She wasn’t going to say yes. I knew it.
But I had to ask, didn’t i?
I went down to the antique jeweller at the end of Fraser Street. You know the old run down place covered in graffiti. It was a wonder it had survived at all, with places going down each week.
We had been there before, but I told her there was something she really had to see.
The bell tinkled as we went in.
The place was cramped with all sorts of knickknacks; dusty books; a wall full of fancy toasters from days bygone. I wondered if the old guy ever sold anything – or whether this was merely an exhibition of his life’s work.
“Through here” I said, as I took her by the hand leading up the darkened staircase to the rooftop. The daylight outside was blinding – but she saw the small gilded black box.
I was right.