Game Over

flashes of Ben’s serious and earnest face as he droned on about his girlfriend and whether she’d forgive him for his infidelity. I advised him to keep his trap shut. He stared out of the window as though he hadn’t heard me and asked how could he forgive himself. I must be really drunk because Ben’s face keeps dissolving into Ivor’s and Ivor’s pleading eyes melt into Joe’s. I shake my head. Whisky, the devil’s own urine – it always makes me weird.

‘Learn a new word every day.’

‘That’s easy.’

‘And use it.’

‘Do the three peaks’ challenge.’

‘No way.’

Issie’s ash misses the ashtray she is aiming for. She doesn’t seem to notice but I watch it sprinkle to the floor in slow motion. My eyes see this. My mind sees Ben’s matches scatter as he nervously tries to light a fag. I notice I’m surrounded by drooping tinsel and dropping pine needles.

‘Tell the truth for a week, the whole truth and nothing but,’ suggests Josh. Little white lies are a way of life for him and all philanderers. More natural than breathing.

‘No, that’s stupid, you’d have no friends.’

‘More whisky?’ I offer.

‘Go on then,’ they slur and hold out unsteady glasses.

‘OK, how about I resolve to get married?’

‘What?’ Both Issie and I stare at Josh. We’re dumbfounded.

‘You can’t marry, dummy, you’ve just ditched your girl, remember? And she was great, the best you’ve introduced us to for a while. You are a commitment phobe, remember?’

‘That’s not true,’ argues Josh.

I defend him. ‘Be fair, Issie, he is committed – very much so – in the beginning. It’s sustaining the commitment that he has a problem with.’

Josh scowls good-naturedly. It’s a fair cop. ‘I’m very committed to you, Cas. And you too, Issie,’ he adds. ‘I’ve just never been with the right girl.’

I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

Josh and I are similar in many ways. We’ve both had numerous sexual encounters. The big difference is Josh does believe in relationships and does expect to settle down one day. He’s always telling me so. I don’t know why he still expects this with his track record. For eighteen years Josh has followed a pattern. He is always desperately in love or desperately in loathe. The difference is only a matter of weeks. He bores easily. But instead of thinking that it’s because there is something flawed in the concept of Happily Ever After (which seems obvious to me) Josh insists it’s because he hasn’t had the opportunity with the right woman yet. He repeatedly and forcefully insists that he knows she exists.

‘OK, maybe promising to get married this year is a bit over the top. The best reception venues will be all booked up anyway. I’ll take it in easy stages. I’ll find the One and propose.’

‘Can I be bridesmaid?’ asks Issie.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I be best woman?’ I’m humouring him.

‘Maybe.’ He swallows back his whisky and pours yet another. He swills the amber devil’s pee around in the glass and we silently watch him silently watching it.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ I ask.

‘It’s time,’ he confirms. A cold finger traces its way along my spine. I shiver; it feels a lot like fear. Josh marry? I’d lose him. Or rather I’d lose my position as numero uno in his life. I share Josh with Issie but that’s different. Issie isn’t competition, she’s complementary. I’d miss him.

‘You’re pissed. You don’t mean this. I tell you what, you can retract it in the morning.’ I smile. I wait for him to smile back and he doesn’t, so I move on to Issie. ‘OK, what’s your resolution?’

‘I like that one about running a marathon. And you?’

‘I’m beginning to feel cheap and bored.’ She cocks her head to one side, waiting for me to elaborate. I can’t. I’m amazed I’ve said this much. I don’t mean it. Or do I? I do.

‘I’m giving it up.’

‘What?’

‘Casual sex, shags without thought, impulsive sex, shags with limited thought, acting on drunken whims, sleeping with someone to celebrate a promotion, or the ratings, or a pretty frock in Armani.’ I pause to be certain that covers all scenarios. It does.

‘What will you do?’ asks Issie, with the scary honesty that only best friends can employ.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply with the same tone. ‘Celibacy?’

8

‘What happened? Why did you do it, Susie? What made you do this?’ Jed is being unusually dignified, under the circumstances. After all, a quarter of the British adult population have just seen his fiancee kiss her ex-lover almost in the vestry of the church, fifteen minutes before their wedding rehearsal, a week before their wedding. The film clearly shows her adjust her skirt as she emerged from behind the tombstone. Bale’s terrified of lawsuits so we are not explicit but it doesn’t take a Mensa IQ to work out that kissing wasn’t where the action stopped.

Susie is whiter than the wedding dress that she’d proudly shown the audience just before the advert break. But then that was another lifetime. That was a pre-public outing lifetime. Susie was still playing happy families, Jed was still living in cloud cuckoo land and Andrew was still standing in the wings waiting to expose Susie’s infidelity.

‘I am so sorry,’ whispers Susie. Which I think is a good move. Her only chance of winning the audience over is to be immediately and totally contrite. After all, Jed’s a good-looking guy and natural instincts are to root for him.

It’s an interesting moment, this one: when all three stooges are on the floor and they have to deal publicly with the consequences of a very private affair. Jed had thought he was in control. He hadn’t actually believed Andrew was any real competition. He’d imagined that it would be exciting to be on TV, something to tell the grandkids. He’d expected Susie to choose him, despite the fact that all their friends still whispered about Andrew and Susie being a great couple, so much more passionate. I bet he’s now wishing he’d simply stuck to the wedding video.

Andrew thought it was his game. He had little to lose as his and Susie’s romance ended in a veil of tears and reprimands some years ago (FYI, and it’s worth noting, the reason why they finished was because Susie found Andrew in bed with another woman). Andrew had happily agreed to tempt her. If he hadn’t, it would look as though he was chicken shit, and that foxy detective who’d approached him would think he was only half a man.

‘Why did you do it, Susie?’ pleads Jed.

‘I wish they’d ask more probing questions,’ comments Fi. We are both standing in the wings watching the action, live.

‘No, this is the crux,’ I whisper back. The reasons why the partners fall are massively interesting. The list is endless. Closure, revenge, consolation, opportunism.’

Susie has finally found her voice.

‘I am sorry, Jed. But I couldn’t not. For the last three years since Andrew and I split up I saw him in every square jaw and broad shoulders. Sometimes I’d see him in front of me on the tube escalator and I’d run to catch him up, my feet pounding on the wooden slats, my heart vibrating against my tonsils. And for that heady thumping moment I wouldn’t worry how I’d explain it to you. Or why I was forgiving him. I just wanted to heal myself by resting my eyes upon him. I thought then that the throbbing might go away. But it never was him. It was always someone less. Because everyone is less. Even you.’

How curious.

The audience knows that Andrew doesn’t deserve such devotion, but they are thrilled. Other than Susie’s very deep ugly sobs, you can hear a pin drop.

Tears are streaming down Fi’s face. ‘Aren’t you moved, Cas?’

‘Yes, I’m delighted there isn’t a dry eye in the house. It’s great television. What’s next?’