Dumped, Actually(2)

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ I tell her, ‘we’ll be in soon. We’re nearly at the front of the queue.’

‘God, I hope so. I could really do with a drink.’

I give her a smile. ‘The first thing we’ll do is go and find the nearest concession stand, and I’ll buy you a raspberry smoothie.’

That’s Samantha’s favourite. She loves them.

She gives me a big smile back. ‘Thanks, Ollie. You’re too good to me.’

‘Hey . . . it’s your birthday!’ I reply – as if that really makes any difference. I’d do anything for Samantha, whatever the day. That’s how much I adore her.

She laughs and lightly touches the Pandora necklace I gave to her earlier this morning, before we set off for our day out. It was slightly more expensive than the jazz band, but not by much.

The Light Touch Quartet are one of the most popular touring contemporary jazz acts out there, and getting them here today has been quite the effort. Their agent, an extremely awkward individual called Barret Bartholomew – who I’m sure was drunk every time I spoke to him – kept trying to raise their fee. I know damn well that he ended up rinsing me out like a wet rag, but what choice did I have? You only get to propose marriage once, and I wasn’t going to skimp on the details. Especially not on the soundtrack.

The Light Touch Quartet should be hidden away somewhere in Thorn Manor’s shiny recesses, ready to come out and play their part just after the clock strikes twelve. I’ve had a text message from Amy, the Thorn Manor PR manager, to tell me they’re in place, so all is going according to plan.

My heart rate speeds up a little as I again begin to contemplate the events that are about to unfold. It’s ten minutes past ten now, so in just two hours I will be engaged to the most wonderful woman in the world. I can’t believe my luck.

‘Lauren! Don’t be so disgusting!’

I look down to see Lauren the bogey girl wiping her finger across my kneecap.

‘Eurgh!’ I cry with revulsion as she leaves a smear of glistening nose production on my jeans.

‘I’m so sorry!’ the mother says, producing a packet of baby wipes from her purse. ‘Let me get that off for you.’ She thrusts her daughter out of the way and bends down to attack my kneecap with the baby wipe. All this does is make my knee a bit damp and smear the bogey around a bit more, but I thank her for her efforts anyway.

‘It really is very kind of you to try to get it off,’ I tell her, attempting to sound entirely unbothered. Inside, though, I could almost scream. I do not want to ask Samantha to marry me with a snot-covered knee. It’s not something that is part of my perfect little daydream, God damn it. At no point in the past few weeks and months have I dreamed of getting engaged with the excavations of a six-year-old’s olfactory orifice upon my person!

‘That’s gross,’ Samantha points out as Lauren is once again dragged far away by her mother. ‘What a horrible little shit.’

I shrug my shoulders and smile. ‘Ah, these things happen,’ I tell her, repressing my frustration for all I’m worth. This is Samantha’s special day – in more ways than one – and I don’t want it ruined by bogies. She doesn’t need to see how I’m feeling. Better to just pretend it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

Samantha gives me a strange little look. ‘You shouldn’t let people get away with that kind of crap, Ollie,’ she says as we finally get to the front of the queue, and the ticket kiosk.

I shrug again. ‘Why let these silly little things get to you?’ I wrap an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, we’re nearly in. Let’s forget about Lauren and her snotty finger. We’re here to have a great time!’

Samantha smiles, but there’s an incredulous look on her face that makes me wince a little, for reasons I’m not too sure about, to be honest.

But never mind . . .

Here we are, in Thorn Manor!

The girl in the kiosk waves us through when I show her our pre-booked tickets, and we walk into a broad and gleaming forecourt, rammed full of excited and enthusiastic members of the public, all keen to try out the plethora of new rides and attractions on offer.

Samantha skips happily up to a large map in the dead centre of the forecourt. ‘What shall we do first, Ollie?! There’s Mount Terror, that looks good . . . Or Star Warriors – that’s the light-gun game I told you about. Ooh! What about Mega Rapids? That’d cool us down!’

I smile indulgently. I love seeing her this happy. ‘We’ll go wherever you want, darling,’ I tell her, sliding one arm around her waist. I then look down at my smeared jean leg. ‘Just let me go to a toilet first to get this off, eh?’

Samantha nods and laughs. I don’t think I’ve seen her this giddy in a long time. ‘Yeah, yeah, that’s cool. You go do that, and I’ll get us both a drink.’

‘Great.’

We make our way through the milling crowd to a concession stand on the left-hand side of the expansive forecourt. Behind this building are the toilets, so I hand over ten pounds to Samantha, and ask her to get me a Diet Coke, before making my way into the toilet to try to remove little Lauren’s nose production from my jeans.

It’s while I’m doing this in front of one of the shiny new sinks that my phone goes off. I answer and it’s Amy, the park’s PR manager.