The Accidental Proposal (32 page)

‘Not yet,’ says Sam, inching her hand down my chest and towards my boxer shorts.

I turn my head to kiss her, then all of a sudden, freeze. What if I
have
caught something? I mean, you hear about it happening, especially after unprotected sex, and there were certainly no used condoms floating in the toilet, or ripped foil packets next to the bed, and anyway, chances are that I was so drunk – and according to Dan, any woman who’d have come back to my room with me in that state would have been even drunker – so we probably wouldn’t have thought to use one anyway. Which means I can’t sleep with Sam until I’ve had myself tested. Fortunately, I’ve got the perfect excuse.

‘Listen, Sam,’ I say, gently moving her hand towards safer territory. ‘I was thinking . . .’

‘Do it quickly,’ she says, her fingers resuming their journey downwards.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Wait.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I mean, I just thought that we might, you know . . . wait.’

Sam stops what she’s doing, and even in the dark I can tell she’s regarding me quizzically. ‘Wait for what?’

‘Until we’re married. You know, so we can have a proper wedding night.’

‘Oh, Edward. There’s no need for that.’

‘Yes there is,’ I say, a little too quickly. ‘I mean, we might not be doing the whole church thing, but there’s still some other traditions we can maintain. Like this. And you know, after we’re married, I’d like to carry you over the threshold.’

‘I’d like you to do that now,’ says Sam, provocatively, ‘maybe a couple of times.’

‘No, I meant . . .’ I smile to myself, because I know she knows what I meant. ‘I just want us to do some of it
properly
. Traditionally. And it’s only for a few days.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Sam sighs. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’

‘I am.’

She nibbles my earlobe gently. ‘It’ll be a long few days,’ she says. ‘So it had better be worth it.’

The irony is, I’ve never wanted her more. And yet, I can’t allow myself to act on it because it could ruin everything.

‘Can you wait?’

Sam sighs exaggeratedly. ‘I suppose so. Although I’ve never heard of a man turning down sex before.’

And as I roll over, I can’t help worrying that that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

5.01 p.m.

‘So, Edward.’ Dr Taylor smiles across her desk at me. She’s a kindly, middle-aged woman, which makes all this worse, because it’s like talking to my mum. ‘What can I do for you?’

I clear my throat awkwardly. ‘It’s a little embarrassing, really.’

‘Come on now. Don’t be shy. I’ve known you since you were this high.’ She holds her hand at groin level, which I can’t help thinking is rather appropriate.

‘Okay. Here goes. I’m, um, worried I might have caught something. You know, down there.’ I point towards my trousers. ‘And I wanted to get tested. See if I’m all clear. Or, well, not.’

Dr Taylor picks up a clipboard and a pen. ‘Have you got any symptoms?’

I swallow hard. ‘What kind of symptoms?’

‘Itching. Any discharge. A rash or general redness. Trust me, you’d know if you had them.’

I relax a little. Symptoms are the one thing I don’t have. Apart from the redness, of course. But that’s just my face, from sitting here and having this conversation. ‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘But you have had unprotected sex?’ she says, writing some notes on the clipboard.

‘I’m worried I have. I mean, I think I have. Might have.’

Dr Taylor stops writing and puts her pen down. ‘You don’t know if you’ve had unprotected sex?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Doesn’t your partner know?’

‘Um, well, I don’t know who my partner was. Or even if I had a partner.’

Dr Taylor glances at the clock on the wall. ‘Are you sure you’re not wasting my time?’

I look grimly across the table at her. ‘Actually, I hope I am. If you see what I mean?’

She frowns. ‘How can you possibly not know who you did – or didn’t – have – or not have – sex with? Unprotected or not. Oh, hang on. Don’t tell me. A stag night?’

I nod guiltily. ‘Yup.’

Dr Taylor doesn’t say anything, but the sound of her snapping on a pair of rubber gloves chills me to the bone.

5.22 p.m.

I’ve given a blood sample, been inspected, peed into a small plastic container, and even answered a questionnaire about risk factors, although ‘going out on the town with Dan Davis’ is one that seemed to be missing from Dr Taylor’s list.

‘Is that it?’ I say, pulling up my underwear, relieved it’s so far been a lot less intrusive than I’d feared.

Dr Taylor smiles, but without a lot of warmth. ‘Not so fast,’ she says, advancing towards me while ripping open a small, sterile package, before removing what looks like a cotton bud on steroids. ‘I need to take a swab.’

‘Oh fine,’ I say, assuming she means orally, but as I tilt my head back and open my mouth, Dr Taylor frowns at me. ‘No,’ she says, ‘from inside your penis.’

The coldness of the word makes me jump, but not as much as the coldness of Dr Taylor’s hands a few seconds later. Eventually, she drops the swab into a small glass vial and screws the top on.

‘All done.’

‘How long before I get the test results?’ I say, relieved to be zipping up my trousers.

‘A couple of weeks should do it,’ says Dr Taylor, filling in a few details on the label on the side of the vial.

‘A couple of weeks? But . . .’

‘Is there a problem with that?’

‘Well, when I told you it was ‘a’ stag night, what I perhaps should have said was that it was
my
stag night.’

‘I see. And you’d be getting married when, exactly?’

‘Saturday.’

‘This Saturday?’

‘That’s right. So is there nothing you can tell me straight away?’

Dr Taylor stops what she’s doing and looks sternly up at me. ‘I take it the person you’re getting married to isn’t the same person you’re worried you had unprotected sex with?’

‘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.