Dumped, Actually Page 2

  An area of the plaza in front of The Blitzer’s entrance has been sectioned off with ropes and poles, forming the queue line, and a temporary booth sits right in front of it. As we approach this, I notice that a small stage has been constructed within the sectioned-off area, and my heart rate increases. That must be for the band.

  ‘What do you think that’s for?’ Samantha asks, pointing at the small, low stage.

  ‘No idea.’ I shrug. ‘Probably something to do with The Blitzer’s first outing.’

  Samantha nods. Ha! She has no idea!

  In no time at all, we are both stood with a crowd of about forty people outside the ride’s entrance. The Blitzer has a wintry theme, so everything is coloured in icy blue, white and silver. It’s rather like standing at the North Pole, if it had been created by children full of imagination and E-numbers.

  Amy emerges from the entrance with an excited look on her face. She is joined by two middle-aged men, both dressed in expensive suits, and even more expensive hairpieces. These must be Jacob and Silvester Marleston, the owners of Thorn Manor.

  Amy welcomes all of us to the new ride and promises it will be the greatest experience of our lives. I think she might be overstating things a bit there, but she is in PR, so I’ll let her off just this once.

  She gives a little speech thanking the Marleston brothers for constructing the park. They both smile the smiles of men with seven figures in their bank account. Amy then thanks all of us for being here.

  As she does this, a park photographer is skipping around the crowd, snapping away merrily to record this most prestigious of moments. I’ve already arranged for him to also take photos of my most prestigious moment, which will follow the three minutes of high-speed mayhem I’m about to endure.

  With her speech done, Amy lets us into the entrance to the ride. The small crowd whoops and hollers with excitement as we go in. Samantha’s voice is one of the loudest of all.

  We all walk through an atrium covered in fake snow and plastic ice, before emerging on to the broad platform, with the rollercoaster cars parked next to it. I’m slightly taken aback when I notice that the cars don’t have a bottom, and are instead suspended from the track that hangs overhead.

  ‘Er . . . how are we supposed to sit in that?’ I ask Samantha. It’s becoming apparent to me that in all of my excitement about arranging today, I didn’t really pay that much attention to what kind of ride The Blitzer is.

  ‘We don’t sit in it, Ollie!’ she replies with excitement. ‘You hang from those harnesses, which have a full one-eighty-degree range of parabolic movement.’

  Well, I may not have read up much about The Blitzer, but my girlfriend clearly has.

  ‘Oh . . . great,’ I say, starting to go a little white. I was prepared for a fast ride around in a little rollercoaster car with my feet planted firmly on the floor and my hands gripping a metal bar for dear life. I’m not prepared for 180 degrees of hanging parabolic movement – whatever the hell that is.

  Too late to turn back now, though. I have a marriage proposal to get to.

  Samantha immediately makes a beeline for the front carriage of the three-car coaster. We don’t get the front row, because that’s been commandeered by two teenagers, but we do get the next row back, so it’ll pretty much be a front-row seat for this experience in extreme parabolics.

  I have to stand on tiptoes to get myself into the strange stand-up harness, with my genitals resting on a thin padded rest that protrudes from the back of the moulded plastic. A rather overweight young man in a Blitzer T-shirt and khaki shorts bellows at all of us through a microphone to be careful as the safety bars are lowered from above. I press myself back into the padded harness as a large U-shaped bar descends, tightly bracing my shoulders and midriff once it’s in place.

  This feels less like I’m about to enjoy a thrill ride, and more like I’m about to undergo a battery of scientific medical examinations for something very unpleasant.

  Samantha grins broadly at me, her eyes out on stalks. I try to return her enthusiastic expression, but only manage to look like I’m experiencing bowel problems.

  I can’t see my own face, but I’m pretty sure I’ve gone as white as the Joker.

  Suddenly a booming voice fills the entire area.

  ‘It’s time to blitz!’ the deep, manly voice tells us. ‘Are you ready?’

  I’m not sure, manly voice. I’m not sure at all.

  ‘Blitzing in three . . . two . . . one . . . go!’

  And with that, the rollercoaster flies into motion with stomach-churning speed.

  Aaaargh!

  This isn’t how rollercoasters are supposed to start! You’re supposed to do the chugga-chugga bit first! A nice slow motion up the track to the top, before descending the other side!

  Where’s the chugga-chugga?! I needed the chugga-chugga to prepare myself!

  Instead, we’re shot forward at what feels like the speed of sound. My whole body is forced back into the harness as we rapidly approach that hellish-looking loop I spied earlier from the safety of the park’s walkways.

  I can already feel my gorge rising as we hurtle towards the sharp incline.

  Don’t be sick, you idiot! You can’t propose marriage with half-digested porridge drying on your shirt!

  The Blitzer’s car hits the incline at roughly Mach 10, and immediately hurtles skyward.

  From beside me I hear Samantha scream with delight. In front, the two teenagers have their arms held out and are screaming as well. In fact, everyone is screaming. Except me. Out loud, anyway. My internal scream meter is off the charts, though – largely trying to convince my stomach to behave itself as we continue to climb skywards.

  Just think about the proposal, just think about the proposal, I keep chanting to myself in some sort of safety mantra as we reach that godawful-looking loop.

  Now I’m up close to the damn thing, I can see that the loop twists around itself as it reaches its zenith.

  Which the car hits almost as soon as I’ve realised what’s going to happen. I am jerked to the left as the rollercoaster starts to enter the twisty section of track.

  It’s at this point I truly begin to understand what 180 degrees of hanging parabolic movement is.

  Absolutely horrendous, as it turns out.

  The harness starts to swing around wildly, and I’m thrown in what feels like all directions at once. This forces a noise from my throat that I have never heard before, and will probably never hear again.

  ‘Mfmurglehoon!’ I cry, incomprehensibly.

  There’s every chance that in my kinetic terror, I’ve inadvertently begun speaking in a strange and alien language. I can only assume that ‘Mfmurglehoon’ is alien speak for, ‘My kidneys are about to merge forcibly with my rectum. May I have a little cry?’

  We’re mercifully through the twisting, turning, inverted loop in a few seconds. Sadly, we’re now heading back down again, and the speed is building once more to ridiculous levels.

  I look down – and down – to see that we’re now descending towards the ground in a kamikaze run that can only end in our swift and violent deaths.

  Luckily, the track takes a sharp turn as we’re a mere twenty feet from impact. Unluckily, this forces my stomach into my ankles.

  ‘Hurmooblegah!’ I cry, my impressive command of alien gibberish now extending to two complete phrases. This one means, ‘Ah, it appears my pre-frontal cortex has flown out of my nose. Could you pop it back in again, please?’

  All coherent thought leaves me as we power back towards the large building that houses The Blitzer’s platform, and the waiting second round of riders.

  I’m now no longer white like the Joker; I have gone the green of the Incredible Hulk, jumping effortlessly from one comic book brand to another in my sheer terror.

  I feel Samantha’s hand grasp mine as we start to slow towards the cavernous building in front of us. This instantly makes me feel a little better.

  As we move from harsh sunlight in
to cool darkness, I start to feel a bit more human still – especially as the rollercoaster is now slowing to a manageable level.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Samantha asks me.

  ‘Yeah!’ I lie. ‘That was quite something!’

  The something being the worst something that’s ever happened to me.

  ‘It was fucking great!’ she cries with excitement. ‘Can we do it again later?’

  I don’t want to nod. I really don’t. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to never see The Blitzer again as long as I live. But this is Samantha’s birthday, so if I have to take one more ride on this hellish contraption, then so be it. Besides, I’ll be engaged to be married if we do ride it for the second time, so it won’t be all bad.

  This thought immediately reminds me of what I’m really here for today, and I stiffen up a little.

  ‘Oh, it’s okay, Ollie! You’re fine! It’s over!’ Samantha says, feeling my hand tighten on hers.

  ‘Yeah, yeah! I know!’ I tell her, knowing full well that it’s just getting started.

  The rollercoaster cars swing around gently at the far end of the building and return to the platform from which we began. I am immeasurably happy to feel the safety bar rise, releasing me from its death grip. As I lower myself to the floor, I feel my legs start to buckle, and have to take a second to steady myself.

  I feel decidedly sick to my stomach as we alight the ride on the opposite platform, allowing the next bunch of excited theme-park goers to have their turn. I wonder if any of them will learn how to speak alien as well. Maybe we could get together afterwards and discuss matters of intergalactic importance.

  Samantha jumps off the ride like she’s been given a new lease of life. I hobble off like someone’s just told me my lease is up at the end of the month.

  I take a few deep breaths, partly because I’m glad to be alive, and partly to prepare myself for what’s coming next.

  If Amy and the Thorn Manor staff have their timing right, then when we emerge from the ride’s exit, the jazz band will start playing the song, filling the plaza with its sweet melody. I will then walk Samantha to the front of the stage, take the ring from Horst the trumpeter – and do the deed. Then that fantasy I had in my head while waiting in the queue will come true, and I’ll have my romantic happy ending, before the credits roll.

  That’s if I can get out there without either fainting or throwing up.

  ‘You sure you’re okay, Ollie?’ Samantha asks, putting her arm around my waist.

  I wave a hand. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, honestly. Just a bit dizzy. I’ll be okay in a second. Let’s get outside so I can get a breath of fresh air.’

  That might actually do me some good. It’s like a sauna in The Blitzer building, thanks to all the sweaty bodies and hot coaster equipment.

  Much like a train station, the exit to the coaster is over a walkway that extends above the track, and back out through the plastic ice and snow. By the time we’re over the walkway, I feel much better, though my legs still don’t want to work properly.

  I’m straining my ears now to hear the beginning of ‘All of Me’ – but am disturbed to find I can’t hear anything. The agreement was that the band will start up as the riders stream out of the building. Why aren’t they playing?

  With my eyes shielded from the sun, and my anxiety levels sky-rocketing, Samantha and I emerge from The Blitzer’s exit.

  The second we do, I hear a loud voice from my immediate left, where the stage area is being momentarily blocked by bodies.

  ‘Eins! Zwei! Drei! Vier!’ it screams.

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  What the hell??

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  The crowd instantly parts, as if driven back by the cacophonous noise erupting from the stage. As they do, I see the band for the first time, and go into full panic mode.

  In front of me are four portly gentlemen in green lederhosen, white shirts and peaked caps with feathers stuck in the bands. One is holding a tuba, one an accordion, the third a trombone and the fourth – the portliest of the four – is slightly out in front and blowing on a trumpet like his life depends on it. All of them are bouncing up and down on the spot in time with the rapid rhythm.

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  ‘All of me loves all of you!’ the trumpeter starts to sing. ‘All of me loves all of you! All of me loves all of you! All of me! All of you!’

  ‘Oi!’ the rest of the band sing together.

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Samantha cries, wincing at the high-pitched trumpet. ‘What is this??’

  I look at her in dismay. I wish I knew myself.

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  ‘All of me loves all of you! All of me loves bits of you! Bits of me loves most of you! Parts of me! Most of you!’

  ‘Oi!’

  Is he trying to sing ‘All of Me’?

  Those aren’t even the right lyrics! They’re not even close!

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  I glance over to the right of the jigging four-part monstrosity, to see PR girl Amy standing off to one side with a mixed expression of horror and disbelief. Her expression is mirrored on the faces of pretty much everyone in the nonplussed crowd. Even those people excited to be having their go on the second outing of The Blitzer are completely frozen to the spot, such is the bizarre nature of what’s going on in front of them.

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  ‘Some of me loves all of you! All of me loves parts of you! Chunks of me love lumps of you! Lumps of me! Chunks of you!’

  ‘Oi!’

  I have to put a stop to this! I have to put a stop to this now!

  On legs that are now incredibly shaky, I stumble over to the stage and throw my hands up.

  ‘Stop! For the love of all that’s holy, please stop!’

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

  ‘God, stop! Please, STOP!’

  OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMP—

  The band clatters to a halt instantly. If nothing else, they have some musical discipline about them.

  The red-faced trumpeter looks down at me with concern. ‘Iz everyzing alright, Mister Oliver Sveet?’

  I blink a couple of times – mostly due to the accent, if I’m being honest. I have to confess to being slightly stunned that the Germanic voice this man is speaking with matches the lederhosen so absolutely. There’s a beauty to its ridiculous perfection that part of me almost admires.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ I ask him. ‘Where are The Light Touch Quartet? I was promised contemporary jazz!’

  The man contrives to look deeply apologetic. ‘Ah. I zought you vould have been informed by Mister Barret Barzolemew?’

  ‘Informed of what?!’ I rage.

  ‘Ze Light Qvartet are zadly unable to be here today, on account of zome light food poisoning. Mister Barret Barzolemew zought we vould be a good replacement. My name is Horst, and ve are The Oompah Troompahs.’ He beams at me as he says this and waggles his trumpet.

  I’m truly gobsmacked. ‘He thought replacing contemporary jazz with whatever the hell you lot are was a good idea??’

  Horst looks slightly offended. ‘Ve are ze most popular Bavarian oompah band in ze zouth of England, I vill have you know.’ He puffs out his chest. ‘Ve are much respected!’

  As if to underline this point, the trombonist gives me a short, sharp note on his instrument. It’s like some kind of audible exclamation mark – and it’s very annoying.

  ‘But I ordered contemporary jazz! It’s my girlfriend’s favourite!’

  Speaking of whom . . .

  ‘Ollie? What the hell is going on? Have you got something to do with this?’

  I spin around. ‘Ah . . . er . . . ah . . . yes! This was all supposed . . . supposed to
be for you!’

  Samantha looks amazed. And not in a good way. ‘You hired an oompah band for my birthday?’

  I shake my head vigorously. ‘No! No! They were supposed to be contemporary jazz! They were supposed to be playing “All of Me”!’

  ‘Ve vere!’ Horst objects.

  ‘No, you bloody weren’t!’ I argue. ‘Chunks of me love lumps of you?!’

  Again, the apologetic look is back. ‘Ah . . . vell, ve are not very familiar vith ze zong, so ve busked it a little.’ He pinches his finger and thumb together.

  ‘A little?’

  ‘Ollie!’ Samantha says. ‘Can you please explain what’s going on here? Everyone is looking at us.’

  She’s not wrong. The crowd are all hanging on my every word. They must think this is a bit of street theatre laid on by the theme park. I can even see that Jacob and Silvester Marleston have joined the throng, standing next to poor old Amy, who looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up.

  I have to try to salvage this before it all goes completely south.

  ‘I . . . I arranged all this for us, Samantha!’ I tell my girlfriend. ‘Not just for your birthday . . . but for something even more special!’

  ‘What? What’s so special?’

  I go wide-eyed. This is the moment.

  Not quite the moment I wanted – I will be demanding my money back from Barret bloody Bartholomew the first chance I get – but it is the moment, nonetheless.

  I look back at Horst the trumpeter. ‘Please tell me you at least have the thing that Amy gave to you?’ I ask him.

  He beams at me. ‘Of course!’ Horst then dips a pudgy hand into his lederhosen and pulls out the ring box that contains a couple of thousand pounds of my hard-earned cash, in the shape of an engagement ring.

  As he bends down and hands it to me, several things happen at once. First, my legs turn completely to rubber. Second, my hands start to shake. Third, I hear Samantha gasp. Fourth, the trombonist emits a long, low, drawn-out note from his instrument that earns him a dark look from both me and Horst.

  But then I turn back to my beloved, and everything else just melts away into the background.

  Samantha’s hands shoot up to her mouth as she realises what’s going on. Her eyes start to bulge a little.