The Accidental Proposal
Page 31
We drive in silence the rest of the way to the church, both lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, Dan nudges me.
‘What’s the matter with you now?’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know. I mean, it is the happiest day of my life, but what’s strange is that I feel like crying.’
Dan shakes his head, but with a smile on his face. ‘You big girl’s blouse,’ he says, pulling the Porsche into a space outside the church that – fittingly for Dan – has ‘Pick Up Zone’ written on it. ‘Well, here we are,’ he announces, climbing out of the car. ‘The end of an era.’
‘You mean you and me, right?’
Dan laughs, then points to my Mini, which is parked along the street with ‘Just Married’ written on the rear windscreen, and a number of Special Brew cans tied with string to the back – courtesy of Billy, no doubt. ‘Of course,’ he says, blipping the Porsche shut, before escorting me along the path towards the church.
I take a deep breath, then peer nervously in through the church door. Sam’s parents are there – fortunately without anything resembling a shotgun – along with various relatives and friends I half recognize from Sam’s photo albums. Wendy and Andy are sitting near the door, a pushchair in the aisle next to them, obviously ready to make their escape if the crying gets too much – their baby’s, I mean, not mine – and even Natasha seems to have brought someone.
As my eyes grow accustomed to the gloom, I spot Polly, sitting by herself at the end of one of the pews. She looks gorgeous – not as gorgeous as Sam, of course – but as I start to walk inside, Dan stops me.
‘Wait a second.’
‘What?’
Dan swallows hard, and actually looks a little vulnerable. ‘I just wanted to say . . .’
Before he can continue, I turn round and give him a hug, and – for once – he doesn’t push me away, or question my sexuality.
‘Good luck?’
He takes a deep breath, then fixes me with that famous Dan Davis grin, although I’ve got a feeling it’s more for his benefit than mine. ‘Edward,’ he says, making one final adjustment to his already impeccably styled hair, ‘how many times have I told you? Luck has nothing to do with it.’
And for the first time in my life, I think that maybe – just maybe – he might be talking about me.
From The Author
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From The Author