Blue walls and tiles, blue fabric, blue crockery, blue cutlery, blue loo roll, blue napkins and napkin rings (which have only ever been used once – the thirtieth birthday dinner party), blue settee, blue bed and bedding, blue dustpan and mop and finally a blue toothbrush. When Issie or I ever visited Josh whilst he was decorating we were always overly animated, fearing if we stood still for too long he’d paint us blue too.

As I walk into his flat, I’m thinking that if Josh introduced buttercup yellow in his hall or a deep red in his sitting-room it would be a vast improvement.

‘Josh, why are the lights dimmed?’ I ask and immediately turn them up. I start to laugh. ‘Oh, I see, to show off the candles. Are you indulging in a Druid-type self-loathing session?’ I kiss him on the forehead and wave the bottle I’ve brought.

‘It’s a ‘94 Château La Croix de Mouchet. I was saving it for a special occasion but I’m not sure when that’ll be so I thought I’d bring it round.’ I march directly to the kitchen to forage out some glasses.

I bump into the biggest floral arrangement ever.

‘Who are the flowers for, or should I say from? God, Josh, this place looks more like a seduction scene than a dumping ground.’ I suddenly guess what’s going on. ‘No, she didn’t buy you these just before you ditched her, did she?’ I’m shocked at the stupidity of some women. ‘And you accepted them.’ I’m less surprised by the callous nature of most men. ‘Bastard.’ I smile. He’ll know I’m joking. Josh doesn’t answer but takes the wine I’m offering and clinks my glass. I continue chattering, glad of the company, for what it is. Josh is not at his sparkly best.

‘God, I’ve had the loneliest weekend,’ I confess.

‘Really?’

‘Don’t look so pleased about it, Josh. You know you and Issie are indispensable to me. You don’t need to prove your point by both going away at once. I started having the most maudlin thoughts. I even wished there was a wedding to go to. Now isn’t that a hoot?’

Josh brightens. ‘Do you really?’

‘What?’

‘Wish there was a wedding to go to?’

‘Well, since my choice this weekend was that or eat Coco Pops, by the hand directly from the box, yes, I’d prefer the wedding.’ I pat the settee next to me. ‘Come on, then, sit here. Tell me all about chucking Jane.’ I stare at Josh. ‘Hey, you look quite shaken. Are you regretting it?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head definitively.

‘So?’ He pauses for the longest time. Something is definitely upsetting him. ‘Good God, Josh. You’re not ill, are you?’ I’m suddenly terrified.

‘No. Not ill.’

‘So what’s up?’ I link my arm through his. He shuffles awkwardly, pulling his arm away.

‘I don’t know how to put this.’

‘Just say it, whatever it is,’ I encourage. Why the sudden hesitancy? Josh and I have always spoken freely to one another. What can he have to say that’s so dreadful? Suddenly he lurches for my hand.

‘OK, I’ll just say it. Will you marry me, Cas?’

‘Ha ha.’ I sip my wine.

‘I’m serious,’ he insists.

I look at him. His eyes are shining earnestly.

He is.

Shit.

‘Well, it’s a bit of a surprise. I don’t know what to say.’

Probably anything but that. It’s a bit lame. It’s awful. Luckily Josh is too nervous to notice my inadequacies. He reaches behind a cushion and pulls out a Tiffany ring box. He magics a thick cream rose from somewhere or other.

‘Bloody hell, Paul Daniels is proposing to me.’ I laugh but my laugh is hollow and echoey. It doesn’t fill the silence. Josh notices the silence too.

‘Bugger, forgot the music.’

He jumps up and puts on his CD player. ‘Ground Control to Major Tom’ blares out, which makes me laugh and Josh swear. I know he’s spent the afternoon walking around the house with the strainer on his head, singing along.

‘Fuck, not very appropriate.’ He swaps to Frank Sinatra singing ‘I’ve Got you under my Skin.’ I’m grateful for this small diversion.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you, Josh?’ I ask his back.

‘I am.’ He tells the wall. After fiddling with the bass and the volume for a while Josh comes back and sits next to me. He doesn’t sit quite as close as he usually does. He’s not actually touching me, but he is close enough for me to notice that he’s shaking and there’s sweat on his upper lip.

‘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?