by Dunn, Matt
Maybe it’s my hungover brain, but I’m having trouble making out what Dan’s on about. Although to be honest, it’s not that easy even when I haven’t been drinking the night before.
‘Er . . .’
‘Jane, you idiot,’ shouts Dan, loudly enough for an old lady at the next-door table to spill her tea.
‘Jane?’ I stare at him for a second, almost unable to comprehend what he’s suggesting. ‘My Jane?’
‘No, Edward,’ sighs Dan, ‘I’m talking about Tarzan’s girlfriend. Of course your Jane.’
‘Why would she do something like this?’
‘Why do you think? The old green-eyed monster.’
‘Dan, please stop being rude about my ex-girlf—’
‘Jealousy, Ed. Think about it.’ Dan lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘She was none too pleased when you told her about the engagement, right?’
‘Well, no.’
‘So she’s obviously suffering from a severe case of the it-should-have-been-me’s.’
‘Maybe, but—’
‘But nothing.’ Dan nods smugly. ‘There’s motive for you, Sherlock.’
I stare at him, open-mouthed. ‘So you’re suggesting that Jane was so keen to stop this wedding from going ahead she somehow found out where my stag night was going to be, lay in wait in the club until I was too drunk to notice, then took me back to my hotel and’ – I swallow hard – ‘forced me to have sex with her?’
‘Yup.’
‘No, I can’t believe that,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Surely she’s at the point now when she just wants me to be happy.’
‘From what I could tell, Jane didn’t want you to be happy for the ten years the two of you were together. Why do you think she’d want that now?’
‘Fair point. But how on earth would she have found out where—’ I stop mid-sentence, because Dan is suddenly looking very shifty. ‘How could you have?’
He backs his chair away from me. ‘Relax. You told me to tell Sam where we’d be, so she didn’t rock up and spoil it. I thought it was only sensible to do the same thing with Jane.’
‘Christ, Dan. Of all the stupid . . .’ I count to ten in an attempt to calm down, but by the time I’ve got to twenty I still don’t feel any better, so take a deep breath. And another. ‘Anyway. Assuming she did turn up, I can’t really believe that she’d be so . . .’
‘Devious?’ Dan makes a face. ‘Why not? This is the woman who moved out, took all her furniture with her, and headed off to Nepal without you knowing.’
‘Maybe so, but . . .’
‘And then she tried to split you and Sam up last year, don’t forget. Even though you’d told her the two of you were perfectly happy.’
‘But why would she resort to something like this?’
Dan narrows his eyes. ‘Probably so she can wait until the “anyone here know any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony” bit, and then burst in and say, “Yes, I do, because the groom slept with me on his stag night.” She knows how honest you are, and you won’t dare deny it. Job done. Revenge for that little falling out she and Sam had last year, plus you single again.’ Dan sits back in his chair. ‘It’s the perfect plan, I think you’ll find. In fact, you’ve got to admire her cunning.’
‘Admire? That’s – No, I can’t believe it. Even of Jane.’
Dan gazes out of the window as a pretty girl jogs past along the seafront, his head nodding up and down to her rhythm. ‘Why not? She knows what you’re like when you get drunk, so she knew if she turned up and suggested the two of you go back to your hotel, you’d recognize her, but probably wouldn’t see anything wrong with it. Plus you know how she likes to make a scene. Yup, the more I think about it, it’s got Jane’s fingerprints all over it.’ He nods towards my groin. ‘So to speak.’
My head is starting to swim again, and not because of the second fry-up the waitress has just set down on the table in front of me, but because – what if Dan’s right? What if this is all part of Jane’s despicable plan to ruin the wedding?
‘But surely she’ll realize that’s hardly going to win me back?’
‘Why not? Even though you might think it’d be a cold day in hell before you’d go back out with her – which incidentally, is a pretty good description of how every day would be if you did – she might be banking on the fact that she’ll be there to pick up the pieces – you know, provide you with familiar comfort after Sam’s dumped you. At the very least she’ll have stopped Sam from getting you. And you know what her competitive streak is like.’
‘I’m sorry, Dan. I don’t believe she’d do something as low as this.’
‘Fine. But unless you want to spend the whole ceremony looking over your shoulder in case Jane appears, you’d better at least cross the possibility off your list.’
‘And how do I do that, exactly? By calling her up and saying “Excuse me, Jane, but I was wondering whether we slept together last night, because if we did, I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone.” And what if it was her?’ I add, my voice sounding more than a little panicky. ‘What do I do then?’
‘You could always have her killed.’
I look up at Dan, expecting to see him grinning, but he seems deadly serious.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Seriously. I know some people. Well, I know some people who know some people. Well, some people who say some people they know know some people . . . Anyway, that’s not important. Two hundred quid, apparently. And they can make it look like an accident.’ He leans over, and rests a hand on my arm. ‘In fact, forget the money. It can be my gift to you.’
‘You’re seriously suggesting you have my ex-girlfriend bumped off as a wedding present?’
Dan shrugs. ‘Why not? It’s better than that crappy dinner set you want from Habitat. And a bit cheaper too, now I come to think of it.’
‘Dan, stop. I just can’t believe Jane would do such a thing.’
‘I could have her killed anyway,’ he says, staring out of the window absent-mindedly, perhaps hoping to spot the jogger on her way back. ‘Just to make sure.’
‘You are joking, right?’
Dan looks at me for half a second too long before replying. ‘Of course.’
‘So what do you expect me to do? Just call her up and confront her?’
‘I like it,’ says Dan, reaching into his pocket for his mobile. ‘The direct approach.’
I take the phone, then immediately hand it back to him. Of course I can’t call her and ask. Because while Jane might not be calculating enough to pull a stunt like this, she is calculating enough to use the fact that I think we might have slept together against me, which is why I need to find out exactly what did happen.
And fast.
11.38 a.m.
Sam’s not in by the time I eventually get home, which to be honest, is something of a relief, because I’m so consumed with guilt, and so confused about how I could have let happen what I’m worried happened last night, that I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m going to say to her.
And while the combination of how tired I’m feeling plus my massive hangover would normally send me scurrying straight off to bed, I know there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep with my mind spinning as much as it is. I need to work out a strategy – and quickly – although the best I can come up with as I anxiously pace round the flat is to try and achieve some kind of holding pattern by just not mentioning anything. And even though I’ve promised Sam that I’ll never lie to her again, I manage to convince myself that – using Dan’s favourite definition – not telling her anything isn’t actually lying, but simply ‘delaying the truth’. Whatever the truth is.
It’s just gone midday, and I’m lying on the sofa with the curtains drawn, trying desperately to remember anything at all, when Sam’s key in the lock makes me jump. She looks as though she’s been out for a run, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, that’s exactly where I assume she’s been, all th
oughts of anything sinister she might have been up to over the past few weeks knocked into oblivion by my own behaviour.
‘Look who’s home,’ she says, smiling at me as she shuts the front door softly behind her.
‘Morning.’
‘Afternoon, I think you’ll find,’ says Sam, tapping her watch, then walking over and kissing me gently on the top of my head. ‘Bit of a hangover?’
‘You could say that,’ I mumble, adding, ‘How was your hen night?’ in a feeble attempt to change the subject.
‘Good, thanks. Very civilized. Just a few drinks with the girls.’ She fetches a glass of water and packet of paracetamol from the kitchen. ‘So,’ she says, sitting down next to me. ‘Did you have fun?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, weakly. ‘I think so.’
‘What did you get up to?’
I take a deep breath, then let it out again. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember.’
As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize how implausible they sound and, as I help myself to a couple of paracetamol, I promise myself that at some point I will tell Sam exactly what happened – once I find out what that actually is. But instead of being suspicious, Sam actually looks a little relieved.
‘No? Or can’t you tell me?’ she says, nudging me playfully in the ribs. ‘You know, “What happens on tour stays on tour”.’ she adds, doing a passable impression of Dan.
My first instinct is to blurt everything out. But blurt what out? I think I might have slept with someone last night, but I don’t know who? Where on earth does that conversation go?
‘We just, you know, had a few drinks.’
‘Quite a few, by the looks of you,’ says Sam, resting a cool hand on my forehead. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’
Because that’s where all the trouble started. ‘No, thanks. I’m probably better staying up and about.’
‘And how is Dan feeling today?’
Guilty, hopefully. ‘Oh, you know.’
‘Well as long as you both had a good time,’ says Sam, patting me on the hand, then jumping up from the sofa.
That’s the trouble, I want to say, as she heads for the shower. I just don’t know.
Monday, 20 April
8.31 a.m.
I’m in the Mini with Billy, driving very carefully along Marine Parade, still feeling a few traces of yesterday’s hangover. Although there are a few more pressing things I should be doing, particularly given the weekend’s events, today’s the day he’s due to move into the hostel and, as Sam reminded me first thing this morning, I promised I’d take him there.
He’s a little nervous, despite having downed-in-one the can of Special Brew he requested when I offered to buy him breakfast, and is currently chain-smoking a series of suspicious-smelling cigarettes as we slowly weave our way through the usual morning traffic jam. I’ve asked him not to smoke in the car, so he’s obligingly sticking his head out of the window, his roll-up clamped between his lips. This, of course, makes conversation awkward, although this is just as well, seeing as I haven’t thought up an appropriate response to the gruff ‘If it looks shit, then I’m coming to stay at your gaff instead’ comment he greeted me with this morning.
Fortunately, the hostel’s a pleasant-looking Regency-style building, just off Marine Parade, and as we pull into the car park, Billy widens his eyes appreciatively.
‘You see?’ I say, as I switch the engine off. ‘You couldn’t wish for a less shit-looking place.’
‘Maybe.’ Billy eyes the hostel suspiciously through the windscreen, then turns round to check that his black bin-bag full of his belongings is still on the back seat. ‘Nice car, this.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Must’ve set you back a bob or two?’
‘Not really,’ I say, conscious Billy’s stalling for time. ‘I bought it second hand, actually. One lady owner.’
Billy makes a face. ‘Why’d they always say that as if it’s a good thing?’
I smile back at him, then unbuckle my seatbelt, and climb out of the car. ‘Come on. They’re expecting you.’
Billy takes a last long drag on his cigarette, then flicks the butt out through the passenger window. ‘What if I don’t like it?’
‘It’s not prison, Billy,’ I say, walking round and opening his door for him. ‘You can come and go as you please.’
Billy laughs as he gets out of the car. ‘Unlike what you’re getting yourself into next Saturday.’
‘Yes, that’s very funny,’ I say, flatly. ‘Good one.’
‘Cheer up, Ed. Only pulling yer leg, aren’t I?’
Billy reaches into the back of the car and retrieves the bin-bag, then peers nervously at the hostel, but doesn’t make a move towards it. We stand there for a second, and strangely, I find myself wondering whether this will be what it’s like when – sorry, if – Sam and I have kids, and I’m taking them for their first day at school.
‘Good luck,’ I say, fighting the urge to give him some lunch money, then losing the fight rather quickly.
‘You’re a good bloke, Ed,’ he says, staring at the twenty-pound note I’ve just stuffed into his hand. ‘And ignore me. I reckon you’ve got a good one there with that Sam.’
‘Thanks, Billy.’
He smiles his gap-toothed smile, then takes a step towards me, and for a second I’m worried he’s going to hug me, but instead, he jabs a nicotine-stained finger into my chest. ‘So whatever you do, don’t fuck it up.’
And as I watch him walk towards the hostel door, I can only hope that I haven’t already.
9.06 a.m.
I get into work to find emails from a couple of candidates telling me they’re accepting the job offers I got them, and while that’ll go some way to paying for Sam’s engagement ring, I don’t feel much like celebrating. There’s also a voicemail from Natasha informing me that she’ll be out at meetings all morning, which probably means she’s gone away for the weekend with someone and they’re making a long one of it, but that suits me fine, as it gives give me more of a chance to think about what happened. Trouble is, the more I do think about it, the more I realize that Dan’s right; there’s one glaring possibility I need to get out of the way first. And I so don’t want it to be true – because if it turns out that Jane and I did spend the night together, and Sam finds out about it, then it definitely will be – as the T-shirt Dan made me wear on Saturday night said – game over.
12.02 p.m.
With about as much enthusiasm as a child waiting for a dentist’s appointment, I’m hanging around outside Jane’s office, waiting for her to pop out to the sandwich shop on the corner so I can ‘just happen’ to be walking by. Unfortunately, what I don’t happen to have is any kind of strategy, although I’m hoping I won’t need one, and that Jane will kick off the conversation, possibly by saying something like ‘long time no see’ or even, I suppose, ‘you were fantastic on Saturday’. But when she eventually emerges through the revolving doors, there’s no such luck.
‘Edward,’ she says, after a double take once she recognizes who it is that’s just rather clumsily bumped into her. ‘What are you doing here?’
I try to read her face for any signs of what might have happened between us, or any recognition that we’ve been intimate, but there’s nothing. Then again, Jane was always good at keeping secrets. As I’d found out to my cost in the past.
‘I was just, you know, passing.’
‘Oh,’ she says, a trace of disappointment in her voice. ‘Right.’
I stand there awkwardly, knowing what I want to say, but not knowing how to raise the subject. I can’t just come out and say, ‘Jane, did we sleep together the other night?’, because if we did, she’s hardly going to be pleased I can’t remember, plus even if we didn’t, but I tell Jane I can’t remember what happened that evening, she might put two and two together, realize it’s the perfect opportunity to split Sam and I up, and insist we do. I mean, if I can’t remember who I spent the night with, then that also
means I can’t remember who I didn’t spend the night with. So it might as well have been Jane, if you see what I mean.
And what if she does tell me that in fact it was her? How will I ever be able to disprove it? She used to excel at filing away these little snippets of information about someone and bringing them up just when they could cause maximum damage. And like Dan said, what better time to do that than when Sam and I are about to say ‘I do’, particularly when Jane still hasn’t forgiven Sam for ‘stealing’ me from her?
No, I need to be clever, to find out whether Jane knows I know, or knows I don’t know, and draw it out of her. What’s the best way to do that? Leading her into admitting it.
‘So . . .’
‘So?’
Ah. It doesn’t seem to be working. Mind you, ‘So’ is hardly the most enticing of opening gambits. ‘So even though I was just passing, I did want to, you know, talk to you about something.’
Jane raises one eyebrow. ‘Oh yes? What?’
Good question. Maybe if I start talking about my stag night in general, then that’ll lure it out of her. ‘Well, er . . . I wanted to talk to you about Saturday.’
‘The wedding’s on Saturday, is it?’ She smiles. ‘I was wondering, seeing as I hadn’t received my invitation yet.’
Bollocks. Not only did that not work, but now Jane thinks I’ve let slip when the wedding is. And while I’d been hoping to avoid her finding out the date so she wouldn’t actually come, I can hardly lie to her face. ‘Um, yes. And I’m sorry about that. We, er, didn’t have your address.’
‘Oh. Fine.’
As Jane stands there expectantly, it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s waiting for me to hand an invitation over. I put on a show of patting my pockets, then make the ‘what an idiot I am’ face. ‘Would you believe I’ve forgotten to bring it?’
For a moment, it’s quite clear that Jane doesn’t believe it. ‘Just tell me where it is, then.’
I shrug. ‘At home, probably.’
