Surprise Me(27)

‘I think we all know who,’ Olivia says savagely. ‘It’s obvious, from this piece of illiterate trash, that it’s your previous “friend”. I want you and I always will,’ she declaims in a syrupy voice. ‘Let’s find a moment. Just be us. Did she get it from a Hallmark card?’

She’s so mocking, my face flames bright red. At last, with a final wrench, I get my teeth apart, and grab the paper from her hand.

‘Actually, that’s my poem!’ I say, trying to sound bright and nonchalant. ‘It was meant for Dan. Wrong jacket. So. It was … it’s ours. Mine. Not Simon’s. You don’t need to worry about— Or anything. So. Anyway.’

I finally manage to stop babbling and realize that everyone around the table is watching, dumbstruck. The look of horror on Olivia’s face is so priceless I’d laugh, if I didn’t feel so totally embarrassed.

‘Um, so, here you are, Dan,’ I add awkwardly, and give him the paper. ‘You could read it now … or later … It’s quite short,’ I add, in case he’s expecting six verses and metaphors about war, or something.

Dan doesn’t look very thrilled to be handed a love poem, to be fair. He glances at it and clears his throat and shoves it in his pocket without reading it.

‘I didn’t mean …’ Olivia’s hands are clenched harder than I’ve ever seen them. ‘Sylvie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.’

‘It’s fine, honestly—’

‘You’re a disgrace to quizzes!’ The voice of the flowery-shirted man makes us all jump. ‘You had that phone under the table all the time!’

‘We did not!’ the purple-polo-shirt man shouts back. ‘That’s fucking slander, that is!’

He pushes a table roughly towards the flowery-shirted man, and all the glasses jostle and chink together.

‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ calls out Toby cheerfully.

‘Be quiet, Toby!’ snaps Tilda.

‘So!’ Dave is saying desperately into the microphone, over the hubbub. ‘Let’s carry on. And the next question was: Which Briton won an ice-skating gold at the—’

He breaks off as the flowery-shirted guy charges at the purple-polo-shirt team. One of them tackles him, as though they’re playing rugby, and the others start roaring encouragement. All around the pub, people start exclaiming and gasping. The Russian girl even shrieks as though someone’s stuck a knife into her.

‘People!’ Dave is imploring. ‘People, calm down! Please!’

Oh my God, they’re fighting. They’re actually punching each other. I’ve never even seen a pub brawl before.

‘Sylvie,’ says Dan in my ear. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Yes,’ I say at once. ‘Yes.’

As we’re walking home, Dan takes out my love poem. He reads it. He turns the page over as though expecting more. Then he reads it again. Then he puts it away. He looks touched. And a bit flummoxed. OK, maybe slightly more flummoxed than touched.

‘Dan, listen,’ I say in a rush. ‘I have this whole big explanation to give you.’

He looks at me questioningly. ‘Of your poem?’

‘Yes! Of course of my poem!’ What did he think I meant, of thermo-combustion?

‘You don’t need to explain it. I got it. It was nice,’ he adds after a moment’s thought. ‘Thank you.’

‘Not the poem itself,’ I say, a bit impatiently. ‘I mean, the concept of the poem. The fact of the poem. It’s all part of my new brilliant idea which will solve everything.’

‘Right.’ He nods; then he takes the poem out and looks at it again under the light of a street lamp, frowning slightly. ‘Is there supposed to be a second verse?’

‘No,’ I say defensively. ‘It’s pithy.’

‘Ah.’

‘And it’s only the beginning. Here’s my idea, Dan. We need to surprise each other. It can be, like, our joint thing. We can call it …’ I think for a moment. ‘“Project Surprise Me”.’

To my gratification, Dan looks surprised. Ha! It begins! I was hoping Dan would latch on to the idea straight away, but he’s looking a bit uncertain.

‘Right …’ he says. ‘Why?’

‘To pass the endless weary decades, of course! Imagine our marriage is an epic movie. Well, no one gets bored in a movie, do they? Why? Because there are surprises round every corner.’

‘I fell asleep in Avatar,’ he says promptly.

‘I mean an exciting movie,’ I explain. ‘And anyway, you only fell asleep in the middle bit. And you were tired.’

We’re at the front door by now, and Dan reaches for his key. Then, looking over my shoulder, his face changes to one of horror. ‘Oh God. Oh my God. What’s that? Sylvie, don’t look, it’s awful …’

‘What?’ I swing round, my heart tripping in fright. ‘What is it?’

‘Surprise!’ says Dan, and pushes open the door.

‘Not that kind of surprise!’ I say, furiously. ‘Not that kind!’

Honestly. He has completely missed the point. I meant nice surprises, not stupid wind-ups.

The sitter we used tonight is called Beth and we’ve never used her before. As we walk into the kitchen she smiles cheerily, but I can’t quite smile back. The whole place is littered with toys. It’s toy carnage.