One Hundred Proposals (23 page)

I swallowed the huge burning ball of pain in my throat. I couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him. I searched for the words, anything I could say to make this right, but I had nothing.

He picked up his suitcase and walked out.

*

I sat on the plane, staring at New York City as it disappeared beneath the clouds. The lump in my throat was so big I could hardly breathe.

I was alone. Though it wasn’t that that bothered me. Somewhere, underneath the grief, I was quite excited about seeing Canada on my own, discovering its delights and hidden secrets with fresh eyes rather than accompanying someone who had seen it all before. But losing Harry, being apart from Harry for the first time properly in over two years, was like a knife to the chest.

Pathetic as it was, I missed him already.

‘Hi,’ said an American voice next to me. I tore my eyes from the tiny skyscrapers to look round at the tall dark haired lady that was standing over me. She had ice blue eyes that stared unblinking at my face.

I cleared my throat of the lump that was lodged there. ‘Hi.’

‘Mind if I sit here?’ She gestured to the empty seat. ‘I have a snorer next to me, and he’s just snuggled up to my shoulder and started dribbling. It might only be an hour and a half flight to Quebec but in my mind that’s an hour and a half too many to put up with snoring and dribbling.’

I smiled and nodded. She threw herself down next to me.

‘I’m Francine, by the way.’ She stuck out her hand and I groaned inwardly that I wouldn’t be allowed to wallow in my own self-pity for the next few hours, Francine was obviously a talker.

‘Suzie.’ I shook her hand, it was a surprisingly firm handshake.

‘Why the long face?’

Wow. Cut to the chase straight away.

‘Did you break up with your boyfriend?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Know what that feels like. I‘m trying to give myself some space from my boyfriend for a few days. He’s driving me mad and it’s great to get away to give yourself a bit of perspective. Do I really want to be with this man for the rest of my life? If I miss him, then I guess the answer is yes. If I enjoy myself more alone than when I’m with him, then it’s time he packed his bags and left.’

She shrugged so casually. She clearly didn’t need a man to complete her, whereas Harry was the other half of my heart.

I stared at her, willing myself to be as strong as she was.

This time away from Harry would be a good thing. It meant I could finally get over him. I couldn’t do that when I was with him every day and he was always doing lovely and sweet things for me.

‘What’s the problem with you and your man?’ I asked, keen to get some perspective.

‘He wants to marry me.’ She shrugged again.

‘And you don’t want to?’

‘Urgh, I don’t know. One man for the rest of my life. One! Waking up every day to see the same ugly face in bed with you, being screwed in the same mundane way. Having Mexican for dinner every Thursday, pizza every Friday, I can’t bear the thought.’

I thought about this. What it would be like to spend twenty-four hours a day with Harry, to wake up with him, with his arms wrapped tightly round me as I had done several times since Jack had died, to work with him, to go out and socialise with him. There was absolutely nothing bad about this thought. I could do that every day, all day for the rest of my life. We had practically been married for the last few months anyway. Harry even had clothes and a toothbrush at my house, it was only in the last month or two before we had flown out here that he had started spending more time away from me and not sleeping in my house every night. The only thing our marriage lacked was the sex and intimacy. If we had that, would I eventually get bored of him? What if the only thing keeping me interested now was the lack of it, the need for it?

You hear about this sort of thing all the time; couples that were madly in love slowly getting bored with each other, to the point where one of them or even both start plotting ways to kill the other one. A friend of mine, who had been one of those goofy doe-eyed brides, who even called her husband something sickening like Snookums, told me her husband constantly left his socks strewn about the place and it got to the point that she wanted to force feed him every single one of his socks until he choked to death. Snookums told me, after the divorce, that he had often fantasised about shoving her in the washing machine and switching the dial to fast spin and watching through the glass door as she span so fast her brain exploded. How could couples who were so in love end up like that? But the divorce rate was so high, especially in Britain. Maybe you were never meant to spend the rest of your life with just one person.

I couldn’t believe that though. Not when my whole working, waking life was built around bringing couples together. Some people were destined to be together and when you found your soul mate, surely waking up every day to that person would be a joy not a chore.

‘Why don’t you talk to him? Tell him you want to spice things up a bit, have pizzas on Mondays some weeks instead of Fridays, try different sex positions, go out to new places, try new things.’

The eternal optimist in me wanted to see everyone happy, even if I couldn’t find that happiness myself.

She stared at me. ‘Oh, you’re one of those aren’t you?’

‘One of what?’

‘The happy, clappy, glass is always brimming over types. Bet you live in a rose-tinted world where everyone gets a happy ever after.’

I took offence to this. I was about to protest when she interrupted me.

‘What happened between you and your boyfriend?’

‘He… doesn’t love me.’

‘You see – happy endings don’t happen, they cheat on you, you cheat on them, or at the very least you want to punch their stupid little faces in.’

I looked out the window. New York was nowhere to be seen now. I had always believed that if Harry finally did fall in love with me, we would have the perfect happy ending, but maybe Francine was right. Maybe this was for the best.

*

SECRET BLOG.

My dear would-be proposers and fellow romantics. I’m starting this secret blog because I want you all to know the real reason behind the One Hundred Proposals. You guys have been incredibly supportive of my quest to find the perfect proposal and many of you have physically helped out with the organisation and logistics of some of the more complicated ones, so I wanted to let you in on a little secret. What I say here is highly confidential and I would appreciate it if it can stay between us. It’s a big ask, with over five hundred thousand followers of this blog, I know I may be shooting myself in the foot here by declaring my secrets, but I didn’t want to string you guys along any further.

When I started this venture, many of you believed it was a publicity stunt to promote our company and I’m not going to lie, our little business is thriving because of it. Some of you thought it was just me trying to do something nice for Suzie after her brother died and partly it was.

But the main reason is… I love her. I love her with every single fibre of my being, she is the first thing I think of in the mornings and the last thing I think of at night. I love spending time with her, holding her, making her laugh or when she makes me laugh. She is my favourite person in the world and I could spend every single waking and sleeping hour in her company and never tire of it.

I think I’ve been in love with her since the first moment we met, although I didn’t want to admit it at the time.

I’ve seen no sign from her that she has any feelings for me at all but I started this One Hundred Proposals thing because I wanted her to fall in love with me too. I’m hoping one of them will be big enough or meaningful enough that one day she will eventually say yes.

Recently, cracks have started to show. With the Ice Skating Proposal the other day, I thought I was finally going to get the answer I wanted. But I didn’t.

The next day she texts me saying we need to talk. I thought this was it, she was going to fall into my arms and tell me how much she loved me. I have never felt so excited or happy. How wrong could I be?

She had secretly arranged for me to get a job in New York, thousands of miles away from the woman I love.

My disappointment that the conversation wasn’t the one I wanted quickly turned to anger that she was pushing me away, three thousand five hundred miles away to be exact. The rejection that I have feared all my life had happened again, this time from the only person I’ve ever loved and trusted.

We had a big heart to heart last night, well probably more of an argument, and in my stubborn pride, I’ve sent her to Quebec alone.

I’ve woken up this morning realising what a terrible mistake this is but I was too late, she had already gone.

I know now what I must do. I have to tell her I love her, I have to be honest and find it in me to tell her what’s in my heart. Even if that means I may lose her. This secret blog is the first step to this. If I can find the courage to share my feelings with you, then hopefully I can find the courage to tell her too.

My friend Chloe thinks I need to give her some space to cool down and some time to miss me. Maybe being alone will be a good thing for her, it will help her independence but maybe, without me being there, she might find she has feelings for me too.

I’m giving her a week, then I’m catching her up.

Chapter Thirteen

Old Quebec City was like walking through a small French town, with the cobbled streets and seventeenth century buildings and so many outdoor cafés. People walking past and talking fluent French cemented the European feel. The city had winding roads that led down towards the river, lined with little houses, restaurants, shops and great gothic churches. I felt like my eyes were constantly swivelling in my head trying to take it all in. The sun was just starting to set, leaving scarlet ribbons in the cloudy purple sky. There had been a recent snowfall and so, in the fading light, the city was bathed in a beautiful lilac glow. Lights twinkled in bars, hotels and restaurants invitingly.

Although it was dark now and getting late, the streets were still buzzing with people laughing, chatting and calling to each other. It felt safe here, where in many cities of the world I would never walk the streets alone after dark. The snow on the ground added a magical glow to the city – the warm yellow lights, tumbling out of the café and shop windows, reflected off the snow making it sparkle. As I crunched over the ice, I couldn’t help but smile at the magical beauty of the place.

I felt alive. Although I missed Harry with a huge ache in my heart, I wanted to be able to get over him so much – and being here alone, I finally felt like it was an actual possibility. There was another good reason to try and get over him now. It didn’t seem he was capable of loving me like I loved him. Even if he ever fell in love with me and we actually got together, he would always hold himself back and I didn’t know whether I could live with him only ever giving me part of his heart. I was an all or nothing type of girl and if he couldn’t love me with a ferocity and passion then it was a love I didn’t really want.

I could function on my own, I didn’t need to turn to him for every little thing. I had got to my hotel safely from the airport and found somewhere to eat. Although I had got lost three times since leaving the hotel, I had found my way again. Over the last year I had turned to him time and time again. Maybe this time alone would finally give me some perspective. I could make it without him. I swallowed the pain in my heart at this thought. Yes it would hurt, it hurt like hell, but I wasn’t just going to collapse into a sobbing heap and refuse to leave my house ever again.

‘Miss, Miss.’

A hand tugged on my coat and I looked down to see a small boy of about nine or ten staring up at me. ‘Miss, you come with me,’ he said, in stilted English. He tugged my coat, pulling me towards a darkened alley and I dug my feet in and refused to move. The boy looked sweet and friendly but still, I wasn’t a complete idiot. ‘Miss please, you come with me. Monsieur Forbes, he sent me for you.’

‘Harry?’

‘
Oui
, yes. Monsieur Harry, he tell me to take you to the river.’ He pulled on my coat again. ‘This way is quickest, we must hurry.’

‘You spoke to Harry?’

‘
Oui
.’

Nobody here knew me or why I was here. Harry had no way of knowing where I was in the city, I hadn’t spoken to him since the night before. He hadn’t even come to say goodbye that morning, how could this boy know who I was?

‘Please Miss, you come with me.’

I stood my ground and I saw the look of desperation on his face.

‘Please Miss,’ said the little boy, still tugging at my coat. ‘Your proposal.’

I looked down at him. He couldn’t possibly know about the proposal without talking to Harry. Harry had organised many wonderful proposals over the last few weeks, it wouldn’t be completely implausible that he had help in this city whilst he wasn’t here. I had naively assumed the proposals would stop now we were apart, but it seemed that Harry wished to continue torturing me by proxy. Maybe this was one that was already organised and Harry didn’t want to waste it. I couldn’t forget that although we were on holiday, it was a working holiday and Sunlounger and Silver Linings were paying for this. Regardless that our relationship was in tatters, they would still want to see the daily proposals.

I nodded, reluctantly, and the boy, clearly relieved, ran off down the lanes, checking over his shoulder to make sure I was following.

‘Miss, this way,’ the boy called, catching my attention as he ran down a side alley. I followed him and caught sight of the city lights sparkling and dancing on the St. Lawrence River below me. I pulled my coat tighter around me, feeling the cool wind blowing from the river. The boy was running flat out now but I could see his shadow illuminated against the moonlight as he ran straight out onto a pier. I hurried along in his wake.