ProposalPlan Ltd

The room looked like a cross between a student bar and a nuclear bunker. There was a coffee table in the centre, surrounded by the kind of solid oak chairs that cost a fortune but still look like someone found them in a skip. Ursula perched awkwardly on one of the chairs, sipping at her watery cappuccino.

The young woman returned with a bright yellow mug of tea that was almost as big as her head. “So. Welcome. Who the hell are you, by the way?”

“Ursula Clubb. Events coordinator at Queensford House and Gardens. You may be familiar with us: a beautiful Grade I listed building, with fifty acres of beautifully manicured gardens, a lake, a cherry tree orchard-” The sales pitch came flowing out of her before she could stop it.

“I know about Queensford House,” the young woman cut in. “If we didn’t know about you, you wouldn’t have been invited.”

Invited. Bribed. With a peculiar hand-written letter on vellum, promising a complementary three course lunch at a two-star Michelin restaurant. Which, Ursula now realised, was definitely not going to happen.

"I’m Grace,” the younger woman said. “What do you know about ProposalPlan?"

"Nothing."

Grace nodded as if this answer pleased her. "So. I assume that Queensford House has some form of insurance."

Ursula groaned internally. Of course it would be an insurance company. Having run through every other form of publicity, they had landed on total confusion to sell policies. She had fallen for it. "Yes," she said. "We have all the insurance we need, thank you. I'll thank you not to waste any more of my time." She stood up.

Grace held up a hand. "I was just checking that you understand the concept.”

“The concept of insurance?” Dear God.

“That’s what I asked. This is a different type of insurance - one that you’ve never heard of before. One that has significant advantages for you personally.”

Ursula was beginning to wonder if this was an MLM. But, since it was raining outside, and she had no umbrella… “You have until I finish my cappuccino.”

“As you wish.” Grace opened one of the drawers beneath the coffee table. “Queensford… Queensford… Ah, here we are.” She pulled out a twelve by twelve inch shiny booklet. On the front cover, a woman in a wedding dress was smiling so hard at a man in a suit that she was practically gurning. In a font so swirly it was almost illegible, the title read: 

Queensford House and Gardens

Find the Heart of Romance

"That's our romance brochure," said Ursula, somewhat redundantly.

"Yes it is. Let's see. Weddings, anniversaries, and... proposals." Grace said this last word as if it had murdered a close relative of hers. Opening the brochure, she began to read. "Find the perfect romantic environment to ask the woman of your dreams to make the dream last forever. Why not invite all of your friends and family to cheer you on as you declare your love in our cherry tree orchard? Bring everyone you know for a firework show with hot mulled wine, and see us light up the night sky with her name!”

“It’s a very picturesque place to propose,” Ursula said.

Grace went on. “Hire out our grand ballroom for her birthday, and surprise her with the happiest moment of her life, with all of her friends and loved ones there with you both! Why not hire our in-house photographer?”

“If you’re trying to tell me it’s crass or something….”

“Would you want this?” Grace demanded. “Would you want to be put on the spot like this?”

“Well, no. But I’m not that type of person.”

“Do you know who’s also not that type of person? Do you know who might not like it if her beloved boyfriend, the man she’s always trusted, goes right ahead and-” she looked back at the brochure “- releases a hundred heart-shaped balloons, and then fires a cannon at them, releasing a red rose from each one that bursts?”

“Did that actually work?”

“You tell me!”

“I think I must have been off work that day.”

“Millions of women aren’t that type of person. And yet, thousands of men put on this type of spectacle every day, in a pathetic, manipulative attempt to force them to say yes and make the assembled masses happy.”

“And there are other thousands who do like it,” Ursula ventured.

“Then those thousands don’t have to buy our product. Let me show you something.” Grace pulled out a laptop and fired up a video. 

A ticker-tape parade appeared on the screen. A stern woman’s voice sounded over it.

Has this ever happened to you?

As the uniformed brass-band marched past the cheering crowd, a trombonist let out a mighty blast, and a heraldic flag shot out of his instrument, with the words MARRY ME JANICE on it. 

The camera whirled around and focused on a woman. She was turning deathly pale. She dropped her Pimms with cucumber. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and the frame froze on it.

This kind of thing happens every day. It happened to me. Until now there was nothing you could do to prevent it. But not anymore. 

Introducing ProposalPlan, the first insurance plan to protect you from this kind of horrifying situation. ProposalPlan works with dedicated representatives at thousands of proposal hotspots, from historic monuments and event venues, to natural beauty spots, airports and many more. We make sure that your partner doesn’t get a chance to embarrass you in front of everyone you’ve ever met, and perhaps thousands of people you haven’t. All you have to do is pay a low, one-time sum of £1,997, and you will have total peace of mind for the rest of your life. At the first sign of an incoming proposal, our representatives will step in and do whatever it takes to make sure that manipulative plan never gets off the ground!

Cut to a man staring in confusion at the empty fuel gauge on his light aircraft.

We can step in as soon as he reveals his plans!

A man standing at the parapet on a historic bridge, unfurling a ten foot banner. The words AMY WILL YOU appeared before he was accosted by two burly looking security guards and physically carried away. A third guard seized the banner, threw it into a nearby bin, and set fire to it.

Or we can even notify you ahead of time, and allow you to take control in a way of your choosing!

A rock festival at sunset. A crowd cheered at the dying notes of a song, as the singer held up his fists in triumph. He pushed his floppy fringe back from his eyes and hunched over the microphone. “We’re gonna be doing a couple of songs from the new album in a moment.” The crowd erupted, and he allowed the cheers to die down before he went on. “But before that, there’s something I need to tell you. Jonathan wanted to say something to Sophia tonight. Something special. But Sophia, well - it turns out she wanted to say something to Jonathan too.”

A harsh white spotlight fell on a man near the front, and the camera zoomed in to show his pallid, tech-bro face and receding hairline. The man looked slightly confused, but receptive. 

The singer went on. “Jonathan, Sophia wanted you to know that in the four years you’ve been together, you’ve changed her life in ways she never could have imagined. And now, it’s your birthday, and you’re here with thousands of people, and she wants to ask you a very important question.”

Jonathan’s face started to light up.

“Jonathan, Sophia wants to know: was she worth it?”

The first indication of genuine unease spread through the lines around Jonathan’s eyes.

“I’m asking about Denise, Jonathan. Your niece’s piano teacher. The one you started screwing three months ago.”

Jonathan backed up and started trying to push his way through the crowd as the spotlight and camera followed his every step. 

“Don’t look for Sophia, Jonathan. She left half an hour ago and you didn’t even notice. She’s taken the car and right now she’s getting the locks changed on the flat where you’ve been mooching off her since October. Your things will be in the post.”

The video cut sharply to a minimalist studio in beige, where a forty-something woman in a sharp business suit revealed herself to be the owner of the stern voice. She was joined by another woman of half her age, rosy-cheeked under a great fountain of auburn hair. 

“Thanks for sharing the news about ProposalPlan, Angela!” the young woman said in an artificially bright voice.

“No problem, Izzy!” said the older woman.

The conversation that followed was particularly stilted by the fact that both women were looking straight forward into the camera, rather than at each other.

“Does ProposalPlan really have representatives at castles, beauty spots, sports facilities and even airports, Angela?” Izzy asked.

“That’s right Izzy. And we’re growing every day. This is why you should choose ProposalPlan. Our representatives will allow other proposals to go ahead, while making sure that your partner’s proposal doesn’t get anywhere.”

“But what if I don’t even have a partner?”

“Ha ha, a pretty girl like you? Not for long. But the great thing about ProposalPlan is that it’s one payment that covers you for your entire life. So when that as-it-turns-out-not-special someone arrives, you’ve got that peace of mind. And if you lose your mind and want them to do something that stupid, you can put your cover on hold at any time.”

“That’s great to hear. What if I’m a man?”

The older woman still didn’t look in her direction. “I will fully support you if you ever take the step to transition. Just email me your new name and pronouns.”

“That’s also great to hear, Angela, but what I mean is: what if a man wants to have one of our great policies?”

“Oh I see, ha ha. We can help you too, Sir.”

“And if I’m gay?”

For the first time, the women turned to look at each other. “Izzy, do you think this promotional video is the place to come out? First you said you were trans….”

Izzy threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Oh, right,” Angela went on. “Whatever your gender or sexual orientation, ProposalPlan will happily sell you a policy. Although let’s be honest, if you want a policy from us, you’re definitely a heterosexual woman.”

“Yes I am,” said Izzy.

“I meant our future customer.”

“I know, Angela, and that’s me,” Izzy said firmly. “I’ve been completely sold on ProposalPlan’s excellent work, and I’m more than happy to pay the £1,997 to have the peace of mind that only ProposalPlan can bring me.”

Angela turned back to the camera, which zoomed in far too close to her face with jarring suddenness. “Come to ProposalPlan.”

Superimposed upon Angela’s face, sparkly green modern calligraphy appeared and then gradually faded out:

PROPOSALPLAN

Because straight men are manipulative pigs.

The film finished.

“Crumbs,” said Ursula.

“Crumbs is right,” Grace agreed.

“I don’t know what the hell I just watched.”

“Did you want to watch it again?”

“No. No, I’m absolutely fine.” The cappuccino was finished. The video was insane. Grace’s manner still suggested she wanted to murder Ursula, and if she did, the police would probably give up in despair before they found their way through this hideous grey business estate and located Ursula’s body.

She had no reason not to leave. And yet, she stayed. “So you want me to become another one of these representatives, do you?”

Grace leaned forward, an intense look in her eyes. “As the events co-ordinator, we know we can count on you to tell us what’s going on. How many proposals take place at Queensford, every day?”

“Probably two or three with special instructions, and maybe another three we don’t find out about much in advance.”

“And how good is your indemnity insurance?”

“Absolutely watertight.”

“That’s what I thought. If you sign on with us, your accomplices will each get two thousand pounds for any proposal they successfully sabotage. And you-” Grace pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled a number on it, before handing it over- “will get this sum.”

Ursula looked at the piece of paper. She looked at Grace. She looked at the piece of paper again. “Crumbs,” she said. “Again.”

“Crumbs is still right. We look after our representatives. We want to make sure they don’t worry too much about the possibility of losing their jobs.”

“I don’t know, Grace. It’s not just about the job. It seems like a shitty thing to put Queensford House through, when they’ve done so much for me. And sure. Proposing in this kind of way is a horrible thing to do. But nobody forced anyone to be in these relationships.”

“Ursula, I want you to do something for me.”

“I know.”

“Not that thing. A different one. I want you to close your eyes and think for twenty seconds about the worst of the serious relationships you’ve ever had.”

Ursula reluctantly obeyed.

Derek.

Derek.

Bloody Derek. That piece of shit.

She opened her eyes. “I see what you mean.”

“I knew you would.”

Ursula stared again at the scrap of paper. “So is my own policy with ProposalPlan included in this agreement?”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” said Grace.