The Proposal Plan

by Charlotte Phillips

  Gabriel kept his voice calm and soothing, but to her it just sounded patronising. ‘Lu, you had no security as a kid. That’s why you’re craving it now.’ He opened his mouth to continue but she cut him off.

  ‘You’ve obviously taken temporary leave of your senses,’ she snapped. She snatched her bag from the floor and then rounded on him. ‘I asked for your help, Gabriel. Your help. All I wanted was some pointers on what might make a guy tick, some ideas on how I might propose in a fun way that Ed would like. I didn’t ask for a critique of my life as I know it and I certainly didn’t expect the suggestion that I undo all the changes I’ve made for the better. After everything they put me through. And everything I’ve done to put it right. You’re meant to be my friend. Some friend!’

  ‘Lucy…’ His voice was shocked but she ignored it and turned to walk towards the door, leaving him standing at the table looking after her. ‘Lucy, wait!’

  She turned back towards him, oblivious to the interested stares from the other customers and the silence that had fallen as they turned to watch and listen. ‘Just stay away from me!’

  The door slammed behind her as she stormed from the café.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LUCY ignored the ringing telephone and took another batch of cupcakes out of the oven. The little kitchen in her flat was filled with the sweet smell of baking and cooking utensils were balanced on every available surface. Her hair was in an untidy bun on top of her head and the front of her T-shirt was dusted with flour because she couldn’t be bothered to put on an apron. A couple of hours since her argument with Gabriel and at last she felt calm and focused. Cooking always did that for her. If she ever needed to think something over she gravitated to the kitchen. A lucky side-effect of her anger seemed to be heightened creativity. Some of her best cake creations had resulted from the most stressful moments in her life.

  She glanced up as her mobile phone beeped and vibrated loudly on the counter with a text message, and she leaned across to turn it off with a jam-covered finger. She didn’t even need to look at it to know it was Gabriel. He had never been able to stand it for long when they had an argument. She, on the other hand, preferred to keep her distance until she calmed down, and depending on the subject of the argument that could be anything from a few hours to a few days.

  What he’d said about her parents had really touched a nerve. Her denial that they had anything to do with her desire to settle down was genuine. After all, she hadn’t really interacted with either of them for years now. It hurt, too, that this had come from Gabriel, on whom she had always relied for justification of her actions.

  She dripped red food colouring into a bowl of white icing and began to beat it with a wooden spoon. It streaked a lovely shade of pink. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d always known she wanted a proper settled family one day. Her childhood had been so difficult it would be some kind of miracle if it hadn’t shaped the person she was now. It wasn’t so much this that bothered her as Gabriel’s implication that what had happened years ago was the only reason for a decision she was making now. That getting married was the wrong thing for her to do but that she was incapable of seeing it. Why would he say that? Why was he being so horrible, seeming to try everything in his power to put her off the idea?

  She began to deftly spread the icing over some heart-shaped shortbreads. Her childhood did affect her decision because it had contributed to who she was. But the reasons she wanted to get married now were present-day reasons, not past ones. Her age, for example. She knew she wanted children and she was nearly thirty. She wanted to get started on that sooner, not later, and she also knew she wanted to be married beforehand. Her work, her financial security—the business had really gained a foothold now; it was doing exceptionally well, far exceeding her expectations. And of course her relationship. She had been happy with Ed for a good length of time now. She knew his bad habits and she knew she could live with them. He wasn’t Mr Perfect, but she honestly believed he was Mr Perfect For Her. He was fundamentally a good man, he was good to her and, very importantly, he supported her business ambitions wholeheartedly, even when she was having success and he was putting up with setbacks. She was just ready to take the next step; it was that simple.

  But do you love him, Lucy? Really love him? Yes, she told herself, firmly. That wasn’t up for debate. She squashed the nagging little voice that reminded her she didn’t feel the same depth of passion for Ed as she once had for Gabriel. She was just a kid back then. She knew now there were different kinds of love, and the kind she needed for the life she wanted was the reliable, constant kind, wasn’t it? She refused to let her mind explore what alternative to that there might be.

  Yet however hard she tried to stop it her mind kept slipping back to what Gabriel had said. She was unable to brush it aside, put it out of her mind. She worried at it, picked at it. She liked to think she was fully in control of her life now. She was in the driving seat, no one else. If that’s true, then why not talk to your parents and test it? The idea made her heart beat faster and her palms feel clammy, classic signs of nervousness. Slamming the empty icing bowl into the already-full sink, she finally made the decision that had been lurking at the back of her mind for hours now. The only way to prove to herself that she was really and truly her own person, to prove Gabriel wrong, was to talk to one of them. It would have to be her father, she supposed. She had no idea where her mother was except that it was somewhere in Las Vegas. She had her father’s address stashed somewhere and Birmingham was only a few hours away. There was nothing else for it if she was to put the niggling doubts Gabriel had planted behind her.

  Gabriel made himself put the telephone down. He’d left three messages now and had sent a couple of texts. She would speak to him when she was ready. She always did. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’d gone too far this time. He’d gone to meet her intent on encouraging her to follow her plans to settle down with Ed. To play the supportive best friend, just as he always did. Certainly not to betray his true feelings for her. But watching her talking about how she could do her best to persuade another guy to marry her had gradually, minute by minute, become unbearable. Ed took her for granted and patently didn’t deserve her. If he did he would have married her ages ago.

  Gabriel sighed miserably. He’d lost control. There was no other way to describe it. He’d wanted to try and talk her out of it, question her love for Ed, persuade her she was making a mistake, but he hadn’t quite dared. He was too afraid of what she might say, that it would be something he didn’t want to hear. And so instead he’d hit her below the belt. He had mentioned her parents for no other reason than to selfishly put a damp cloth over her excitement at the prospect of proposing. In doing so he hadn’t considered for a second how she might feel about him throwing her family into the mix. He could kick himself. He’d been there throughout her childhood. He’d dried her tears when she’d run to the manor house to escape the rows. He’d dressed the cuts on her hand that time when she’d hurt herself cleaning up a broken bottle after one of the more physical arguments. She’d been just a kid at the time. What the hell had he been thinking dragging all that back up for her again?

  He desperately wanted to go to her and apologise, make things right. But knowing her as well as he did, he knew there was no point trying to force her to talk until she was ready. He had to go to an important client meeting but he found it impossible to follow properly what was said. His mind was consumed by Lucy.

  ‘Would you mind waiting? I won’t be long.’ Lucy leaned forward and spoke to the taxi driver before climbing out of the cab. She surveyed the house on the opposite side of the street. A tiny nondescript terrace in a nondescript street. She briefly checked the slip of paper in her hand. This was it; this was the place. His place. Her palms felt hot and clammy and she unconsciously rubbed them slowly against her coat as she walked towards the grimy front door. To knock or not to knock, that was the question.

  Before she could back out, she rai
sed her knuckles and knocked. Then knocked again, loudly.

  He isn’t home. Let’s just get back to Bath, Lucy. Bad idea.

  She banged this time with her fist and, bending to open the letterbox, called out, ‘Dad!’ for good measure. She could see through it into a dingy-looking hall with a brown carpet.

  At last a shuffling sound could be heard and a shadow loomed behind the frosted glass of the front door. She caught her breath as the latch rattled and then as the door swung open her heart began hammering in her chest. And there he was. Old now and grey, with a few days’ scruffy growth of white stubble and unkempt clothes. Her father. Not quite what she’d prepared herself for. In her mind she’d built him up to be some kind of monster, but this was the reality. A pitiful, scruffy old man. A stale smell drifted from the hallway behind him.

  ‘Lucinda,’ he said in obvious surprise. ‘Well, well, well. What are you doing here?’

  No endearments. No ‘pleased to see you’. Just an indifferent tone. Had she really expected anything else?

  ‘I was in the area,’ she said lamely. ‘Work… you know. I’m on my way back to the station. I thought I’d drop by and see how you are.’

  The eyes looking at her from the heavily lined face were shrewd. ‘Ten years long gone, and in all that time nothing more than a card or phone call.’

  Lucy looked away with a jolt of embarrassment, and was immediately angry with herself for doing so. What did he expect after the way he’d treated her? By the time she’d finally left he was drunk every night. He’d rarely spoken to her except to hurl insults and she’d been cleaning, cooking, shopping, trying to hold things together. She’d tried to make him get help with his drinking but he’d been sinking in his own self-pity since her mother had left and he had no inclination to find a way out.

  Then she’d got a place at catering college. A means of escape. And once she’d left she’d simply kept running, that was all. Instead of going back home when her course finished, she’d rented a tiny flat in Swindon because it was cheap. Working for a pittance in a local restaurant to build up her experience, she’d spent every spare minute baking cakes and had built up a steady bank of customers in the local area who came to her for wedding and celebration cakes. After Swindon, she’d stayed with Gabriel in Bath before getting her own place and starting her business. It hadn’t been a difficult decision to not return to Gloucestershire. Staying away had always been the better choice than going home. Oh, she’d kept in touch of course, but only the bare minimum. A phone call now and then, cards occasionally. Any guilt she might have felt at leaving was assuaged by the fact her father had never once made any proper attempt to contact her himself and make things right. He’d let her know when he’d changed address but he never bothered with birthday or Christmas cards. She’d sometimes wondered if the change of address notices were so the authorities would know who to notify when he eventually drank himself to death. The gap between them had grown over the years until now here they stood, virtual strangers.

  ‘Must be a reason for you to visit,’ he said. ‘All this time. Why now?’

  He could still read her like an open book, she realised. She’d never been able to keep secrets from him. Goosebumps prickled on her arms. He made no move to invite her in and she was glad.

  ‘I’m thinking of getting married,’ she blurted out suddenly, before she even knew what she was going to say.

  He nodded slowly, holding her gaze the entire time with the sharp eyes, green just like her own, and a sarcastic grin spread across his face. ‘You want my blessing?’ He gave a dry chuckle.

  She took a nervous step backwards. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t need your blessing. I just…’ She paused and looked at him closely. The grin was gone. The face was lined and old; tiny broken vessels from the heavy drinking reddened his nose and cheeks. The man was a shell of the person he once was. She realised her overwhelming feeling at that moment was pity for him. He certainly couldn’t hurt her or scare her any more. ‘I just thought you should know,’ she finished.

  His face softened almost imperceptibly and he nodded. ‘I’m pleased for you.’ His voice sounded gruff and he rummaged in his shirt pocket with his fingers. Removing his cigarettes, he lit one and, leaning against the door jamb, squinted at her through the smoke. ‘What’s he like, then, our Lucinda? Is he good enough for you?’

  She felt the back of her throat tingle suddenly and tears pricked at her eyes. Despite all that had happened he was still her father. And however he felt about her, however many years had gone by, he’d cared enough to ask. She swallowed hard to make the tears go away.

  ‘Yes, Dad, he’s a good man. He makes me happy,’ she managed.

  He drew hard on his cigarette and nodded firmly. ‘You hang onto him, then. Tell him your old man says he’d better look out for you.’

  She smiled suddenly at him and a smile touched his lips in return. She was glad she’d come after all. For the first time she felt she had control over a conversation with him. What could he say or do now that would hurt her? She was an adult now, not a scared kid any more. She had her own life, with no need of him in it. The balance of power had shifted while she’d been away and she could choose the terms on which she let him back in, if she did at all.

  ‘How are you, Dad?’ she ventured, more confidently. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘I get by.’ He shifted a little awkwardly. ‘I’d invite you in, but I only rent a room here. It’s difficult…’

  She didn’t mind. A few minutes was quite enough for today anyway. She had plenty to think about. It had been a big enough step just coming here and speaking to him.

  ‘Maybe next time. I have to get a move on anyway.’ She nodded towards the taxi waiting on the opposite side of the road. ‘It’s only a flying visit.’

  He sighed and nodded. ‘It’s good to see you, Lucinda.’ The green eyes were serious this time and she held his gaze. He seemed weaker, somehow. Smaller. The terrifying presence she remembered so vividly from her childhood was gone.

  ‘You, too, Dad. I’ll be in touch.’ She smiled at him one more time and then made a move towards the taxi. Halfway across the road he called to her and she turned back.

  ‘You couldn’t lend me some money, could you, love?’

  Exasperated, she walked back towards him, rummaging in her bag for her purse. And it was then that it dawned on her that he hadn’t really changed at all. He hadn’t moved on. She had.

  Gabriel parked the Aston Martin in the square opposite Lucy’s bakery and got out. Darkness was falling quickly and the streetlamps were already on, casting a golden glow. Standing hesitantly by the car, he questioned himself for a moment. So she hadn’t rung him back since they’d argued—so what? But then when he’d eventually become impatient enough to call Ed, he’d mentioned in passing that she’d gone to Birmingham to visit someone. That had rung alarm bells with Gabriel, although he was initially unable to put his finger on the reason why. Then eventually it had come to him.

  Lucy at the dinner table with his parents. ‘My father’s in Birmingham. A friend offered him a job…’

  How well he knew her. Almost well enough to have a stab at reading her thoughts? Perhaps she was still just angry with him and wanted space. Or perhaps she’d been to see her father.

  Locking the car, he strode decisively across the square. The shop, with its sign ‘Have Your Cake…’ depicted retro style in icing-sugar pink on a pistachio green backdrop, was closed, just as he would have expected at this time of day. But he knew her better than anyone.

  A couple of passers-by glanced curiously at the tall man pressing his hands against the cold glass of the cake shop window. Gabriel was oblivious to them. Shading his eyes, he could see nothing but the faint outline of the empty display cabinets and the counter. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, there at the back he saw a chink of light around the door that led to the back of the premises. To the kitchen, where the big ovens were, and the worktops where the cakes and pastrie
s were made. He was right. She was here.

  Feeling triumphant at how well he knew her, he left the shop front and felt his way down the narrow alley at the side to the back entrance, his fingertips trailing along the rough sand-papery bricks as he felt his way along in the semi-darkness. Light streamed from the window at the back of the shop and he saw her rusty old Mini car parked up tightly against the wall.

  Trying the door, he was surprised when it opened easily, immediately assaulting his senses with the warm delicious smell of baking. He felt a burst of exasperation that she’d left the door unlocked. How many times had he harped on about personal safety to her?

  ‘Lucy!’ he shouted as he walked in, so as not to alarm her. There was no reply, so he continued along the short passageway to the kitchen, and then, rounding the corner, he took a deep breath as he saw her.

  Her unruly hair was caught up roughly out of her face with a pencil stuck through it; a smudge of flour crossed her cheek. She was adding drops of a bright green liquid to a huge billowing white mound of something cake-looking on the counter in front of her. Her face was paler than ever, no sign of any colour on the high cheekbones. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes. But he didn’t miss the fact that her mouth had a determined set to it.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said again, loudly enough that she couldn’t fail to hear him. There were batches of cakes and pastries on every surface. God knew how long she’d been here.

  ‘I’m busy.’ She didn’t even bother to look up, simply whisking the green liquid into the white gloop, watching it streak.

  He grimaced involuntarily. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘A bit like a meringue,’ she said, looking at it appraisingly. And then, glancing up at him, ‘I’m experimenting with some funky macaroons.’

  ‘Looks like you’ve liquidised a frog.’