by Dunn, Matt
‘Why ever not?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? She’s having an affair.’
‘You don’t know that. And even if she was, like I said the other day, maybe it’s just one last fling. Something she needs to get out of her system, so she can settle down and be faithful to you.’
I stare at him incredulously. ‘Ignoring the fact that it would be so wrong on so many levels, what if it isn’t? What if she’s been seeing this guy for ages, and wants it to carry on? And why is she seeing him? Is there something I’m not giving her?’
‘Hur hur.’
‘Dan, please. If ever there was a time I need you not to be smutty, it’s now.’
‘Sorry, mate.’ He clears his throat. ‘What proof have you got?’
‘Proof? I haven’t got any proof. It’s just a suspicion. A hunch.’
‘What did you see her do?’
‘It’s not so much what I saw her do.’ I swallow hard, still finding it difficult to relive the cake incident, or even say the word. ‘It’s the fact they were somewhere she knew I wouldn’t see them. And then tonight, she told me she was going for a drink with Madeleine. And it turned out it was with Madeleine and him.’
Dan raises both eyebrows, and I tell myself that if he makes another reference to threesomes I’ll hit him, but instead, he seems to be taking the matter seriously.
‘Did you challenge her about it?’
‘Yeah, right. Because that’s a conversation I want to have the week before my wedding. “Hi, Sam, I’ve confirmed the DJ for the reception. Oh, and by the way, are you having an affair?”’
‘You’re having a DJ?’ Dan sighs with relief. ‘Thank Christ you didn’t go for that Scottish stuff. Just make sure they don’t play any of that cheesy eighties music you like. Oh, and what about getting him to have some of that foam they use at the clubs in Ibiza? You know – the stuff that makes the women’s tops go all see-through.’
‘Please try and stop thinking about yourself for five minutes. Weren’t you listening earlier? There’s not going to be any wedding.’
He puts the sponge down on the coffee table. ‘That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?’
‘Drastic?’
He nods. ‘People put too much emphasis on this fidelity lark nowadays, in my opinion.’
I look at him in disbelief. ‘I don’t want your opinion. I want your help. What am I going to do?’
Dan thinks for a moment. ‘I could beat him up for you, if you like.’
For a minute, I do like. But what good would that do? ‘He’s not the problem. Sam is.’
‘Steady on,’ says Dan. ‘Besides, I’m not sure I could take her. Have you seen her biceps?’
‘I didn’t mean for you to beat her up, Dan.’
As I flop backwards on the sofa and stare miserably up at the ceiling, Dan reaches over and carefully takes the beer can from my hand, like a policeman relieving a potential suicide of his gun.
‘Ah. No. Of course. But there’s no reason to beat yourself up either. First things first. You need a clear head. Coffee?’
‘I don’t mind if I do. Thanks.’
‘Great,’ he says, leaping off the sofa and heading for his bedroom. ‘Make me one while you’re at it. I’ll just grab a quick shower and throw some clothes on, then we’ll get this sorted.’
7.31 p.m.
It takes Dan about half an hour to ‘throw’ his clothes on, which is just as well, as that’s how long it takes me to work out how to get the little pods into the flash new Nespresso coffee machine that has replaced the cafetière, and I’ve just managed to make myself an espresso by the time he reappears.
‘Thanks,’ he says, taking the cup from me before I’ve had a chance to drink it, then downing half of it with an exaggerated slurp. ‘You not having one?’
I stare at the machine, wondering whether I can be bothered to go through the whole process again. ‘I don’t need a coffee, Dan. What I need is advice.’
‘Okay.’ He sits down at the kitchen table, then indicates for me to do the same. ‘Fire away.’
‘I’ve changed my mind and decided I’m just going to have to confront Sam, so . . .’
‘Whoa!’ says Dan, suddenly sitting bolt upright, though that could just be a result of the caffeine hit. ‘Steady on there, cowboy. What do you want to be doing a silly thing like that for?’
‘How else am I going to find out what she’s been up to?’
‘Why do you want to find out what she’s been up to? And anyway, she might not have been up to anything at all, don’t forget.’
‘Because we’re getting married, Dan. And I can’t possibly marry Sam if she’s been . . . you know’ – I still have difficulty saying the words – ‘cheating on me.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But before you do anything rash, think of the consequences. You go up to her – your fiancée – and say, “Hello, sweetheart, I just wanted to check something before we tie the knot next weekend. Are you shagging someone else?” How do you think she’s going to react?’
‘By telling me the truth, hopefully.’
‘The truth. Which is either a) “Yes, I am seeing someone else, and by the way, the wedding’s off”, or b) “No, of course I’m not, how could you accuse me of such a thing, Edward, and by the way, the wedding’s off”. Just tell me where the upside is for you in that approach, please.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
Dan sighs. ‘Ed, there are some questions you can never ask, especially if you want a relationship to work – “Is it mine?”, for example, or “Would you mind if your mother joined us in bed?” – and this is one of those, which is why you’ve got to let it go. Convince yourself that because she’s marrying you, she can’t possibly be up to anything. After all, who’d have an affair with someone just before they got married?’
‘That Jennifer girl you were shagging last Christmas. Remember?’
‘Ah, but that was different. I knew she was getting married. And she wanted me to be her final fling. So everyone was happy.’
‘Except for the poor mug she was marrying, you mean.’
Dan rolls his eyes. ‘That’s the whole point of a final fling. So you get it out of your system. I believe the clue’s in the word final. So if that is what Sam’s doing, then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, you know Sam. She’s not like that. So I’m sure if she is up to something, it’s nothing for you to be worried about.’
‘But up to what?’ I whine.
Dan looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. Like I said, I can’t understand why anyone would get married in the first place, so asking me what goes through their minds in the couple of weeks beforehand . . .’
‘So, if I can’t confront her, and I can’t let it go, what’s the alternative? Sneak around behind her back in an attempt to catch her out?’
Dan nods. ‘Yup. That way you avoid any messy confrontation.’
‘But what if she catches me?’
‘Make something up. But whatever you do, don’t blurt out some half-baked accusation just before your wedding because that’s something you won’t be able to take back. So if you want my advice, let it go. I know it seems pretty suspicious, but it just can’t be an affair. Not Sam. Like I said before, she’s not the type.’ He drains the rest of his coffee. ‘Besides, why does it matter so much to you?’
‘Why does it matter so much to me?’ I stare at Dan across the table, wondering how on earth he can ask such a thing. ‘Because of Jane’s affair, of course. Because I felt such a mug at the time, and because the last thing I want to do is to lose Sam the same way.’
Dan puts his cup down on the table. ‘Are you sure you don’t want one?’
‘What good would me having an affair do?’ I almost shout. ‘Even things up?’
‘Steady on,’ says Dan, nodding towards the Nespresso machine. ‘I was talking about a coffee. Although if you do want one, it had better be decaf.’
As I stare at him, all the fight
goes out of me. ‘Go on then,’ I say, suddenly feeling weary. ‘But what am I going to do, Dan?’
Dan selects a brown coffee pod from the rack behind the machine, then puts a clean espresso cup under the spout. ‘Well, for starters, don’t fuck things up by confronting her. Whatever Sam’s up to – and again, that’s if she is up to anything – she’s got her reasons. So as long as she turns up on the twenty-fourth . . .’
‘Twenty-fifth, Dan.’
‘. . .then you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
I get an even sicker feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘And that’s another thing. Supposing she doesn’t? Turn up, I mean.’
Dan frowns, though possibly because he’s struggling to remember how the coffee machine works.
‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Duh. The affair, dummy.’
‘What affair?’ says Dan, clicking the pod into place, hitting a few buttons at random on the front of the machine, then punching the air in celebration as some coffee miraculously starts to appear in the cup. ‘As far as I can see, there’s no proof, apart from you accidentally catching her having what’s probably an innocent drink with some bloke a couple of times.’
‘No, but . . .’
‘So, in the absence of any proof, surely the next best thing is to work out whether she’d be likely to have one.’
‘Huh?’
As coffee starts to overflow onto the granite work surface, Dan peers at the machine anxiously, hunting for an ‘off’ button, then settles for pulling the plug out of the wall socket. ‘That way,’ he says, picking the cup up and taking a sip, evidently having forgotten who it was meant to be for, ‘maybe we can prove she’s not.’
I can’t think of anything more original to say, so I just repeat myself.
‘Huh?’
Dan looks at me for a second to check I’m okay, and then continues. ‘Look at it this way. If you can convince yourself she’s got no reason to cheat on you, then surely she isn’t cheating on you.’
‘Dan, I’m sorry, but I’m not quite getting you.’
‘It’s simple,’ he says, putting his coffee cup down, then jumping up from the table and making for a locked cupboard in the corner of the living room. ‘People generally have affairs for two reasons: one – not enough sex in their existing relationship, and two – lack of an emotional connection.’
‘That’s rather a deep observation for you.’
‘Don’t take my word for it,’ he says, reaching up to remove a key from on top of the mirror above the fireplace, then unlocking the cupboard door. ‘Ta-da!’
I peer over his shoulder and into the cupboard, where I can see what look like hundreds of issues of Cosmo. What’s more, on closer inspection, they appear to have had their covers reinforced with sticky-back plastic, and be carefully filed by date.
‘What’s that?’
‘Only my holy fucking bible,’ says Dan, consulting a neatly typed list taped to the inside of the cupboard door. ‘Here.’ He selects one of the magazines, then hands it carefully to me, as if he’s passing over a family heirloom. There’s a yellow Post-it note marking one of the pages, so I open it, then stare at the headline.
‘”How to Tell if He’s a Cheater or a Keeper”. What’s this?’
‘Cosmo,’ says Dan, reverentially. ‘It’s taught me everything I know about women.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not quite following you.’
He takes the magazine back from me and points towards the page. ‘They often have these quizzes. And this one’s most useful if you want to avoid getting caught. You know, find out what they’re telling them to look for, then do the opposite. That sort of thing.’
‘Now I can see why you’ve got a subscription. But how does it help me, exactly?’
‘Simple. We do the quiz, but as if Sam’s the, you know . . .’
‘Cheater?’
‘Or keeper,’ says Dan, encouragingly.
I look at him incredulously. ‘You want me to base my decision as to whether to get married in eight days on a Cosmo quiz?’
Dan picks his cup up and swallows the rest of his – or rather, my – coffee. ‘Why not?’
I don’t know where to start. ‘Because it’s Cosmo?’
‘Which is a very popular magazine with my target market. And therefore representative of you and Sam. Whether you like it or not.’
I stare at the magazine for a second or two, then realize maybe I’m just desperate enough to try it. ‘And you think it’ll be useful?’
Dan nods sincerely, then picks up a pencil from the desk in the corner. ‘It hasn’t let me down yet,’ he says, sitting at the table.
I sigh, unable to believe I’m even considering it, but then again, I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose. Or everything, depending on what, if anything, Sam’s up to.
‘Okay. Knock yourself out.’
‘Right.’ Dan picks up the magazine and clears his throat. ‘How often do you have sex?’
‘We have started the quiz? This isn’t some research you’re doing for your speech?’
‘Of course.’
‘Right. Well, in any case, none of your business.’
‘Edward, this is for your own good.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Is it, A) never, B) once a week, C) 2–3 times, D) 4–6 or E) every day?’
I can’t stop myself from blushing. ‘Well, er . . .’
‘Come on, come on.’
‘D.’
Dan arches one eyebrow. ‘Really? You lucky bastard.’
‘Okay. C. But only because she has to get up early.’
He laughs. ‘And you can’t?’
‘Piss off, Dan.’
‘Okay. C it is,’ he says, marking the answer down. ‘Next question. How often does he tell you he loves you? Though that should be “she”, of course.’
‘What are my options?’
‘Same as before. A) Never, B) once a week, C) . . .’
‘Okay. I remember. That would be C again.’
‘Great,’ says Dan. ‘See – this isn’t so hard, is it? Next question. When you’re out with your friends, do you feel jealous that she pays them a lot more attention than you? I mean, I know that’s a little tricky to answer, seeing as you don’t have many friends, and everyone always pays the most attention to me.’
‘A.’
‘I said, when you’re out . . .’
‘No, Dan. “A”. Not “eh?”’
‘Sorry. A. Right. Next question. Does she sometimes go out at strange times of the day, and come back home flushed, out of breath, or head straight for the shower?’
‘Well, yes, but . . .’
‘Oh dear,’ says Dan. ‘That’s not good.’
‘Dan, she’s a personal trainer. It’s her job.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Of course.’ He nods. ‘Good cover story, though.’
‘Thanks very much. That’s reassuring. Next question?’
‘I’m putting E down, am I?’
‘Well, I suppose so, but . . .’
Dan shushes me. ‘Don’t argue with the wisdom of Cosmo, Edward.’
‘Fine.’ I fold my arms. ‘E.’
‘Great.’
As Dan rattles through the rest of the quiz, I start to feel more and more hopeless. Given the nature of the questions, I can guess what the outcome is going to be, even once we’ve allowed for Sam’s job-related ‘infidelities’, and besides, a Cosmo quiz hardly proves anything – apart from to Dan, of course. Even so, when we’ve finally finished, I can’t help but ask.
‘So, go on then. What’s my score?’
‘Sam’s score, you mean.’
‘Sorry, Dan. Sam’s score.’
I lean back in my seat and stare at him while he struggles to work out the scoring system, which seems to be no more complicated than ‘Mostly As’ or ‘Mostly Bs’, with the odd bonus question thrown in. Finally he takes a deep breath, and turns to face me. ‘Are you ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘Okay. ‘Mostly Cs’: He’s . . . I mean, she’s a keeper. So go ahead and get married next Saturday.’ He nudges me. ‘I added that last bit myself.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Really,’ he says, setting the magazine triumphantly down on the table. ‘So there you go. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Says you.’
‘Says Cosmo,’ he points out, stroking the cover a little too affectionately for my liking.
‘You’ll excuse me if I don’t take too much comfort from a magazine that also investigates whether blondes really have more fun,’ I say, pointing to an article on the opposite page, titled ‘To Dye For’.
Dan shrugs. ‘Okay, maybe some of the questions were a bit spurious. But you’ve got to admit, the overall concept is pretty sound. Sam’s not lacking in any department as far as your relationship is concerned. So what possible reason could she have for cheating on you?’
‘Well . . .’ The funny thing is, as I think it through, I fail to come up with anything. We do have a good time, Sam and I – in all departments. So what possible reason would she have for wanting an affair? Unless . . . ‘But what if she is just trying to get it out of her system? You know, one last fling?’
Dan walks back over to the cupboard in the corner, slips the copy of Cosmo carefully back into its rightful place, then locks the door again. ‘Edward, how may times do I have to tell you? Sam’s not like that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because . . .’ Dan slips the key back into its hiding place, then sits down next to me and puts a supportive arm around my shoulder. ‘You know that phrase, “It takes one to know one”?’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, I’m one. And because of that, I’m pretty sure Sam isn’t.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. I’ve had lots of affairs. With lots of people. And over the years, I’ve learned there’s a certain type that’s happy to cheat on someone – believe me, they’re easy to spot. And do you know what? Sam’s not one of them.’ He nods towards the bathroom. ‘So clean yourself up. Go back home. Start getting ready for this wedding of yours. And look forward to spending the rest of your life with her.’