by Dunn, Matt
‘Er, no,’ I say, reddening even more, which surprises me given the embarrassing afternoon I’ve had already.
‘And so basically you want me to give you the all-clear, otherwise you’re going to have some explaining to do on your wedding night.’
I think about trying to explain now, maybe to see how it might wash, but even without saying the words out loud I can tell that as excuses go, ‘I was very, very drunk’ is a pretty poor one. And, to be honest, I just want to get out of the surgery and back home.
‘Well, yes. But it wasn’t my fault.’
Dr Taylor sighs, then stands up. ‘It never is, Edward,’ she says, showing me to the door.
5.40 p.m.
At least Dr Taylor has promised to try and hurry through the results in time for Saturday, but even if they’re clear, it still doesn’t mean I didn’t sleep with someone else – or indeed, get her pregnant. There’s only one thing for it in the meantime: I’m going to have to stop trying to find out whether I did, and concentrate on whether I could have – physically. Embarrassingly, I’m going to need some help, which is why I leave the surgery and head straight for Dan’s. When I get there, I find him sitting on his sofa, surrounded by car brochures.
‘Don’t tell me you’re getting rid of the Porsche?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘What’s brought this on?’ I say, suddenly concerned. ‘I mean, I know you’re not working, so if money’s a bit tight, I can lend you . . .’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Dan. ‘In fact I’ve had some good news on that front. You know that list of programmes I showed you the other day? The good old Beeb have only agreed to go ahead and commission a pilot of one of them.’
‘Dan, that’s excellent news,’ I say. ‘Which one?’
‘The, er . . .’ Dan clears his throat, ‘that one called “Get You Back”.’
‘What’s that about?’
‘Well . . . er . . . we . . . um . . . find people who’ve been, you know, dumped, and I er . . . well, I sort of help them.’
‘Help them what?’
‘Get them back. The, er . . . person who dumped them.’
‘Get them back in terms of revenge, or . . .’ I get a sudden sinking feeling. ‘You mean get them back to go out with?’
‘Yes, you know, I . . .’ Dan stares at the floor. ‘I help them to sort themselves out. Get in shape. Get a proper haircut. That sort of thing.’
‘Where ever did you get that idea from?’ I say, sarcastically.
‘Do you mind? I mean, I know it’s pretty close to home, but they loved it. Although . . .’
‘Although what?’
‘It all depends on a certain someone saying “yes”.’
I look at him for a moment, wondering how I can possibly refuse. ‘Okay, Dan. Yes.’
He stares back at me looking confused. ‘Not you, Ed. Polly. I don’t want to do anything that’s going to jeopardize my chances with her. And if she doesn’t want me to do this TV stuff, then . . .’
‘So you’d actually put her above your career?’ I say, more than a little impressed.
Dan shrugs. ‘We’ll see. But if I’m going to have to make some changes, then I might as well start by changing the Porsche.’
‘For what?’ I say, pointing to the copy of What Car on the coffee table.
Dan shrugs. ‘I’m thinking of going eco. You know, get one of those hybrids, or something. They’re all doing it.’
‘Who’s “they”?’
‘Cameron. Brad. Leo,’ says Dan, as if he’s on first name terms with them all. ‘Or I might even get one of those Smart cars.’ He hands me the brochure. ‘They even do a sports version.’
I flick through the leaflet. ‘What – the Smart RS? That’d be the perfect car for you.’
Dan snatches the brochure back from me, flipping me the finger at the same time. ‘Did you want something?’
‘Yes,’ I say. But when I start to explain where I’ve been, and what I’ve got to do, his mouth falls open.
‘Hold on. How much of this have you told Sam, exactly?’
‘Only that we shouldn’t sleep together between now and the wedding night.’
Dan looks at his watch. ‘That’s three days! I don’t get a shag for twenty-four hours and I start to shake. And I don’t mean my . . .’
‘Thank you for that image, Dan. But what else was I going to do?’
‘Haven’t you heard of condoms?’
‘Yes, of course. But . . .’ For the second time in as many hours I feel myself start to redden, more than a little uncomfortable about discussing my sex life with anyone – and Dan in particular, knowing that he’ll take the mickey any chance he gets. ‘But we don’t normally use them. So what am I going to do?’
‘You don’t normally use them?’ Dan stares at me enviously. ‘You lucky bastard.’
‘Exactly. So if I suddenly introduce them, she’s going to get a little suspicious, isn’t she?’
‘Not necessarily,’ says Dan. ‘You could always say they’re a sex aid. You know – get some of those flavoured ones. Or ribbed – for her pleasure. And God knows she probably needs as much of that as she can get seeing as she’s in bed with you.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind not talking about my fiancée like that, please.’
‘Or,’ continues Dan, warming to his theme, ‘tell her you’re having a little problem in the early warning department. So you need to start using them so you don’t – you know – go off half cocked.’
‘This way’s much simpler. And Sam thinks it’s romantic, too.’
‘Romantic?’ Dan mimes sticking his fingers down his throat. ‘When did you last have sex with her?’
I shrug. ‘I’m not sure. Last week, I think.’
‘And was it any good? For her, I mean.’
‘None of your business!’
‘Calm down, Edward. All I’m saying is, say the unthinkable happens, and Sam does end up pulling out of the wedding due to whatever indiscretion you’ve committed, chances are she’s going to dump you, right?’
‘Thanks for that particularly cheery observation.’
‘But if that is the case, then the last time you slept with her will actually be the last time you sleep with her. Is that how you want to leave it? On that particular note?’ He shakes his head. ‘Nah, you want to give her a night to remember. Rock her world. Because then, she’s always going to remember you as the best she’s ever had. Of course, that’s only because she hasn’t slept with me.’
‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ I say, looking at him incredulously.
Dan winks at me. ‘Those are exactly the words you’ll want to hear from her.’
‘Will you stop joking about this please. We’ve got some serious work to do between now and Saturday, including finding out if I, you know . . .’
‘Could have got it up? And in both senses of the word.’ Dan tries to conceal a smirk. And fails.
‘Exactly.’
He scratches his head. ‘So how the hell do we go about that, then?’
‘Well, in theory it should be quite simple. Like we learned at school for any experiment, all you do is replicate the conditions in a controlled environment, then observe and record the results.’
‘Right. Which means?’
‘We just do the same thing again, see what happens, and make a note of it.’
Dan nods slowly, then stops nodding abruptly. ‘Hang on. What if what happens is I get so drunk I lose track of you and the person you end up going off with? Then you’ll be in the same boat all over again. Although this time, that boat will be called Titanic.’
‘No, Dan. I don’t mean that I’m actually going to try and have sex with someone else. That’d be kind of silly, don’t you think? Plus you don’t have to get drunk as well. Someone has to be the observer, remember.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing I want to observe. And especially not sober, if you know what I mean?’
�
��Fair enough. But I’ll still need you to give me a hand.’
Dan shudders. ‘Steady on, Edward. I mean, we’re friends, and all that, but . . .’
‘Not that kind of a hand, Dan. To help me get drunk. Oh, and I’ll need to borrow some of your DVDs. And not the ones of you with your exes, but the proper Danish stuff you keep locked up in your bedroom.’
Dan opens his mouth as if to ask me how I know about that, then thinks better of it. ‘Sure. And if that can’t get a rise out of you, then we’re home and dry.’
‘Great. So what time shall I come round?’
‘What?’ Dan makes a face. ‘We’re not doing this at my flat.’
‘Why not?’
‘How many reasons do you want?’
‘Okay. Well, Sam’s out with a client this evening, so come round at about half seven. With the, ahem, merchandise.’
‘Leave it to me,’ says Dan. ‘I’ll get the booze, too. My treat. And don’t worry about the DVDs. I’ll make sure I bring my favourites.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, although for some reason, I find the concept of Dan’s ‘favourites’ more than a little unsettling.
6.06 p.m.
By the time I get to Mrs Barraclough’s, I’m a little worried to discover that she’s not waiting outside as usual. My first thought is that something’s happened to her, especially when there’s no answer when I ring the doorbell, but when I let myself in with the key she’s given me for emergencies, I find her making herself a hot chocolate in the kitchen.
‘Hello Edward,’ she says, once she’s recovered from the shock of me bursting in.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, is everything . . .’ I stop talking, and point to the kitchen table, where Mrs Barraclough’s hearing aid is lying next to the newspaper.
‘Oh,’ she says, picking it up and inserting it into her ear. ‘Silly me. No wonder I didn’t hear the door.’
‘Are you ready to go?’ I say, conscious I’m on a bit of a tight schedule.
Mrs Barraclough frowns. ‘Didn’t you get my message? I left one with that other young lady at your house.’
‘Other young lady?’
‘Yes. You know. The one who always picks up the telephone when you and Samantha are out. Although I must say, she’s never particularly chatty.’
It takes me a moment to work out that Mrs Barraclough is referring to the woman’s voice on the BT standard-answer phone message. ‘Ah. No. She forgot to give it to me.’
‘Never mind. I just rang to say that I didn’t need to go shopping today.’
‘Oh?’
Mrs Barraclough beams proudly up at me. ‘No. I managed to get almost everything I needed locally.’
I smile, and wonder just what ‘locally’ means to her. After all, Tesco is little more than half a mile down the road. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘I thought you’d have a few things to do this evening. Seeing as you’re getting married on Saturday.’
‘That was very thoughtful of you, Mrs B,’ I say, deciding not to tell her exactly what it is I’ve got to do this evening, ‘though I don’t mind if you still want to go. Honestly.’
‘Nonsense,’ she says, patting the back of my hand. ‘You get yourself off home.’
‘I could stay for a cup of tea, if you wanted a bit of company,’ I say, nodding tentatively at the pot on the table. I’ve had Mrs Barraclough’s tea before, and given the fact that she always seems to ignore the sell-by date on her milk, ‘one lump or two’ doesn’t always refer to the sugar. ‘Or perhaps a hot chocolate?’
‘Not at all,’ she says. ‘We can’t have Samantha thinking you’ve got yourself another woman, can we?’
Not for the first time, I find myself wondering whether Mr Barraclough’s psychic. ‘No, Mrs B,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘We can’t.’
‘That’s settled, then,’ she says.
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Perfectly,’ says Mrs Barraclough.
I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek, then make my way towards the door. ‘Now are you sure there’s nothing you need between now and Saturday?’
Mrs Barraclough walks slowly over to the cupboard in the corner, reaches inside, and removes her last couple of sachets of hot chocolate. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I could do with a few more Options.’
And as I head back outside and jump into my car, I find myself thinking that she’s not the only one.
7.25 p.m.
When Dan rings the doorbell I’m understandably nervous, mainly because despite the fact that I’ve already warned her he’s coming round to help me sort out some ‘wedding stuff’ – which it is, I suppose – Sam’s not left yet. It has occurred to me that a less embarrassing way to have approached this would have been to actually get drunk and try and have sex with Sam, and then if I couldn’t, problem solved, but of course I can’t, because if it turns out I can actually have sex, then I’m more likely to have caught something, which I don’t want to pass on. Still, I’m hoping she won’t suspect anything, but unfortunately, Dan’s managed to time his arrival just as she’s walking out of the door.
‘Whatcha got there?’ she says, nodding towards the bulging holdall Dan’s carrying.
He looks desperately up at me, where I’m frantically mouthing the words Don’t tell her from just over Sam’s shoulder. ‘Just, you know, some hardcore Danish porn and an excessive amount of alcohol.’
As my jaw drops Sam grins. ‘Yeah, right. Well, you boys have fun,’ she says, kissing me goodbye, then slapping Dan on the backside before skipping out through the front door.
‘What did you tell her that for?’
‘Had to think on my feet, didn’t I?’ He says, following me through into the lounge. ‘So I decided to bluff. Brazen it out. I knew she’d fall for it.’
‘You couldn’t think of anything else, you mean.’
‘So? It worked, didn’t it? Anyway . . .’ He sits down on the sofa, and produces a couple of bottles of Harvey’s Bristol Cream from his bag. ‘Down to business. I worked out that over the course of the evening, you probably consumed the equivalent of these. So all you have to do is get them down you, and—’
‘Sherry?’
‘Yup.’
‘You couldn’t have worked it out in a slightly more manly drink, like maybe beer? Or even wine.’
Dan sighs. ‘Sherry is wine. Just stronger.’
‘Cheaper, you mean.’ I unscrew the top of one of the bottles and take a tentative swig. It’s really quite pleasant, if a little sweet, although whether I can manage the whole bottle, let alone two, we’ll have to see.
‘How is it?’
‘To be honest, a bit sickly.’
‘All the better to replicate how you felt after the Minesweeper. Here.’ Dan carries the sherry into the kitchen and tips half the bottle’s contents into a pint glass. ‘Do it the easy way.’
‘You mean . . .’
He slides the glass across to me, then helps himself to a Diet Coke from the fridge. ‘Down in one.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Do you want to drink it with something?’
‘Like what? My nose pinched?’ I take a look at the glass of sickly-sweet liquid, and remind myself why I’m doing this. ‘To Sam,’ I say, picking it up, and clinking it against his can.
‘Whatever,’ says Dan.
Thirty seconds later, I’m struggling to keep the sherry down, while Dan is filling up my glass again. ‘How long before it, you know, kicks in?’
Dan looks at his watch. ‘I’d give it about half an hour. Then you can get stuck in,’ he says, nodding towards the contents of his holdall. ‘Or not, as the case may be.’
7.57 p.m.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Not great, actually.’
‘Great,’ says Dan.
‘So I suppose I’d better, you know, get in position.’
Dan looks at me strangely for
a moment, then shakes his head violently, probably to get rid of the mental image he’s just conjured up for himself. ‘You mean in the bedroom, right? And not . . .’
‘Yes, Dan. In the bedroom.’
I walk over to the table and pick Sam’s laptop up, checking the battery’s charged.
‘Here,’ says Dan, handing me a DVD enticingly titled Danish Delights Volume Two.
‘What was wrong with volume one?’
Dan smiles as he tops my glass up. ‘This one’s better.’
I decide not to quiz him as to why and, after forcing down another couple of mouthfuls of sherry, insert the disc into the laptop. The video’s set to auto play, and before I can reach the pause button, the usual bad soundtrack starts to emanate from the speakers.
‘Right,’ says Dan, as I concentrate hard to bring his face into focus. ‘Time to try it out. And you might be needing this,’ he adds, handing me the holdall. ‘There’s some extras.’
‘Oh. Thanks,’ I say, struggling into the bedroom with the holdall and laptop while trying not to spill sherry on the carpet.
‘And Ed?’
‘What?’
‘Close the door, please.’
‘Sure. Sorry.’
I shut the door behind me, sit heavily down on the bed, then reach into the bag. There’s a selection of magazines in there with titles I can’t read, and while initially I think it’s because I must be drunk, it’s actually because they’re in Danish. I start to flick through one of them, gazing at the graphic images, some of which – a bit worryingly – seem to contain animals, but at least I console myself with the fact that the pages aren’t stuck together.
After a few minutes, when it’s clear the magazines don’t seem to be doing anything for me, I dump them on the bed, and decide to turn my attention to the video, but before I can concentrate on the on-screen action, whose plot seems to be loosely based on a group of naked hikers arriving at an already rather over-populated log cabin, there’s a knock on the door.
I look around with a start. ‘Yes?’
‘What’s happening?’ I can barely hear Dan’s voice through the firmly closed door, mainly due to the various moaning sounds blasting from the laptop’s speakers.