What was more, it was late March in England. The weather wasn’tbad, but the temperature was hardly tropical– and everyone knew it rained every five minutes at this time of year. Amy was going to freeze, flying around the countryside in only a jumper, jeans and a light jacket.
‘Okay,’ she said, ignoring the slow, churning sensation in her gut. ‘I mean … Why not?’
Recognising success when he saw it, Hugh’s face lit up with a smile so brilliant it could have advertised toothpaste. Amy found herself examining him as he helped her cross the stile. His face was symmetrical, classic– almost Disney-hero handsome. It was hardly surprising he wasn’t used to hearing the word ‘no’ all that often, especially when you took his background and social connections into account.
Hugh kept hold of Amy’s hand and she let him lead her in the direction of the hot-air balloon. Beside it was a rangy, slightly grizzled-looking guy waiting to greet them.
‘Steve,’ he said by way of introduction, holding out a hand to each of them in turn.
‘I’m Amy,’ she said. ‘Bit nervous, to be honest.’ She smiled at him apologetically, hoping for some encouragement. Surely he’d encountered plenty of jittery passengers in his time, and had some standard reassuring patter prepared?
Steve merely raised one eyebrow and said, ‘You’ll be fine,’ entirely without sympathy. He had the distinct air of someone who would rather be doing something else with his Sunday; a sentiment that Amy couldn’t help sharing.
After Steve got aboard, and with a little help from Hugh, she climbed awkwardly into the basket. It was lined with thick leather padding– presumably there to prevent broken bones in the event of passengers being jostled around in-flight. Its presence was in no way comforting.
Steve readied the balloon for take-off, adjusted the intensity of the burner flame and then released the tethers that secured the basket to the ground. Seconds later, the balloon was drifting upwards.
Amy watched the ground fall away, and it soon became a mishmash of rolling hills, fields, roads and housing estates. The sun anointed every different colour with soft spring light: grassy green, bright yellow, brick red and slate grey. Amy couldn’t deny there was beauty in it, but her palms were damp and her pulse was thudding in her veins. The view from up here was pretty, but it certainly wasn’t relaxing.
Hugh, on the other hand, seemed delighted. His face ablaze, he moved closer to stand beside Amy, resting his left hand on her right. ‘Isn’t this AMAZING?’ he cried into the wind, not noticing the whiteness of her knuckles on the edge of the basket. Nor could he hear the refrain of ‘Shit, shit,shit,’ currently repeating on a loop in Amy’s head, keeping perfect time with her too-rapid heartbeat.
‘It’s … quite something,’ Amy replied. He kissed the top of her head and she felt faintly patronised– as if this was her reward for not saying the wrong thing.
Before the spark of irritation this inspired could ignite, Amy felt Hugh’s arms wrap around her. He turned her 180 degrees, guiding her so she was facing him and her back was to the sky.
He stared down at her, his ice-blue eyes piercing and intense, then kissed her lightly on the lips and knelt down.
No.
No. Motherloving.Way.
Amy felt her jaw drop and her legs start to wobble. This couldn’t be happening– but at the same time it definitely, undeniably was.
Hugh took her hand in his and pulled a red velvet ring box from his trouser pocket. Before he’d even opened it, Amy’s whole body was quivering. She concentrated very hard on not throwing up.
‘Amy Perry,’ Hugh said, sure she must be trembling in eager anticipation of the big question. ‘I adore you. I want you to be mine forever. Will you marry me?’
He pressed a tiny gold button on the box to reveal the ring he’d chosen for her. Amy noted that, probably without meaning to, he puffed his chest out slightly as the lid flipped up. To be fair to Hugh, itwasan incredible ring: a huge emerald-cut diamond flanked by two smaller, sparkling baguettes. The band was almost certainly platinum and Amy couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have cost.
It was beautiful, but she knew with sudden clarity– a little like that of the flawless gem before her– that she could never accept it. For a moment she felt like she was floating somewhere in the sky alongside the balloon– as if she were out-of-body and watching all this happen to someone else.
From that vantage point, everything looked like it was supposed to.Thiswas how proposals were made on TV or in romantic movies– not that Amy watched them. The trappings of a textbook moment to remember were all in place: a handsome man, a speechless woman and a gigantic jewel, all gilded by sunlight sliding through clouds.
As someone who didn’t believe in true love– who could barely utter the words without retching– none of this should have meant anything to Amy. But the disconnect between Hugh’s grand gesture and their rather prosaic affection for each other was so stark it exposed the uncomfortable truth. She wished shehadbeen moved by his proposal– or, perhaps more accurately, that it had come from someone she had real feelings for.
Hugh’s performance of passion she was sure he didn’t possess– and which she definitely didn’t return– brought to mind the only time in Amy’s life she’d ever been swept up by an emotion that might have been love. She chased the memory away, then swallowed hard.
She and Hugh had only been together six months. By any measure this proposal was too much, too soon– and that was probably what Amy would tell him when she was calm enough to speak. How strange, then, that a small but unwavering voice inside her should be pointing out the opposite: that this moment, this man and these feelings were actually not enough. Entirely to her own surprise, she discovered a deep-seated, cast-iron certainty that she couldn’t enter into a lifelong commitment on the basis that she and Hugh shared interests, made happy housemates or could build a prosperous future together. She needed something more than that.
Slowly Amy’s head began to shake, though her mouth still refused to form words.
Hugh seemed to think she was awestruck, perhaps unable to believe all this was really happening, but Amy realised Steve had clocked her turmoil. He’d angled his body away from them and was staring intently at a wisp of grey cloud that seemed to be getting closer, his face set in an expression of horrified mortification. She noticed there was a picnic basket at his feet, and she glimpsed the neck of a champagne bottle poking out of one side.
Fuuuck.
‘Hugh,’ Amy managed to say, finding her voice after what felt like several years. ‘We need to talk. Please … Can we just talk about this?’
Finally, it seemed to hit him that she hadn’t said yes. That without actually saying no, she was turning him down.
