A Marriage of Time and Convenience

If you hurry, you can read Robert Winder's new novel in three hours. That's precisely the amount of time Luke has in which to do a thousand things before catching a plane to Italy, where he is about to start a new job and a new life. But then his girlfriend phones; she has something very important to tell him, in person. What she says is absolutely the last thing on his mind. How on earth does a man with no time to spare deal with a proposal like this?

There, Carmen said. I've said it. She put out a hand towards him and Luke, though he wasn't able to think of anything, made a mechanical movement with his own arm. Their hands didn't quite touch: they seemed to run out of gas at the crucial moment.

There was a space, then. The room seemed to get bigger. Luke tried to focus on one thing, but didn't succeed. Different words and pictures occurred to him. Some concerned his immediate surroundings: the white carpet with the orange highlights he had never noticed before, Carmen's pushed-back hair, the heat from his coffee cup; some had to do with his journey to the airport; some were obvious allusions to how he felt - a sense first of floating, then of sinning; and some had no bearing on anything at all.

He had read somewhere - there was a plaque at the office - that a single instant could decide a whole life. Usually he thought that any old instant would do, that life was like a tree trunk, that you could take a cross-section and see the same set of rings, the same indelible scars of experience, no matter what. But perhaps some moments carried a charge so powerful they could spark and glitter for ever. Was this one of those? It felt like one, but there might be others yet to come that would turn out to be far more important. Maybe, in a few years' time, he wouldn't even remember this moment.

He was looking at a pattern on the wall, which for some reason reminded him of the scratches on his tap. Don't forget the keys for Martin, he told himself. His hand hurt.

It dismayed him, so much so he felt his head move even though he was trying to keep still, when he realised that he was racking his brains like a student in search of the correct answer, or even one which would do for now.

There were only two possible responses: yes or no. But he didn't want to make a mistake; this wasn't like flipping a coin.

Was this truly one of those deep moments, a break from the everyday choice-crisis, something too big to see clearly?

He searched his head, calling up new file after new file, desperate to come up with something in black and white. But it was all grey in there. And his brain felt like a broken disk drive: everything was jumbled.

This was what Luke had been saying to himself: how many of the words you said in your life did you actually mean? Did you rehearse them with your mind's mouth until you had them off pat? Hardly ever. Yet that's what Luke felt he had to do now, and he had less than a second or two - a slight pause would be forgiveable - to make himself word perfect.

He wasn't wearing a watch, but he could almost feel the second hand on his wrist sweeping round in a tight, vertiginous circle, hoisting him up like a bit of driftwood bobbing in a whirlpool, round and round in a fierce, endless spiral.

What could Carmen be thinking? Luke was aware of a rising giddiness and a strong sense of his heart beating. Imagine saying what she had just said and then having to wait. Look at her sitting there, lovely and decided . . . He felt faint and almost said yes right away. But simultaneously he felt dwarfed, as if to say yes would be somehow vacant, merely obliging. Was this what women felt when they were proposed to? It was one thing if they'd already made up their minds in secret - right, if he asks, I'll say yes. But what if it was a complete surprise? He'd always assumed that plucking up the nerve to ask was the hard part, but now he wasn't so sure.

And there was something else. He envied her. She'd said her piece. He was the one in the hot seat now.

Custard, he thought. Horseradish. Plums, if they're ripe.

He looked at her again, hoping he wouldn't meet her eyes. But she was looking at him in a determined way, her lips pushed out.

If only he was wearing better clothes. He felt untidy and taken-by-surprise.

Suddenly he remembered where his watch was. In his jacket pocket. What a relief: he wouldn't have to . . .

What had she said? I think maybe we should . . . She wasn't proposing, exactly, just suggesting. They could talk about it.

Wow, Carmen, he said.

Wow's OK. I don't mind wow. She grinned, as if she was letting something out. For a minute, I thought you were about to go and have a bath again.

Well then. Wow.

So long as it's not don't know.

Carmen, you're superb. The words astonished even Luke.

Thank you.

They both hesitated, as if there was nothing more to be said.

The thing is, Carmen said. You're going to say we haven't got time to talk about it.

I must admit . . . the breath came out of Luke in a rush. I mean, this is one hell of a time.

Is it? Oh Carmen, I don't know what to say.

It's not the saying. It's what you want to do.

What I want to do is say something. But I'm . . .

How about yes? How about no? Not that either.

So it is don't know.

I . . . I don't know.

Well, that's a start.

It's just a surprise, that's all.

I did warn you.

Hardly. I mean, of course I'm . . .

Don't say flattered, Luke. Don't say it.

Why not? I am.

I know. Well, so you should be. But you're right: it's important to say the right thing, or to avoid saying the wrong thing. As soon as you say that, you have to say but, and as soon as you've said but you have to think of something to finish the sentence, even if that's not what you meant to say at all. So you'll say I'm flattered, but . . . and anything you said then would point you in the direction of no. I'll get those croissants.

You've thought about this, I can tell.

You bet I have, Carmen called. All night, practically. I wrote a long letter. That's what made me think about my name.

I don't think I get that.

It was a way of saying that it was important to me, but you'd never thought about it. I'm not blaming you or anything. It's just funny, that's all. It just shows you.

But why now? I'm leaving in half an hour. Going abroad.

Exactly. If I didn't ask you now, when would I? Anyway, Luke tried, you can say but and then have another but later on. An on the other hand.

Yes, but that'll take ages. We're both in a hurry.

This is . . . what can I say? Luke really didn't know. What he wanted to talk about was how long it might take to get to the airport, whether it was all right to be there only half an hour before the flight, whether it was OK to ask Martin about getting the flat cleaned. He wouldn't even have minded talking about what Carmen would do in the coming months: was she going to stick things out at the agency or was she going - she'd mentioned it a few times - to have a crack on her own? Would she come out in the summer, or was she going to lie on a beach with the others? He had to say something, though.

Carmen, this is big stuff, he began. I don't know if there's time.

How long do you want?

More than five minutes, that's for sure. This is our whole future we're talking about. He was pleased with that word, our.

Oh, the future. Who cares about the future?

That's what this is all about, surely.

Who says? This is about right now. The future, well, you could fall under a bus tomorrow . . .

Robert Winder is literary editor of the 'Independent'. 'The Marriage of Time and Convenience' is published by Harvill, pounds 14.99 hardback.