Some Kind of Wonderful

  I hover for a bit, my brain confused as to why Ian’s chosen to get into the passenger seat over sitting with me. We’re a couple. It would’ve been courteous and loving, right?

  ‘Come on then,’ Ian says, gesturing for me to get on as though it’s me who’s kept us waiting all this time.

  ‘Right,’ I nod, walking around and climbing into one of the rear-facing seats, feeling rejected while my mind debates whether this is a little tactic to throw me off the track. Could this be the start of a proposal? Perhaps he thought the golf buggy is a tad too obvious so is choosing to be distant and aloof. If that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll have a right giggle over this in years to come once we’re happily married, old and sitting in our rocking chairs by the fire.

  ‘Hold on,’ calls Sahid, before he puts his foot down and we start moving down the stony path.

  My body sways from side to side as we make our way through the gardens, the path cutting across the bright green grass that’s been watered to perfection. Exotic plants sit in well-maintained flowerbeds at the side of us, while overhead baskets of dainty white, pink and purple flowers have been placed in iron archways for us to drive through. A sweet floral scent fills the air and makes the atmosphere even more enchanting. I’ve loved walking through here during our stay. It’s peaceful and romantic. My thoughts skip to us walking back through here later on. I have a ring on my finger and am giggling girlishly as Ian has his arm draped across my shoulder and gazes at me with intense love.

  Further along we pass families who are only just calling it a day and returning to their rooms from the swimming pool and beach. I spot a little girl struggling to carry a giant pink inflatable before her dad swoops them both up effortlessly. I can’t wait for that to be us. If he were sitting with me, I’d give Ian’s arm a little squeeze right now. He’d understand immediately and lean over to kiss my nose. I hope, anyway.

  The light dims as we move further away from the main gardens and buildings and down a route I’ve not been before – Sahid must be taking us a different way to the one we usually walk. Maybe he’s decided to take us on a little detour to show us more of the hotel to ensure we come back again. It’s beautiful after all. The palm trees above us have been decorated with fairy lights, and the pretty purple, pink and white flowers continue to follow us, lining the pathway while giving off their intoxicating scent, which I’m happy to have wafting over me.

  As we start to slow down I realize I can hear waves crashing. We’re nowhere near any of the restaurants. We’re somewhere else, somewhere back by the water.

  When we come to a complete stop I turn to look at the beach and see a glow of orange creating the black silhouette of my own shadow next to me. I crane my neck ever so slightly, it’s all my sudden nerves will allow me to do, and see fire torches lined up, leading to a wooden gazebo on the sand. Sheer white drapes cascade from the sides, blowing in the gentle sea breeze.

  ‘Shall we?’ Ian asks coyly, coming to my side and gesturing to help me off the buggy.

  His hand seems just as shaky as mine as he guides me from my seat and around the vehicle so that we’re facing the beach and the romantic setting before us. We keep walking along the sandy path laid out for us, and end up underneath the thatched roof of the wooden frame. A table and two chairs are set up for dinner. Cream candles have been lit and grouped in various heights around the edges of the room as well as on the table, while pink blooms are scattered beneath the crockery and our feet. The same flowers are used in a daisy chain pattern, which trails prettily along the beams – the delicate against the sturdy.

  Ian’s hand grips tightly on to mine and I feel his body stiffen as we stand and take it all in.

  My breath catches in my throat. This is it, I think to myself. Without doubt, this is the moment I’ve been dreaming about for as long as I can remember. He’s finally doing it. I’m about to become the future Mrs Hall.

  A smile spreads across my face. I’m so ridiculously happy, even though he hasn’t asked yet. I feel as though my heart is going to burst, as though I could break into song at any moment and it wouldn’t even be weird if I did. This is so enchanting and magical that no one could possibly judge me for whatever my excited mind decides to do.

  ‘Er …’ Ian mumbles, his eyes going from me, to the setting, to Sahid and the waitress who’s currently serving champagne from an ice bucket beside the table.

  I mean, champagne practically shouts proposal when poured on any night that’s not Christmas, a birthday or anniversary. And a bottle of it too. Not just a glass. That means we’re about to have something big to celebrate.

  My breath catches in my throat as I feel Ian’s body start to lower, thinking the obvious. But then I hear the scraping of a chair and see that he’s decided to sit down, not kneel.

  He lets go of my hand and faffs around with his swan-shaped napkin, as though he’s trying to kill it rather than unravel it, while I swallow the lump in my throat and try not to look too disappointed that he didn’t drop down on one knee straight away.

  I know it’s coming. Tonight. We’ve been a couple for over ten years and, although Ian has had his odd romantic moment, he’s never done anything on this scale. He’s clearly made a plan of when he’d like to ask, so I just have to enjoy every second, and wait patiently for him to make my dreams a reality. All at once I feel a tidal wave of love swoosh over me and crash into Ian. I knew he’d get there at some point and right now I love him more than I ever have.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I gush, giddily grabbing hold of the chair across from him, only for Sahid to pull it out for me and help me into my seat.

  ‘Hmmm …’ he sounds, while more frantic swan-bashing ensues.

  He’s nervous, I realize. The thought makes my heart flutter. This obviously means as much to him as it does to me. This would’ve felt completely different if he’d have been forced into it all those years ago, or if the wicked side of my brain had issued an ultimatum, but here he is after being given time to do it his way. He’s doing this because he wants to. Because he wants it as much as I do.

  ‘Here,’ I say cheerfully, taking the folded napkin from him and calmly unravelling it before handing it back with a smile so big I’m unused to the sensation it creates in my cheeks and the back of my head.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbles, looking over at the waitress and giving her a little nod as he lays the napkin on his lap.

  I copy the gesture, excitement bubbling away in my tummy at what’s going to happen next.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Ian declares, as food starts finding its way in front of us.

  ‘That’s what you get from just eating a salad,’ I joke.

  He gives a stilted laugh, so I’m unsure whether he’s actually taken it in good humour or annoyance that I’ve brought up what happened earlier. Either way, as two plates of bruschetta are placed in front of us, and a platter of carpaccio, cheese and bread is wedged in the middle, I don’t have time to ponder on it.

  ‘This looks amazing,’ I say as I dive into the delicious beef in between us. ‘I mean it. This is incredible,’ I continue, full of joy as I place the loaded fork into my mouth and feel it practically melt. A pleasured sound comes from my mouth, but I can’t hold it back. It’s divine.

  I stuff my face and happiness makes me do it. Sitting here, knowing what’s about to come, I feel more content and secure than ever before. It’s only when I realize that I’ve eaten most of what’s on my plate and a large helping of what’s in the middle, that I notice Ian has barely taken more than a few mouthfuls.

  ‘I thought you were hungry,’ I say, although not feeling the shame of earlier when comparing my indulgence to his health-mad restraint. He’s chosen this food for us to eat on this special occasion, therefore, it’s my first duty as ‘wife-to-be’ to eat it in its entirety and enjoy every single bite.

  ‘Yeah …’ he says, screwing up his nose and taking a deep breath. ‘I feel a bit dodge.’

  It’s the nerves, I think to myself.
Bless him. I don’t know why he doesn’t just spit it out. This is already more than I ever wished for in my proposal dreams.

  ‘Oh babes,’ I say, cocking my head to one side sympathetically.

  ‘You only ever call me babes when you’ve been talking to Connie,’ he notes, an edge of annoyance in his voice that I’m hoping is to do with his tummy not feeling right.

  ‘Really?’ I frown, wondering what he’s going on about. ‘I always say babes.’

  ‘You don’t,’ he says, matter-of-factly. His shoulders shrug in disagreement as he shakes his head, his bottom lip giving a defiant pout.

  ‘I do,’ I state calmly.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Ian?’ I protest, not entirely sure what he’s getting at but feeling irritated nonetheless.

  ‘What?’ he shrugs.

  ‘Well, it’s an odd fact to bring up now …’ I say, gesturing at the gorgeous al fresco setting we’re in, and subtly referring to the fact that this is the night we’re about to become engaged. There’s no need to ruin it. ‘Don’t you like it when I call you that?’ I ask, popping a bit of stinky blue cheese into my mouth – I might as well eat it if he’s not going to.

  ‘Not particularly,’ he says, his lips pursing together. ‘It sounds a bit common.’

  ‘Ian!’ I shriek, unable to contain my laughter.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you just call me common?’

  ‘No. Connie’s common,’ he says, a chuckle rising from his throat.

  ‘Now that’s not very nice,’ I reprimand him, torn between smiling at him and being loyal to my best mate.

  ‘Chill your boots, babes,’ he mocks, shifting in his seat. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘I thought you liked me calling you that,’ I say, taking a sip of my champagne and telling myself to, as Ian has suggested, leave the conversation there. He’s joking with me about a stupid word. It’s fine.

  ‘There are other things about you that I prefer,’ he says. The words are sweet but his voice is shaky. I wonder if it’s nerves creeping in.

  ‘Like?’ I say slowly, my voice low and inviting, wondering if this might be his segue into the moment I’ve been waiting years for. It’s not ideal that it’s going to come straight after him dissing my bestie, of course, but I’ll take it. He’s already said he didn’t mean anything by it, and despite what he says I know he loves it when I call him babes, and that he thinks Connie is far from common. Surely he knows that she’s from the posher end of the village that we grew up in back in Essex – although I guess she does still carry that twang in her voice, even though she’s moved to London.

  ‘Erm …’ Ian stumbles, clearly thinking about how to answer. ‘Things like …’

  Ian’s face freezes and I can’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of him trying to work out something he likes about me. Surely it can’t be that difficult when we’ve been together this long? He knows everything about me – there must be some good qualities in there.

  ‘You know I love everything about you,’ he says while giving a little cough and clearing his throat with champagne.

  ‘Clearly not everything,’ I tease.

  ‘Enough, though,’ he says meekly.

  ‘Enough for what?’

  He looks at me as though I’ve caught him off guard. Am I steering him into a proposal with a shameless leading question? Part of me is expecting him to come back with ‘Enough to ask you to be my wife’, or something similar, but he’s been force-fed the line. I cringe at myself and back away from the table slightly.

  This has to come from him.

  In response he breaks protocol and picks up the champagne bottle himself, topping up his glass before downing it in one. He’s not a particularly heavy drinker. In fact, I can’t recall the last time we got hammered together.

  It’s good to know the thought of marrying me has, quite literally, forced him on to the bottle though.

  Oh babes …

  4

  The rest of the bottle is gone before the main course is brought out. I’ve only had the one glass, but that isn’t an issue as Ian has just asked the waitress, whose name is Maya, we’ve learnt, to bring out another bottle. I’m hoping to get more of a look-in during the next round, although I am concerned at just how much Dutch courage this proposal is clearly requiring.

  ‘Do you think you should slow down?’ I say quietly, not wanting to embarrass him in front of Maya or Sahid. I’m sure they’ve seen worse.

  ‘Ooh, Mummy!’ Ian cackles, curling his finger up to his mouth like he’s in an Austin Powers film.

  I can’t help but laugh. He’s never this silly, or this out of control.

  ‘You know what I love about you, Liz?’ he asks, gesturing at me with his empty glass.

  ‘What?’ I ask, trying to make my eyes as smouldering as possible as I look at him.

  He looks at me confused for a minute, as though I’m meant to be giving him the answer to his drunkenly slurred question. His gaze drops downwards to the plate in front of him, as though he’s only just noticed what was placed there a few minutes ago. We’ve been treated to a delicious platter of grilled seafood – lobster, tiger prawns, red snapper, scallops, baked oysters, Alaskan king crab legs, mussels, all served alongside a sweet chilli sauce and mixed vegetables and jasmine rice. A noise of surprise sounds from him before he picks up the whole lobster, yes, the whole thing, and eats it with his hands.

  ‘You are wonderful,’ he mutters, although I’m not sure if he’s saying it to me or the dead crustacean in his grasp.

  ‘Ian?’ I try again.

  His eyes find mine, sort of, and a huge breath is expelled. ‘Oh Liz. Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. You are the best.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I laugh, starting to feel embarrassed for him. ‘I’m just going to pop to the loo,’ I add, shifting from my seat just as Maya gestures where I have to go.

  ‘Don’t be too long. You might miss the best bit,’ Ian chortles to himself.

  It’s not that I especially need a wee, but I feel we need a moment. A breather. As soon as I’m away from the table I pull my phone out.

  ‘Lizzy?’ Connie says excitedly after just one ring, clearly expecting my call. I wonder if Ian had run his plans by her. Maybe that’s why she was telling me to enjoy myself earlier, and being so reassuring.

  ‘He’s drunk,’ I hiss.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Blind drunk,’ I say, realizing she needs more detail to understand what’s going on. ‘Con, it’s such a romantic setting. We’re on the beach, the food’s amazing, there’s flaming Champagne –’

  ‘Oh my god,’ she squeals.

  ‘– but he’s wasted.’

  ‘He can’t be that bad.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘As bad as when you came to stay with me?’ she asks, causing me to laugh.

  A few years ago we decided to go to some club in London with Connie and stay over for the weekend. Well, Ian got so wasted in the trendy little cocktail bar we went to before the club that he ended up puking his entire liquid intake over the bouncer’s shoes. Luckily we dragged him away, whilst begging for forgiveness, before things turned nasty. We didn’t all get beaten up, so it must’ve worked. The next morning he insisted that his drink was spiked, but I knew he’d been doing some weird fitness research online and had decided to live on nothing but caffeine and a single banana all day. I’d say that was the root of the issue.

  ‘OK, he’s not as bad as that,’ I concede.

  ‘Then this is salvageable,’ she encourages. ‘Let me know how it goes.’

  The line goes dead.

  I take my time going for a pee and checking on my make-up before returning to Ian and what should be our heavenly spot beneath the stars. When I get there he is slumped over his dinner, this time using his fork but still managing to look more caveman than I’m used to.

  Hearing my footsteps on the wooden decking, his head jolts up to look at me, his brown eyes wide and soft. He takes a deep brea
th and then sighs, his hands going up to his face.

  ‘Babes,’ he says, looking embarrassed as he gently mocks me.

  ‘You’re such an idiot,’ I say, sitting in the seat that Maya pulls out for me.

  A gentle chuckle escapes his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I tell him, calmly placing my dead swan of a napkin back across my thighs. He might be playing this all wrongly, but my heart is weak for him and I don’t want him to think he’s failed.

  ‘I wanted this to be perfect,’ he says sadly, his words evoking more softening from me.

  ‘It is. You’re there and I am here. To me it doesn’t get more perfect than that.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that the sweetest thing,’ he says, his hand reaching into his pocket as he clumsily slithers out of his chair and lands on one knee beside me.

  One knee!

  ‘Oh my god,’ I say, petrified, nervous and excited at what he’s doing, even though I’ve wanted it for so many years and suspected it since we arrived tonight.

  Ian fiddles in his pocket before extending his arm out in front of me and holding out what’s in his hand. A beautiful, glistening, stunning, diamond ring, cut into a cushioned halo, with smaller diamonds extending out across the band. It is beyond anything I’ve ever Pinterested.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Ian,’ I hear myself say, my hands flying to my mouth as tears spring to my eyes. For the first time ever I feel like I’m floating on air. Ian wants a life with me.

  My head is spinning as I look up from the wondrous sight before me to my beloved Ian. His expression doesn’t quite match mine. Instead I find him frowning as he gawps from me to the ring, as though the whole thing has caught him entirely by surprise. As though he’s woken up from a dream and found himself in this position. Clearly the joys and consequences of inebriation.

  ‘I. I. I …’ he stammers, painfully.

  He makes a gesture with his hands, as though he’s proffering the ring to me once more, but then he holds it back into his chest, his fingers tightening their grip around the delicate band.

  I feel for him. He wouldn’t have meant to drink as much as he did, but it’s done now and will give him comedy-gold material to use in his groom’s speech at our wedding.