Page 19 of The Wake-Up Call

“I’m not doing the accent,” she says after a moment, returning her attention to the string of lights.

“OK.”

“I’m not doing it—it’ll be offensively bad.”

“Fine.”

She waits. I wait.

“Oh, for God’s sake, fine:Why don’t we get married,” she tries; and then, when I start laughing, “That was good! I thought it was good!”

“It started Spanish,” I say, straightening up and sniffing as I compose myself again. “And then became Australian.”

Even in the half-light I can see that she’s red with embarrassment, and I grin, mood greatly improved.

“Shut up, Lucas. Go on, then—how would you propose?” she asks as she climbs down the ladder and shifts it to the next pillar.

“Not like this,” I say.

With all the outdoor heaters set up and the table beautifully dressed, this is technically an ideal spot for a proposal. But there is something tense about it.

“This is too...”

“Spontaneous? Romantic?” she says, climbing up the rungs again as the colour subsides in her cheeks.

“I was going to say showy. What if Hiro says no? Half of his family is waiting in the bar.”

“Do you justenjoysucking the fun out of everything? We’re helping to create something magical here, and you’re standing there talking about Hiro breaking Charlie’s heart.”

I ignore this, taking comfort—as I will many times—from remembering Izzy trying to sound Brazilian. She is wilfully naïve about this sort of thing. I am just being realistic.

“Anyway, asking someone to marry you is a question,” she says over her shoulder, standing on one foot to loop the lights a little further along the beam. “So there’s always the possibility the other person will say no.”

“If there’s the possibility she will say no, then I wouldn’t be asking,” I say. This strikes me as a given, but Izzy pauses as she comes down the ladder, staring at me.

“You would already know she’d say yes? Where’s the excitement in that?”

“A proposal is an agreement,” I say. “It’s a lifelong commitment. You don’t do it on a whim.”

“Well, that makes sense, at least,” Izzy says dryly. “I’ve never seen you do anything on a whim. Turn them on, would you?”

I flick on the lights, a bad mood blooming in my stomach. What’s so good about whims? Isn’t it just another word for not thinking things through?

“What would you want, then?” I ask her as we step back to admire the overall effect. “You would prefer to be blindsided?”

“No, of course not, I’d just want it to be romantic, not some sort of pre-agreed contrived thing, you know? Ooh, they’re here!” she hisses, checking the nearest outdoor heater is working with onehand and lighting the candle at the centre of the table with the other.

We’ve instructed Ollie to come out and wait on the table no more than fifteen minutes after Charlie and Hiro are seated. Charlie wants to propose at the start of the meal, so that he can enjoy his dinner. Or—I can’t help thinking—so that he has time for a quick getaway if Hiro says no.

“Go! Go! Go!” Izzy whispers.

She runs off into the woods. I stare in the direction of her flying hair and the white bottoms of her trainers before walking after her. Running is entirely unnecessary. Also, she’s going in a completely random direction. I hesitate when I hit the path that will take me back to the hotel, and the evening I had planned for myself: drive home, heat up a portion offeijoadafrom the freezer, and eat it in front ofA Grande Família. It is what I always do on Thursdays. Every two months I batch-cook a hugefeijoadaspecifically for this reason.

It is safe and comfortable. A small joy in a stressful week.

If I follow Izzy somewhere into the New Forest, I suspect I will not have a safe and comfortable night. I hesitate, listening to the sounds of Charlie and Hiro settling into their seats: Hiro’s murmur of delight, Charlie’s nervous laugh.

I step off the path.

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