by Matt Dunn
‘That’s Amy.’
‘And what if you fail to provide her with the precise mix of offspring she’s after?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I mean, it’s hardly up to me what kind of kids she’ll, I mean, we’ll have. That’s down to the man upstairs.’
My mum looks surprised. ‘Mister Williams?’
‘No, Mum. Not upstairs from my flat. God.’
‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ says my dad. ‘I just don’t think you can map things out like this.’
‘You have met Amy, haven’t you?’
My dad laughs. ‘No, I mean that life has a way of throwing things at you that you weren’t expecting.’
‘Like me, for example?’
My dad suddenly looks a little hurt, and I feel instantly guilty. ‘Well, yes. But we coped with it. And were so pleased with the way it turned out. Whereas if you’re expecting things to happen to order . . .’ He and my mum exchange glances. ‘Life’s just not like that.’
I want to tell them that Amy’s is, and if I’m along for the ride with her, then surely mine will be too. But at the same time, I know exactly what he’s getting at, and that these surprises are what makes life so much fun. This unpredictability is what enriches things – unless you’re Amy, of course – but for some of us, if you always know what’s going to be around the corner, why bother going there?
My dad puts his arm around my shoulder again. ‘Listen, son. If this is what you want then of course we’ll give you our blessing. But you’ve just got to be sure. After all, once you have children, there’s really no backing out of this.’
I smile back at him, remembering this evening’s discussions with Amy, and the promises I’ve made, and realize that actually it’s probably already too late. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Well, in that case . . .’ My mother walks out of the front room and into the kitchen, but instead of starting to make some tea, she starts rummaging around in one of the sideboard drawers. ‘Here,’ she says, walking back into the lounge and placing a small black felt-covered box down on the coffee table in front of me.
‘What’s this?’
My mum nods towards the box. ‘Open it.’
I do as I’m told, to reveal a gold ring with a small cluster of diamonds on the top – the kind of thing that makes the crowd on the Antiques Roadshow gasp. I’m no jewellery expert, but from what I can tell, it’s quite old. And quite beautiful. ‘Mum, I can’t . . .’
‘It was my mother’s,’ explains my mum. ‘And she’d have wanted you to have it.’
‘But . . .’
‘Well, not you, exactly,’ she explains. ‘But the girl you’re going to marry. And if Amy’s going to be that girl then . . .’
As my mum stifles a sniff, I snap the box shut and give her a hug. It’s a wonderful gesture, and a fabulous ring, and given its history, it’s not surprising that my mum’s quite emotional about this.
Although as I put the box carefully back down onto the table, I can’t help but wonder if Amy’s going to feel the same way.
Chapter 30
Amy’s busy on Sunday, so we’ve arranged to meet in Marcello’s on Monday at seven to ‘seal the deal’ – her words, not mine. I’m running late, as I’ve forgotten the ring, and have to rush round to my parents’ house on the way, but no one’s home, so I just let myself in and grab the small black box from where my mum’s left it on the sideboard, before racing round to the restaurant. Unusually, Marcello’s is quite busy for a Monday evening, but as usual Amy’s there on time.
‘I thought you’d got cold feet,’ she says, as I come hurrying across to the table, nearly tripping over Barney on the way.
‘No.’ I pat my pocket to check the box is still in there. ‘Not at all. You still . . .’ I struggle to find better words than ‘up for it?’, and fail, and, besides, don’t want to appear desperate, so decide to change the subject. ‘Shall we order?’
‘Why not?’ says Amy, picking up the menu.
In fact, so successful is my changing the subject, and so much appears to have happened in Amy’s life since I saw her last, that it’s not until we’ve finished our pizzas
that I decide to broach the subject.
‘So,’ I say. ‘About the other night.’
Amy leans across and dabs at a spot of tomato sauce on the side of my mouth with the corner of her napkin, a regular habit of hers which I always found annoying. ‘What about it?’
‘I mean, do we, you know, have a deal?’ I say, realizing I should be grateful that she doesn’t lick the napkin first.
Amy smiles at me. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Okay then.’ I fish around in my pocket to retrieve the ring box, then push my chair back and get down on one knee beside the table.
‘What are you doing?’ says Amy. ‘Have you dropped something?’
‘No. I just thought I’d do it properly.’
‘People are watching.’
‘Let them,’ I say, suddenly aware that all eyes in the busy restaurant are on me, although I’m sure it’s not going to be as embarrassing as I always imagined it might be given that Amy’s already told me that she’s going to say ‘yes’. However, what I haven’t reckoned on is Barney, who seems to think that my coming down to his level means that we’re on for a game. Before I can stand up, he rushes over and jumps on me, tail wagging frantically, his huge paws on my shoulders, and knocks me over onto my back. ‘Barney. No!’ I say, although a little too late, as he proceeds to lick my face enthusiastically, doing a better job of cleaning it than Amy’s napkin had earlier.
‘Ben, just get up, will you?’ hisses Amy.
‘I’m trying,’ I say. ‘But it’s tough when you’ve got half a ton of Great Dane on you.’
‘Barney! Sit.’ Amy stands up and clicks her fingers, and the huge dog looks up, a little scared by her tone, as, to be honest, am I, then sits down obediently.
‘Sorry about that,’ says Marcello, rushing over and grabbing Barney by the collar.
‘That’s fine,’ I say, getting back on one knee as he leads him away. ‘No harm done.’
‘Now will you get up?’ says Amy.
‘No. Now, where was I?’ I ask, determined to soldier on – after all, I’m only going to be doing this once in my life, hopefully, and I want to do it right. ‘Amy. Amy Watson. Miss Amy Watson . . .’ I try all three versions, trying to work out which one sounds right. ‘Will you marry me?’ To a smattering of applause from the other diners, I flip open the lid of the ring box with a flourish and hold it out to her, then watch in horror as her face falls.
‘Ben, I . . .’
‘You’re not going to say “no”, are you?’
‘I can’t say yes.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you aren’t offering me anything.’
I’m rather taken aback by this. ‘Yes, I am. I mean, I might not have the best job in the world, but I’ll be a good husband, and . . .’ I stop trying to justify myself, because it seems a little unfair to ask me to do that now.
‘I thought we already discussed this?’
‘No. In the box. There’s nothing there.’
‘What?’ I flip it round to face me and peer disbelievingly at the black felt slit where the ring should be, then put the box to my ear and give it a shake, just to check the ring hasn’t somehow fallen through.
Amy glares down at me. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘No!’ I get down on my hands and knees, careful to check that Barney is nowhere nearby, and search around on the floor underneath the table, but can’t find anything apart from a shrivelled piece of pepperoni that he’s somehow missed, then stand up and run my hands frantically through my pockets. ‘It was my grandmother’s engagement ring. My mum’s going to kill me.’
Amy’s face falls. ‘Your . . . grandmother’s?’
‘Yes. It was gold, with a cluster of diamonds . . .’ I stop describing it, partly because I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but also because I can sense that Amy isn
’t best pleased.
‘You were going to give me a second-hand ring?’
‘No. Well, yes. I mean, it was antique, rather than second-hand . . .’ I say, then stop talking, imagining my mum’s face when I tell her I’ve lost the ring. ‘I’ll explain in a moment. Wait there.’
I leave a stunned Amy at the table, then race outside and find my car, hoping it might somehow be in there. I drive to the nearest petrol station, where I can hunt through the car under the glare of their lights, but that doesn’t turn the ring up either, and after a few more minutes of frantic searching, realize there’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to come clean, and so jump into the car and head back to my parents’ house. When I walk into the kitchen, my mum looks up from where she seems to be going through the kitchen drawers.
‘Hello, Ben,’ she says. ‘Everything all right?’
I realize that I’m sweating, and breathing heavily. ‘Yes. Fine, thanks. You?’ I say, chickening out from telling her straight away.
‘Yes.’ My mum frowns. ‘Except . . .’
‘Except?’
‘I can’t seem to find the ring box.’ She stares quizzically at the sideboard. ‘It was here earlier, and now it’s gone. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
‘Er . . .’ I can’t quite bring myself to admit that I might have lost the most precious thing my mother owns. Not until I’ve at least had a bit longer to look for it myself. ‘No.’
My mum shrugs. ‘Oh well. I can always get another one, I suppose.’
‘Huh?’
‘I’ll just head into town tomorrow and pick one up. If you’re sure you need it?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ I’m a little confused, particularly considering the big deal she made of giving it to me in the first place. ‘But, another one would do, I suppose,’ I add, remembering my prospective fiancée’s initial reaction to the offer of a ‘second-hand’ – her words –
ring. ‘Although perhaps I should get it?’
‘Don’t worry,’ says my mum. ‘It’s no bother.’
‘You’re being very good about this. I mean, what about the sentimental value?’
She smiles. ‘Oh, it’s not the original one. I lost that a long time ago. This was just a cheap one I got from the pound shop. Though I don’t know if I can show my face in there again, given what happened between you and that Dawn.’
‘The pound shop?’ Just as well I didn’t present it to Amy. ‘Well, you might as well have this back, then,’ I say, pulling the ring box out of my pocket and putting it down on the kitchen table.
‘There it is,’ says my mum, shaking her head at me, before fishing around in her handbag and removing a small plastic bag with my grandmother’s engagement ring in it. ‘I wondered what had happened to the box. What on earth were you doing with it?’
‘Well, I . . . What were you doing with the ring?’
‘It needed a clean, didn’t it? So I’ve been soaking it in some of that stuff your father uses to oil the lawnmower. Seems to have done the trick, too,’ she says, holding it up to the light and admiring the shine.
I take it from her, careful not to cover it with fingerprints, and slip it back into the slot in the box. ‘Great. Thanks.’
‘I do hope Amy likes it,’ says my mum, smiling proudly at me. ‘Such a nice girl.’
Amy. Bollocks! I’ve left her sitting in the restaurant. On her own. For the best part of half an hour. I lean over and kiss my mum on the cheek.
‘Gotta go,’ I say, stuffing the box back into my pocket, then sprinting outside to where I’ve parked the car. Fortunately, when I run breathlessly back in through the restaurant door, Amy’s still sitting at the table.
As she smiles up at me, for a moment I think that maybe I have got away with it. After all, I’ve only been gone for thirty-two minutes, and I could just have been in the toilet, I suppose. I take a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to regain my composure, then stroll nonchalantly back towards the table.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say loudly, placing a hand on my stomach, and puffing out my cheeks. ‘That pepperoni must have been playing tricks on me.’
‘You had the quattro formaggi, Ben,’ says Amy, acidly. ‘So unless you ate that piece you found on the floor . . .’
I sit back down at the table. ‘Ah. No. Of course not. Must have been the cheese. In fact, that’s a disease, isn’t it? Mixing my cheeses?’
Amy smiles, but there’s no humour in her expression. ‘Myxomatosis, Ben. And that’s something that rabbits get.’
‘Ah.’
Amy folds her arms and glares at me across the table. ‘So, you want me to believe that you’ve been in the toilet all this time?’
‘No,’ I whisper back, glancing around the room, where the assembled diners still seem to be looking at us. ‘I want them to believe that.’
‘What, as opposed to the fact that you got down on one knee to propose to me – without a ring – and when I said no, you legged it out of the door, leaving me sitting here on my own?’
‘Er, yes. As opposed to that. But I had to go and find it.’
I reach into my pocket again, then have a momentary heart attack when I can’t locate the ring, but realize that that’s only because I’m looking for it in the wrong pocket. But when I put the box down on the table, Amy waves me away. ‘Not here, Ben. Or, at least, not again this evening.’
‘I’m sorry, Amy. My mum . . .’
I start to explain, but Amy turns away, though that’s primarily to put her PIN into the credit card terminal that an awkward-looking Marcello has just brought to the table. And later, as I drop her home, I know better than to ask to come in – after all, I’ve already had enough rejection for one night. Besides, given Amy’s ‘condition’, what would be the point? I’ve still got the ring, which means I’m still not fully engaged.
I just hope that’s not true in both senses.
Chapter 31
When I meet Ash at the pub the following evening, he’s looking rather pleased with himself, probably due to the fact that Priti’s coming down next weekend for their engagement party. I, on the other hand, must be giving the opposite impression, as his face falls when he spots me walking in.
‘What are you looking so depressed about?’ he says, sliding the pint he’s bought me across to my side of the table.
‘Amy and me are back together,’ I say, downing half of my beer in one go. ‘And I’m not depressed.’
Ash does a double-take. ‘Amy? Your ex-girlfriend Amy?’
‘Yup.’
‘The one about whom you said, and I quote, “If I ever go near her again, shoot me, because if you don’t, I might shoot her”?’
‘I don’t think I was quite that harsh, was I?’
He nods. ‘That’s the polite version. And I thought the only way she’d take you back was if you agreed to marry
her?’
‘So, congratulate me.’
Ash stares at me for a second or two, although judging by his expression, breaking out the champagne is the last thing on his mind. ‘What happened to her being too manipulative. Too controlling. Not enough fun?’
I shrug resignedly. ‘Ash, all that kind of stuff matters when you’re going out with someone, admittedly. But this is different. I’m getting married. And those things aren’t important any more.’
‘They are to me. And they used to be to you. Besides, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.’
‘But it’s different with you and Priti, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve got all that to look forward to, before it starts getting a bit, well, routine, and by the time it does, it’ll be too late for you to do anything about it.’
Ash grins. ‘Thanks very much. Now I’m depressed.’
‘And, anyway, with Amy I know I’ve got my whole life mapped out. To a timetable. And it means I can plan, you know?’
‘Plan what – your funeral? Because you’re going to die of boredom. And sooner rather than later.’
‘This means you don’t want to be my best man, I take it?’
Ash looks at me strangely, as if he can’t believe that I’m actually serious. ‘So you’re actually engaged?’
‘Yes. Well, not officially,’ I say. ‘But we will be. And sooner rather than later, hopefully,’ I add, explaining Amy’s condition to him.
‘And have you discussed when it’s going to be? The big day, I mean?’
I shake my head. ‘Again, sooner rather than later, I think. After all, no point in hanging around. Besides, that’s Amy’s department.’
‘But you’re happy to leave everything up to her? Let her run the show?’
I nod. ‘Why not? Might as well get used to it. I mean, think about it. With Amy on the case, I can get on with my career. Stop wasting time on this stupid wife hunt, and concentrate on my art. There’s something comforting about knowing that I pretty much just have to turn up and do my thing at allotted times. Everything – the house, even starting a family, will be run by her. And so I can just get on with my life, safe in the knowledge that she’s in control.’
And the more I think about it, the more I see how it can work. Because it’ll be like having a secretary. A place for everything, and everything in its place. I won’t have to worry about any of the major decisions in life, because quite frankly Amy’s already made them. And I’ll get to sleep with her, assuming she’s got a slot available, so to speak. In fact, it’s a brilliant plan. Although Ash doesn’t seem to agree.
‘A control freak, you mean?’
‘No. She’s not. She just knows what she wants. And maybe that’s a good thing for someone like me. To have all those practical decisions taken out of my hands, so I can just focus on the creative side of my work.’
‘Jesus, Ben. It sounds like what you need is a housekeeper more than a wife.’
‘Yes, well, I couldn’t have sex with a housekeeper, could I?’
He grins. ‘You can’t have sex with Amy either, can you?’
‘That’s not the point. Besides, she’s not being unreasonable, if you think about it. All she’s doing is asking me to prove myself to her. My commitment. And it’s a small price to pay.’
