I don’t go on many holidays. As a freelance journalist, I’m always paranoid about being forgotten by the time I’ve set up my out-of-office. But in late 2019, I figured I would run that risk. I booked a trip to Naples with my boyfriend, Ben. We found an Airbnb, planned a trip to one of the nearby islands and meticulously mapped out all the best pizza restaurants within a 20-mile radius.
A week or so before we were due to leave, however, Ben put his back out. A last-ditch attempt to snap it back into shape via a trained professional only made things much, much worse. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to leave the house, let alone the country.
We decided we would have to ditch the holiday, a move that seemed to bring even more pain to Ben’s already contorted face. Unbeknown to me, he had been planning to propose in Naples, ideally overlooking the sea, or on the balcony of a beautiful restaurant, or in between our 15th and 16th sfogliatella.
To cheer ourselves up, we decided to order a Chinese takeaway, open a bottle of wine and gorge ourselves. For me, there is no happier place than when I’m sitting opposite Ben in our small kitchen, the only thing between us a heaving table full of sweaty rice, sticky chicken, sweet-and-sour sauce and “seaweed” dusted in brown sugar (we save the prawn crackers until the next day; I recommend you do the same).
By the end of the meal, Ben had a weird look on his face. I assumed this was either indigestion or a plea for more painkillers, but it turned out to be nerves. While my hands were covered in a film of congealed grease, his were getting increasingly sweaty. Just before I started putting the empty trays in the bin, he said he had a question to ask me. “Will you be my husband?” he blurted out, before producing a comically large (temporary) ring. I can’t remember exactly what happened next, but I definitely felt a lovely light-headedness, there were definitely tears and I definitely said “yes”.
Miraculously – let’s call it the power of love, a force from above – Ben’s back was 80% better by the next morning, so off we popped to Naples after all. We ate, we drank, we ate some more, and we spent the whole time enjoying being an engaged couple, which at that point was still our secret.
On a perfect evening, just as the sun was setting behind a pool of topless Italian water polo players, we staged a brilliantly cheesy engagement reveal photo and announced it all on Instagram. It wasn’t that we were ashamed of the Chinese takeaway version – a meal I will never forget – more that the London proposal felt personal. I didn’t need to take photos, because it will play in my mind for ever: just us two and the promise of prawn crackers.
