Top of the World
by Stephanie Cage

‘Why do you have to do everything the hard way?’ Josh demanded earlier, and now I am proving his point. I'm slogging up the hill, sweating inside the heavy jacket I grabbed on my way out. I forgot it was spring. I'm not used to the sunshine yet. It’s been raining, and my trainers slide on the remains of last autumn’s leaves.

I’m on my way to my favourite spot. At the top of the Chevin, you can see for miles across Otley and the moors. There’s a bench, a car park and an ice-cream van. The ice cream tastes sweeter for coming after the exhausting climb, which is why I always park at Forest Gate, and walk up the hill.

Josh finds this baffling. He’d have parked at the top, where the tourists stop to photograph one of the finest views in Yorkshire, and where, on a sunny day, there’s usually a wedding car waiting for some happy couple to be photographed on the wild, deserted moor, with her veil blowing in the wind, just yards away from the packed car park and the gawping crowds.

Josh likes to do things the easy way. That’s what we were arguing about. After 12 years with the same company, 12 years of dedication and a steady climb up the ranks, from school leaver apprentice to assistant manager, he’s just been offered voluntary redundancy. And he was going to take it. Without dispute. The easy way out, as always.

He tried to explain, but I didn’t want to hear the same old explanations. The same reasons we never move. The same reasons that after seven years of living together, we’re still no nearer marriage or the long-promised family. Because Josh never does anything that requires effort, if it’s possible to avoid it. Not that he’s lazy. He works hard. Longer hours than most of the others at the plumbing company where he’s worked forever. It’s just that he doesn’t like difficulty, complexity. So he was going to sign on the dotted line and walk away with the money they were offering. A significant amount, but hardly enough to compensate for the holidays taken only at off-peak times, the rush jobs finished on weekends, to the detriment of our social life, and the years of putting off marriage and kids until he’s another rung or two up the ladder.

I puff my way out of the woods and into the sunshine. And then I see him, sitting on the bench at the top, eating an ice cream. He waves, but doesn’t get up.
Well, what did I expect? He knew where I’d be, but as usual he’s taken the easy route. And if he walked down the hill to meet me, he’d only have to walk back up it again.
So he sits, watching, as I pant up the trail and sit down beside him.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. Despite my frustration, I enjoy the sunshine, the view and the shared silence.
Josh offers me a lick of his ice cream, and I take it. The soft vanilla flavour melts on my tongue.
‘Now will you let me explain?’ he asks.
I nod and hand him back his ice cream, but he gestures to me to keep it. I go on licking while he speaks.
‘I've been there 12 years. And I know you think I love it, and I do love the job, the challenge, making things work for people. But I hate being at someone else’s beck and call.’
To my complete amazement, he goes on to complain about the exact things I’ve always hated.
‘I keep thinking it’ll get better next promotion, next pay rise, next whatever. But it never does, and we can’t keep putting our life off forever.’
‘So what are you going to do? You’ve always said it’d be worse working for any other company,’ I said.
‘That’s why I want to start my own company. It’ll be harder work to start with, but the choices will be ours, not someone else’s.’
I stare. This is not what I expected.
‘You don’t know anything about running a company.’ Immediately, I want to kick myself. Some vote of confidence.
He is not deterred.
‘I can learn. There are courses. In fact, I’m booked on one next week.’
‘And you were going to tell me when?’
‘Earlier. But you stormed out.’
I can’t argue with that, so I sit in silence, trying to absorb the news.
‘It won’t be easy,’ I point out.
‘But it won’t be hard for the sake of it. It’ll be hard for a reason, to give us freedom, the life we want.’
He reaches for my hand, the one that’s not sticky from the ice cream. A wedding couple appear from behind us, and the photographer arranges her veil.
‘I wasn’t going to say it like this,’ he says, ‘but there’s never a perfect time. I thought we could get married. Start out properly together.’
Only Josh would see it as starting out together after seven years. But that’s not what I'm smiling at. I'm smiling because to anyone else it would sound like the least romantic proposal in the world. But it’s perfect for me. I’m on top of the world, with the man I love.
‘We won’t have a huge expensive wedding,’ he cautions, as the newly weds kiss for the cameras. ‘I’ll need to put most of the money into the business.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I look up into his worried eyes and want to make them happy again, but some devil prompts me to string it out. ‘I’d love to marry you, but on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
I can see him running through the possibilities. To move? To start a family?
‘We come here for the wedding photos.’
‘Of course.’ His eyes are relieved. ‘One condition of my own, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘We park at the top.’