Marry me or else; The big question; Should you ever ask him?; IF

0 Comments | Sunday Mirror, Feb 13, 2000 | by ANGELA CARLESS

NO says Helen Evans, 29, a credit controller from High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, who proposed to her ex-husband Ian, 29, on Leap Year's Day 1992.

Ian and I were both 20 when we met at a club on New Year's Eve. I gave him a friendly kiss as we welcomed in 1991, but I didn't imagine anything would come of it. It was only when we bumped into each other two weeks later, that we got talking and I realised how nice he was. Tall, blond and handsome, he was gentle and sensitive too. Throughout 1991 we got closer. I fell deeply in love with him and he said he loved me too. As 1992 - a leap year - dawned, I began to think about our future. Ian had never mentioned marriage, but I'd had some horrible fellas in the past and now I'd found someone decent, I didn't want to let him go. So on February 29 while we were watching TV, I blurted out: "Will you marry me?"

We'd been together 14 months and he was so shocked he couldn't speak. I paced the room. "I don't want to push you," I said as Ian took a 20p coin from his pocket. "Heads for yes, tails for no," he said. I watched in disbelief as he tossed it into the air. Twice it came down tails and I was mortified. "Best of three?" he said. Finally, it came down heads and Ian said "yes" to my proposal. I rushed out to buy champagne, feeling very proud and liberated.

It was nice to have that commitment from him. He had a good job in computers and appeared a genuinely nice guy. He was a good catch and everyone thought we were made for each other.

But even before our big church wedding in June 1994 Ian began to have doubts about marrying me. We had to call a family meeting with our parents just days before the wedding.

"I don't know if I can go do this," Ian admitted. I didn't know if he'd turn up, but when he did, our big day was an absolute fairytale. I put his behaviour down to pre-wedding nerves and we quickly settled into what I thought was a happy married life in our own home. I had no idea that he wasn't as content as me. There were never any rows. But just 18 months after we married, Ian announced he was leaving me. "I've tried and I can't do this any more," he said. There was no one else. He just didn't want to be married to me. I tried to talk him out of going, but he packed his bags and went to his mum's house never to return. I was heartbroken. For months I spent my evenings smoking, drinking wine and listening to CDs. After divorcing him, I vowed never to ask a man to marry me again. I didn't want to re- marry at all and when I met my present boyfriend Paul Castle in the autumn of 1996 - another leap year - I was very cautious. Especially when just six months later, Paul proposed to me. "Never again!" I told him. But Paul persisted. "I'm not giving up. I won't ever leave you," he promised.

He knew I needed time and he didn't push me, waiting patiently for three years until last August when I finally felt ready to say yes. Now I can hardly wait for our wedding this April in a Scottish castle. To cap it all, I'm also expecting our first baby in August. It's a second chance and this time I know my marriage will work. I should have waited until Ian was ready to ask me to marry him. That way I'd have known he wasn't just doing it to keep me happy. If he didn't ever propose, it was because it wasn't meant to be.

YES says barmaid Tina Bryson, 29, from Darlington, who proposed to her fiance Mel Blareau, 32, on Leap Year's Day 1996.

When I went on holiday to Crete with a gang of girlfriends the last thing I wanted was a holiday romance. I'd just split up with my boyfriend and I wanted a rest from men.

But that was before I locked eyes with this attractive, dark- haired guy in a club called Lips. We bumped into each other at the bar and he asked me to dance.

Mel was on holiday with a bunch of his mates too and although we spent all evening chatting, it was only after about three hours that I asked him where in England he came from.

"Darlington," he replied, naming my home town. He only lived a few streets away from me.

I even knew his parents Phil and Shirley who ran a local pub and came into the cash and carry where I worked. Yet I never knew they had a son until that night we met in June 1992 - another leap year.

Amazed at the co-incidence, we exchanged phone numbers and when we got back home, he rang me. I was thrilled. I thought he wouldn't bother, but Mel was as keen as me.

Within a year, we'd moved in together. I knew he was the one I wanted to spend my life with and was sure he felt the same about me. Yet he never mentioned marriage.

Even when our son Daniel, now four, was born, he didn't talk weddings. I became increasingly impatient. So, on leap year's day in 1996, I decided to surprise him at the engineering factory where he worked.

Armed with a vanilla slice - his favourite cake - and a red rose, I took along his old dog Stinker for moral support as I made my way to his works.

My heart was pounding and my palms were sweating. The short walk seemed like a marathon. When I eventually made it on to the huge shop floor surrounded by noisy machines, it seemed a little unreal. It was just like that bit in the film An Officer And A Gentleman where Richard Gere arrives at the factory to sweep Debra Winger off her feet. Except this was the other way around. All heads turned to look as I walked in holding the cake in a paper bag in one hand and a rose in the other. I was grinning, laughing my head off, thinking: "What am I doing!"