Game Over Read online

  ‘Did you buy the ring for me or Jane?’ I ask.

  ‘You, of course!’ He sounds insulted.

  ‘Just checking.’ I grin nervously. ‘I wondered if this was impulse or if you’d given it a lot of thought.’ His face implodes. I rush on. ‘Well, it’s obvious that you’ve given it a lot of thought, but I wasn’t sure if it was me you were thinking of.’ He looks even more appalled. I realize I’m an arse. ‘God, I’m sorry, Josh, that’s a terrible thing to say. I’m nervous.’ I start to giggle. ‘I’ve never been nervous with you before, Josh.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never proposed to you before, Cas.’ Josh pauses. ‘Or anyone.’

  ‘So why?’

  ‘We’re good for each other. We are alike. We’ve known each other for ever. No other woman ever makes me laugh the way you do. Other women bore me.’

  I’m still buying time. ‘So you are ready for monogamy? I assume we’d play it conventionally?’

  ‘Yes, I’m ready. I’m bored with attaching myself to the next thing that comes along and attracts attention. Other women seem sameish. You’re different.’ He pauses and I know he’s struggling. ‘I think it’s always been you. I think that’s why everyone else seemed inadequate. I think you are the reason I’ve bounced from one conquest to the next.’

  ‘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.

&
nbsp; ‘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 you think there’s a problem?’

  ‘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.

  ‘What about Darren?’

  ‘Darren?’ The bread in my mouth won’t be swallowed. I chew and chew but it simply won’t go down. I drink some more water. ‘Darren who?’ won’t wash.

  ‘Darren taught me a lot.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I owe him a great deal. He opened my eyes to the possibility of intimacy being an option for me.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me as though I am one of your TV executives,’ she snaps. It’s unlike Issie to be down on me. I think about what I’ve just said. It does sound like pretentious wank. But then I’m new to this game of speaking your heart. I’d always been content with speaking my mind, which is easy in comparison.

  ‘Darren was important,’ I admit.

  ‘You fell in love with him.’

  I can’t tell Issie the truth. I can’t tell her that marrying Josh is the ultimate armour. She loves Josh as much as she loves me and she wouldn’t forgive me. I have no choice but to rewrite history.

  ‘No, Issie, Darren was an infatuation.’ Firm. Denying Darren hurts.

  ‘You said you were in love.’ Rigid.

  ‘I was wrong.’ Reasonable.

  ‘You said you’re never wrong.’ Irritating.

  ‘I was wrong about that too.’ I’m almost shouting. I take a deep breath and have a stab at regaining some self-control. ‘Darren told me things that no one else could tell me and he taught me to look at things differently but I didn’t fall in love.’

  She stares at me with naked disbelief. ‘Oh, so you can’t quote every single word he ever uttered to you? You didn’t laugh with him? You don’t talk about him constantly?’

  Fair point.

  ‘Darren was…’ I’m struggling. ‘… exhilarating and amazing but he was a stranger. Women don’t fall in love with men they’ve just met.’

  ‘Of course they do!’

  ‘Why are we talking about Darren? It’s Josh I feel secure with. Josh I’ve known for ever.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like love to me, it sounds like the safe choice.’

  The waitress arrives with our food and we call an uneasy truce over the table. We sulkily eat our goat’s cheese salad and glumly glug our wine. This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted her to be happy for me.

  ‘I admit Josh doesn’t send my stomach into a somersault.’

  ‘The way Darren did.’

  I ignore her interruption. ‘But that’s to be expected, I’ve known Josh for ever.’

  What am I supposed to say?

  Obviously Issie’s disappointed that things are changing, but things can’t stay the same. I wish they could have. Meeting Darren changed everything. I’m lonely in crowds now. But I’m a survivor and marrying Josh is my best survival tactic. Whilst I’m sorry that it makes Issie uncomfortable, I am completely without option. I push on.

  ‘Darren was about sexual attraction. I got carried away. I know I said some pretty crazy things at the time.’ I glance at Issie and try to work out if I’m convincing her. I can see by her face that she wants to believe me. Almost as much as I want to believe me. I press on. ‘Josh wants to marry me. I love Josh. He’s like a brother to me.’ Issie tries to interrupt but I hold my hand up to stop her. ‘Maybe, at the moment, Josh loves me in a different way. But two people rarely love each other equally, in the same way, at the same time. We’ve years together, we’ll even up.’ I pause for maximum impact and then I plead, ‘I’ll be a good wife to him.’ I mean this. I plan to be perfect. I’ll try to make it up to Josh for not being in love with him. I’ll take fastidious care in putting his needs before mine. He can choose which side of the bed to sleep on. And I’ll attend all his work functions. I’ll even learn the rules of rugby. Josh will get a good deal.

  Issie pauses and thinks about what I’ve said. We sit for an eternity.

  Finally she mutters, ‘I can’t believe you’d play games with Josh, so I have to believe that you are genuine about this, Cas.’ She stares at me for about two hundred years.

  ‘I am.’ Her face relaxes into a broad, delighted and assured smile. I force a tight, relieved smile. I’ve often condemned her for being too trusting, saying she invites people to wipe their Manolo Blahniks on her soul. Now I’m grateful that she’s so ingenuous.

  We are through it. Everything is going to be brilliant from now on.

  I show her my ring. She ooohs and ahhs, appropriately. She says that she definitely will not wear pink, lilac or frills. I reach into my bag and pull out the Amanda Wakeley Wedding Collection brochure. We both giggle shrilly and generally allow ourselves to get completely over-excited.

  This is what girlfriends are born for.

  16

  A whole new world opens up in front of me. An entirely novel conversational track. An individual way to relate to my mother, Josh’s mother, aunts, neighbours, women I meet at dinner parties, restaurants, art galleries, the gym – my Ph.D. in Brides and Setting up Home. What had I talked about before I had the cluster on my finger? It surprises and delights me that wedding preparation is an admirable substitute for sex. Which is a good thing because Josh and I have decided not to rush having sex.

  ‘Why?’ Issie doesn’t understand.

  ‘Well, we’re both finding it a bit harder than we imagined crossing over from friends to lovers.’

  ‘Isn’t that a fairly major detail, since you are planning on getting married? Aren’t married people supposed to be lovers?’

  ‘Yes, and friends.’ I sound defensive. ‘We thought of getting through the initial embarrassment by just getting pissed and shagging each other. After all, we’ve both done it to other people often enough in the past. But now that seems so tacky and cheap. I realized that the reason I can’t rush this is because I want it to be really special. A few more months without sex will be good for me.’

  ‘It might grow over, you know,’ teases Issie. I throw a cushion at her but we both shut up as Josh comes into the room with a tray of wine and Pringles.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you were talking about me?’ He sits in-between us. Issie and I exchange glances.

  ‘Just singing your praises,’ Issie says.

  Little white lies are a way of life. Issie could hardly say, ‘Oh, actually we were just talking about yours and Cas’s vow of celibacy.’

  Although in the past we did discuss every aspect of our lives. The nitty gritty, not just loose morals but, when travelling in India, loose faeces too.

  Tonight after Issie leaves I’ll tell Josh what we were really talking about. It’s a small shift in the dynamics, almost imperceptible and certainly not important.

  Issie’s brother is designing our wedding invites so Issie has come round tonight to help us decide on the wording. Which is the other tiny change – Issie rarely pops round just to hang out any more. She only ever visits when she has a reason. Still, there are plenty of reasons – choosing dresses and flowers, repainting Josh’s flat, returning a casserole dish. Her visits are just as frequent, so it’s not really a problem.

  ‘So, Issie? Have you decided – are you going to be the bridesmaid or the best man?’ asks Josh.

  ‘I’m going to be the bridesmaid. I like the outfit better.’

  ‘You like me better,’ I screech playfully.

  I notice she doesn’t answer me
but instead asks, ‘So where are you getting married?’

  We answer simultaneously and differently.

  ‘In London,’ I say.

  ‘At home,’ says Josh.

  ‘At home,’ I offer quickly.

  ‘In London,’ he presses.

  ‘We haven’t worked out the details,’ I smile apologetically to Issie. Wisely, she doesn’t comment.

  ‘We do have a date,’ says Josh. I snuggle closer to him.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ smiles Issie. ‘When?’

  ‘June,’ I say.

  ‘July,’ says Josh at the same time. We both laugh. ‘Look, I don’t mind. Do what you want. I’m just thrilled. It’s going to be the best party ever.’ He leans in and kisses me. I wiggle away because I don’t want to embarrass Issie.

  Josh leaves for rugby practice and Issie and I set to on Project Wedding. I approach it exactly as I approach projects at work.

  ‘OK, we need a list.’

  Issie jumps up and finds paper and pen. I grab a bunch of bridal magazines and I open the bottle of Chardonnay.

  ‘So you are still working on when and where?’ says Issie quietly as she carefully writes ‘Cas and Josh’s wedding’ at the top of the page. Her handwriting is round and childish and familiar.

  ‘July and Esher, Josh’s family home.’

  ‘Good progress,’ grins Issie. ‘Which church?’

  ‘A church? I hadn’t thought of a church.’

  ‘They usually feature.’

  ‘I was thinking of a civil ceremony. Maybe in a garden or a smart hotel?’ I cross my legs underneath me.

  Issie gently probes, ‘Have you discussed this with Josh? I mean he’s quite godly.’

  ‘Considering he plays rugby,’ I add.

  We both laugh. It’s true Josh is a long way from being a bible basher but he does believe in God and goes to church at Easter, Christmas and at least two or three other times a year. I do recall him taking his godfather duties very seriously when he became godfather to the children of his head of chambers. I’d sort of put it down to brown nosing. But maybe not. I consider it.