‘Are you sure it’s you who thinks that? It sounds suspiciously like my mother’s theory. This proposal isn’t the result of her finally grinding you down, is it?’
Josh smirks. He doesn’t answer my question but continues, ‘And I figured that you don’t have any other plans.’ His smirk relaxes into a wide grin. ‘I mean you don’t let men hang around long enough for you to even learn their surnames.’
Smith.
‘It is true our getting married will delight your mum. Look, marriage is the logical next step – think government tax breaks.’
‘Very romantic.’ I laugh.
He turns suddenly serious. ‘I’ll make you happy, Cas. We love each other, don’t we?’
‘It’s just that this is so unexpected.’
Josh laughs. ‘Actually, not at all. I’ve been waiting for years to tell you how I feel. I suppose, conventionally, I could have started by kissing you or asking you out for a drink.’
‘We’re always going out for drinks together,’ I point out matter-of-factly.
‘Exactly. I’ve been at a loss as to how I should let you know how I feel. I don’t know if I’d ever have got the courage but recently you’ve changed. You seem more serious. I knew the time was right. What do you say, Cas? Can you imagine being my wife?’
Josh is my best friend. He’s mymateJosh. And here he is, mymateJosh down on one knee, a rose in one hand and a diamond cluster in the other. He’s right: marriage is a ceremony that is sanctified by logic, government tax breaks, law and thousands of years of repeat performance. Josh is kind, strong, wealthy, intellectually stellar, he worships me, he does not mind my tantrums or my unmade-up face and, if that wasn’t enough, he’s good- looking.
None of this would convince me to marry him. I look at Josh and suddenly Darren’s face looms.
Josh is safe. I’d be safe. I’d never end up torn and bitter in the divorce courts. Because much as I care for Josh, I’m not overwhelmed by him. He’ll never make my heart gallop, so he’ll never be able to splinter it. A network of middle-class lifelines would constantly buoy us up. Dinners out with our mutual friends, who are interested and interesting. Evenings in, playing Trivial Pursuit, and charades at Christmas. Then later there’d be prep school for the kids and exotic holidays. I like all these things. These beacons of sanitized security seem like a possibility.
I’ve tried to fill my Darren-bereft days in an assortment of ways. None of which has been successful. But if I were with Josh, if I marry Josh – I let the concept roll round my head – I’d be safe. Marrying Josh will stop me doing anything really terrible, like getting drunk, and calling Darren, and telling him how I feel. Marrying Josh is the ultimate protection. It’s complex. It’s risky but it’s my only chance.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what? Yes we love each other… or yes you’ll marry me?’
Yes and yes.’
‘Aghhhhhh. God, I’m the happiest man in the world. Oh my God. Should we ring Issie?’ Josh does a funny little star jump and as he lands he wiggles his hips, claps his hands and punches the air. ‘No, no, best ring your mum first, or my parents – what do you think?’ Josh is dashing round his flat, fitfully searching for his mobile, although there is a perfectly good landline.
‘Champagne? Do you want champagne?’ He keeps turning to me and blowing kisses and punching the air again. I’ve never seen him so happy. I had no idea. I had no idea I could make him this happy. And I’m… I’m happy too. Calm happy.
‘Well, isn’t it traditional for you to kiss me? Kind of to seal the deal,’ I offer.
‘Christ, yes. Sorry, Cas. I’ve been meaning to do this for twenty-six years.’
I pretend I haven’t noticed that he is now sweating profusely. I ignore the fact that he clumsily bangs my teeth and, for a moment, I’m behind the bike shed with Barry Carter. Soon we inch into it and soon I like his kissing. We’re both too practised for it to be anything other than technically brilliant.
I arrive early and seat myself facing the wall so that Issie can have the view of the restaurant. I take off my ring and put it under my napkin so that I can surprise her. Then I put it back on again – better to do the Taaaaddddddaaaa and hold my hand out as soon as she arrives. Maybe not. Back under the napkin. I’m nervous. I just wonder how Issie will take this. After all, Josh’s her one and only real chance of marrying. I’m joking. I know this isn’t the case, but it will irrevocably alter the dynamics. Well, does it have to?
No, it doesn’t.
Yes, it does.
Issie will be delighted for us both.
Surely?
Certainly.
She’s here. She kisses me, orders a Bloody Mary and cuts to the chase.
‘What’s your news?’
Deep breath, ‘I’m marrying Josh.’
The restaurant stops. There isn’t a clinking glass or thudding plate. At least I can’t hear one. I watch Issie’s face, waiting for her reaction.
‘You’re marrying Josh?’ she whispers. She pauses and takes a sip of my water. Issie is obviously a little taken back.
But she’s pleased.
Isn’t she?
Well, she’s not actively unhappy.
Is she?
‘Yes, I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’ I smile broadly because engaged women smile all the time and Issie knows that. I order some wine. She fiddles with her napkin. I look at the menu. She doesn’t. I wonder which one of us will change the subject first. Issie and I have only ever been 100 per cent truthful with one another. Except for the occasion when I failed to tell her Josh fancied her. But that was years ago and it worked out for the best. It would be so embarrassing now if they had slept together. Anyway the point is Issie has only ever been 100 per cent truthful with me. I don’t want her to skirt this if she has an issue.
But I’m not keen to confront her brutal integrity just yet.
But I hope to God she doesn’t talk about the weather.
Stay with me, Issie.
‘I’ve got to be honest with you, Cas. I’m shocked.’
‘Why?’ I bluff. But I know why. Why is because I’ve never shown any romantic interest in Josh and I’ve always been actively opposed to marriage.
‘Because you’ve never shown any romantic interest in Josh and you’ve always been actively opposed to marriage.’
I glare at her. The waitress brings Issie her Bloody Mary (which is downed in one) and tells us what the specials are. I get her to repeat it twice. Issie says she’ll have That.’ I ask for ‘the same’. Neither of us has any idea what we’ve ordered.
‘Haven’t you always said Josh would make a great husband?’ I encourage.
‘Yes,’ she admits.
‘Haven’t you always said I should marry? Allow closeness, trust, stop hiding from intimacy?’
‘Yes,’ she admits.
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I didn’t say I had a problem.’
‘But you so obviously do.’
‘I think you are being defensive. Do
‘No. I don’t have a problem.’
‘Good.’
‘Yes, it’s good.’
The waitress comes back with the wine, water and bread. I’m delighted and greet her as though she is my long-lost sister. It becomes clear that she’s not going to draw up a chair and join us. I watch her scuttle back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Issie and her interrogation.
