by Dunn, Matt
‘Well, two of the girls are . . .’ It takes me a few seconds to understand what he’s asking. ‘Oh. Hang on. That wasn’t what you meant, was it?’ I put the laptop down and try and concentrate on my groin. As far as I can tell, there’s not so much as a faint stirring, apart from a slight need to go to the toilet. ‘Doesn’t seem to be anything.’
‘Are you sure?’
This throws me. How am I going to be sure, exactly? I glance up to check that the door’s still shut, then clumsily undo my trousers and push them – and my boxer shorts – down past my knees.
As I sit there with my pants around my ankles, the only thing that starts to rear its head is the futility of the situation. I’ve never been much of a one for porn, and besides, what does this prove, exactly? After all, it’s one thing to look at pictures of perfect-bodied Scandinavians going at it, and another when there’s someone actually there going at it with you.
Unfortunately, just as I’ve reached this conclusion, I hear a commotion from the other side of the bedroom door, and through my sherry-induced fog I can just about make out a voice that I think I recognize – especially once I’ve turned down the volume of grunting and screaming coming from the laptop – as Sam’s.
Even in my inebriated state I know this isn’t good, and equally, I’m sure that Dan’s ham-fisted efforts to keep her out of the bedroom will probably only make her even more suspicious. Instinctively, I stand bolt upright, then catch sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, wondering what Sam will make of things when she inevitably walks in through the bedroom door and spots her fiancé standing next to their bed, knee-deep in hardcore Danish pornography, with his trousers round his ankles. From somewhere inside me, a little voice tells me I need to do something.
Trouble is, I don’t know what to do first: attempt to hide the various magazines open on the duvet, or pull my pants back up. And because I can’t decide, I end up doing the classic drunk thing of doing neither for a few seconds, then trying to do both at the same time. And of course, because I’ve got my pants round my ankles, and I’m too drunk to be coordinated, I end up falling over, grabbing the duvet on my way down in a futile attempt to regain my balance.
I lie there on the floor for a while, one of the magazines open and covering my face, not daring to move, especially when I hear the bedroom door opening. Maybe, I tell myself, if I can’t see Sam, then she can’t see me, although I’m not that drunk to know there is a flaw in that plan. Reluctantly I reach up, remove the magazine, and try and focus my eyes on the upside-down figure in the doorway. Fortunately, it’s Dan.
‘That was a close one,’ he says.
‘Did she see . . .’
‘Nope.’ Dan grins. ‘I told her you were trying out a surprise for the wedding. And thinking about it, it’s going to be a hell of a surprise. As, hopefully, is this.’
‘What?’
‘This.’ Dan pulls his mobile out of his pocket and snaps a photo of me. ‘And I thought the fat suit pictures were good. Oh, and by the way – the mouse is out of the house.’
I hurriedly pull my boxers up and haul myself up onto the bed. ‘You better delete that.’
‘All in good time, Ed. Now put it away carefully, will you?’
I stare down at the front of my shorts. ‘I just have.’
Dan sighs, and points at his precious magazines, which are strewn across the bedroom floor. ‘The porn, Edward.’
8.23 p.m.
I’m on my third cup of black coffee, having made myself sick, had a cold shower – to clear my head of the effects of the alcohol rather than the porn – then made myself sick again in the shower for good measure, when Dan clears his throat.
‘So. No joy, so to speak.’
I shake my head slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. ‘Nope.’
‘Excellent,’ says Dan, breaking into a huge grin. ‘Which proves that even if she tried really hard, you probably weren’t. So now we can get on with this wedding bollocks, and not have to worry about whether you did or didn’t have sex with another woman.’
‘Yes, but it’s hardly conclusive proof, is it?’ I say, ignoring his pairing of the words ‘wedding’ and ‘bollocks’. ‘I mean, looking at dirty magazines, well, it’s not quite the same as actually, you know, having someone there, is it?’
‘Rubbish,’ says Dan, once he’s stopped sniggering at my use of the phrase ‘dirty magazines’. ‘Besides,’ he adds, poking the holdall, ‘this is the highest quality Danish porn. If it can’t get a rise out of you, then I don’t know what can. Let’s face it, if nothing happened, if you get my drift, then, well, nothing happened.’
‘Even so . . .’
‘Even so what?’
‘Well, it’s just . . .’ I take another mouthful of coffee, trying to stop the sherry flavour from burping back up, ‘we’re sort of talking about the mechanics, here, aren’t we? And surely, like you always used to tell me, it’s more about the motivation.’
Dan sighs. ‘What are you going on about now?’
‘Fundamentally, whether or not I could have done anything, that still doesn’t change the fact that I might have asked a woman back to my hotel room.’
‘Yes, but if you did, you did it when you were drunk,’ insists Dan.
‘Oh, well that’s all right, then. In fact, I’ll call the caterers. Maybe they can write it on the cake.’
‘Which doesn’t count, I meant,’ says Dan. ‘If you’d have let me finish.’
‘But, that’s like saying that because Sam and I had had a few drinks before we decided to get married, that doesn’t count either.’
‘You did?’ Dan raises his eyes to the heavens. ‘Fantastic. You can get out of it then, and stop worrying about all of this . . .’
‘Dan, please, be serious.’
‘Only if you will too,’ he says, getting up to put the kettle on again.
But the trouble is, I am being serious, because I’m worried that – drunk or not – somewhere inside me, there’s a person with the capacity to be unfaithful. And the reason I’m worried about it is that in all my time with Jane – the whole ten years – I never strayed once. Didn’t even think about it. And while Dan always used to tease me it was because no woman would have been interested in me given how I looked and the size of my beer belly, I’d always thought it was just because I was the faithful type.
And yet now, if I have been unfaithful to Sam, or even just intended to be, I can’t help wondering if the closeness of my wedding has got something to do with it. Was I trying to send myself a message to say I’m not ready for it, or even, that Sam’s not the person for me? Could it be a cry for help? Or am I simply doing what Dan does all the time, and how he’s explained any suspicious behaviour by Sam away – sowing my wild oats one last time?
And if it was just one last fling – something to get out of my system, then is there anything wrong with that? Maybe, in a way, that proves I do want to settle down with Sam, and so I’m doing this to get it over and done with, and closing the door on the single chapter of my life, if you like. But then again, that sounds like the kind of excuse that Dan would use. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that when it comes to relationships, I’m certainly not Dan.
‘Listen,’ he says, sitting back down and placing a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. ‘Don’t read any more into it than that. You might simply have done it because it was on a plate in front of you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sometimes, you might have noticed, I sleep with women who aren’t, shall we say, my aesthetic equal.’
‘I believe the phrase you’ve used in the past is “as long as she’s got a pulse” . . .’
Dan nods, proudly. ‘It’s like climbing Everest, you know, when people say “because it’s there”. That’s why I sleep with these women, sometimes. Because they’re there.’
‘But . . .’ I struggle to think of a way to say ‘I’m not like you’, and fail. ‘I’m not like yo
u.’
‘And you never will be,’ says Dan, proudly. ‘But think about that last drink of the evening. Your Minesweeper.’
I feel the sherry start to rise in my throat at the memory. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
‘Okay. But you weren’t particularly thirsty, were you? In fact, you’d probably had enough to drink. And yet you still drank it. Why? Because I put it in front of you. It doesn’t mean you were going to cheat on the pint of lager you already had. It doesn’t mean you thought any less of that lager. It was just another drink in front of you, so you drank it because that’s what drunk people do.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Just that, any of this subconscious, hidden meaning bollocks is just that – bollocks. Even if you did sleep with someone else, it didn’t actually mean anything. You’re just trying to convince yourself it did, so you can beat yourself up about it. And have you thought about why that might be?’
I know what he’s alluding to. Something about Sam cheating on me, and me getting her back, so maybe we’ll be quits. But I can’t think about that now.
‘Dan, please don’t confuse the issue. So say it didn’t, in fact, mean anything to me. You’re forgetting one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘That it might actually mean something to Sam.’
‘So don’t tell her,’ says Dan, as if he’s stating the most obvious thing in the world.
And this is what Dan just doesn’t understand. Keeping something that might mean something from someone you love is just, well, wrong. But when I tell him this, he frowns.
‘Why?’
‘Because relationships need to be based on honesty. And that’s why I’m going to have to tell her once I’ve found out what it was I actually did.’
‘So, you don’t actually want the wedding to go ahead?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well, she won’t. Once you tell her.’
‘But I can’t not.’
Dan looks like he wants to pull his hair out. ‘You can’t . . . What’s the opposite of “can’t not”?’
‘Look how she reacted when I didn’t tell her about the time I saw Jane. And that was one time when nothing actually did happen.’
‘Okay. But at least . . .’
‘What? Delay the truth a little?’ I say, sarcastically.
‘Exactly.’ Dan sighs. ‘Just go through with it, and at some later date, if it does come out, you’ll just have to deal with it then. Sure, she’ll be mad, but she’ll get over it.’
‘Yeah. By divorcing me and marrying someone else.’ I put my coffee down on the table, and stand up. ‘I have to tell her, Dan.’
‘Okay. Well, just do me a favour,’ he says, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me back down again. ‘Promise me you won’t tell her anything until you actually know what happened.’
‘But—’
‘Promise, Edward!’
I sigh, then shake the hand Dan’s offering me.
‘Deal,’ I say, realizing that as deals go, it’s a pretty big one.
Thursday, 23 April
8.47 a.m.
I’m on my way into work when I spot Billy, with what looks like several dozen Big Issues piled up on the pavement next to him. Normally he transports his stock around in a supermarket trolley, but given the fact that there’s a red-faced Waitrose employee pushing an empty one past me, I’m guessing he’s just been ‘asked’ to give it back.
‘Morning, Billy.’
‘Bastard.’
‘Nice to see you too, Billy,’ I say, automatically reaching into my pocket for the obligatory couple of pound coins and handing them over.
‘Not you, Ed.’ Billy pockets the money gratefully, then hands me a magazine ‘Checkout Hitler over there.’
‘You had stolen one of his trolleys.’
‘I hadn’t stolen it,’ protests Billy. ‘I’d just borrowed it.’
‘What for?’
‘Moving house, wasn’t I?’ he mumbles.
‘Were you?’ I say, disbelievingly, then spot his belongings-stuffed bin-bag behind the pile of magazines. ‘What happened to the hostel?’
‘Didn’t like it.’
‘What?’ I look at my watch. ‘After three days? Why not?’
‘My room smelt funny.’
‘Really?’ Given Billy’s own standard of personal hygiene, I find that hard to believe, unless by ‘funny’ Billy actually means ‘clean’. ‘So, you’re not going back?’
Billy shrugs. ‘Doubt it. Besides, I’ve got everything I need here, haven’t I?’ he says, nodding down towards his feet, where a four-pack of Special Brew is sitting untouched on top of a pile of dog-eared Big Issues.
I sigh. ‘It took a lot of work to get you into that place, Billy.’
He reaches down to grab one of the cans of beer. ‘Which must have been really tough for you to do from your nice comfortable office.’
‘Yes, well, that’s not the point, is it? I thought you wanted a roof over your head.’
‘So? You thought you wanted that Jane back when she dumped you a while ago, and now you’re marrying someone else.’
‘That’s not the same thing,’ I say, wondering whatever possessed me to spill my guts out to everyone who’d listen back then.
‘Yeah, well.’ Billy tugs open the ring-pull, and slurps half the can down in one. ‘Things don’t always turn out like you imagined them, do they, Ed?’
And as I make my way to the office, thinking how what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life is currently looking like being the crappiest, I have to concede that he’s got a point.
Friday, 24 April
7.11 p.m.
It’s the night before the wedding, and in the absence of anywhere else to go, Dan and I are back at the Admiral Jim. I haven’t seen much of Sam since Wednesday evening, as she’s been running around attending to last-minute wedding stuff, or looking after the various relatives who have been arriving during the course of the day. I’m just hoping I don’t have to disappoint them all, especially Sam’s dad, who despite his friendly greeting when I picked him up from the airport yesterday, still scares me silly.
Come dinner time, I’ve said goodbye to Sam, and moved a set of clothes for tomorrow into Dan’s flat. Seeing as I’ve pretty much run out of time in terms of getting to the bottom of what happened on my stag night, I’ve got a feeling one day’s worth is going to be nowhere near enough.
At least I’ve had my test results back: negative, thankfully, and while that still doesn’t put my mind to rest as to whether I might have got someone pregnant despite Dan’s assessment of my, ahem, potency, at least it means Sam and I can have a proper wedding night. Assuming we have a wedding, of course.
‘What do you want to drink?’ says Dan, jumping excitedly onto a stool at the bar.
‘I dunno. A Diet Coke, maybe?’ I climb wearily up onto the stool next to him. ‘I’m not really in the mood to celebrate. Besides, I’ve got a feeling I might need a clear head tomorrow.’
Dan shrugs. ‘Suit yourself. But I’m having one. After all, it’s not every day you celebrate your last night of freedom.’
‘Dan, it’s more likely to be my last night of coupledom once Sam finds out about what I did.’
He reaches across and ruffles my hair. ‘Don’t be such a party pooper. Besides, I wasn’t talking about yours, I meant mine.’
‘Yours?’
Dan nods. ‘Yup. Polly, remember?’
‘So you’re really going to do it?’ I say, happy to talk about anything apart from my own predicament. ‘Ask Polly if she wants to get back with you?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he says, shouting his drinks order to Wendy, who appears to be mainlining coffee at the other end of the bar.
‘Just remember that assuming the wedding goes ahead, you’ve got a job to do.’
‘I know,’ says Dan. ‘I just need to work out how to do it.’
‘Not that job,’ I say, exasperatedly. ‘Being my best man, remem
ber?’
‘Oh, yeah. That’s what I meant too,’ says Dan, unconvincingly. ‘And like I said, I’m going to be such a brilliant best man that Polly’s not going to be able to resist me.’
‘Right. Because you’ve done such a good job of it up until now.’
As Dan looks a little hurt, Wendy walks over and puts a can of Coke and a glass on the bar in front of me, flicking the lager tap open with her other hand. As the tap sputters and emits a couple of globs of foam, Dan sniggers. ‘I hope that’s not an omen.’
Wendy frowns. ‘What for?’
‘Ed’s wedding night.’
Wendy looks at him disdainfully, then heads off to change the barrel, leaving me to stare miserably at the Coke can.
‘What’s the matter?’ asks Dan.
‘I’m not sure I can do it.’
‘Not to worry, mate,’ he says, picking it up and tugging on the ring pull, then pouring some into my glass. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’
‘Not that, you idiot. I mean marry Sam. Not with all this stuff.’
‘Why not?’ says Dan, exasperatedly. ‘For the billionth time, you don’t know whether you actually did anything. And if you think about it, that’s a million times better than actually having done something. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘Except for her and that bloke,’ I say, although to be honest, that seems to have faded into the background somewhat given recent developments.
Dan sighs. ‘And for the zillionth time, this is Sam we’re talking about. There’s no way she’d ever cheat on you.’
‘That’s what I thought about me, and I ended up doing something.’
‘Or not,’ repeats Dan. ‘And even if she has been, you know, just making sure, as long as she turns up tomorrow and says those two little words, then that’s all that matters. Just treat it as a blank slate. A new start. For the two of you.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘But it’s not just me, is it? Isn’t there some bollocks in the marriage vows about from this day forward?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Well, there you go. And that’s not my words,’ he says, jumping off his stool and making his way towards the toilet. ‘But God’s.’