bed basking in the things Sam said about me yesterday.