Under the Microscope extra: Hugh

Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's first 300 words and for the full critique, see the January issue of Writing Magazine.

Hugh, by Heather Royle - original version

It was glorious up there on the mountain but quite suddenly, he became solemn. “Let’s sit here,” he said pulling me down onto the grass while the larks trilled musically above us. “I want to talk to you about something,” My stomach flipped as I did a quick calculation. We’d only known each other for about nine weeks; he surely wasn’t going to propose? Was he? “I really like you. “ He said, “A lot. And I’d like to ask you ….”

“It’s too soon…. “I blurted.

He looked surprised, but carried on after only a slight hesitation, “I’d like our relationship to become serious. You know. ‘Go steady’, as we used to say” I was about to interject but he continued, “But before we go any further I have something to tell you about me; my past. And I want to hear about you and your history.” It was as if he’d rehearsed this little speech. “We are in out thirties and we haven’t got to this point in our lives unscathed. Our past forms us and we need to know more about each other if we are to continue with….this” I wondered what on earth was coming. Had he been in prison or something? To hide my apprehension, I took a sandwich out of our prepared box that he’d carried up the hill in his back-pack. “Mmm, nice cheese,” I said inappropriately.

After an irritated glance at me he launched into his saga.

“After my degree I stayed on at Unit to do my Master’s.”

“Oh” I interrupted, “I didn’t know you had a Master’s!”

He ignored me. “While I was there, I had an affair.” He swallowed before continuing. I kept my eyes on the view below us, “With a woman who was a friend of my landlady. She was a good bit older than me. About forty five. She taught me a lot.”

“Oh!” I said cheerfully, “Like in the film… that one with Dustin Hoffman. Mrs Robinson, or something.”

“The graduate.” His voice was cold. His eyes were cold. I shut up and concentrated on my sandwich.

Hugh - McCredited version

It was a pristine summer day up there in the hills: clear blue sky, gentle breeze, the landcape below them undulating verdantly to the horizon.

“Let’s sit here,” he said, suddenly solemn, pulling me down onto the grass as the birds trilled around us. “I want to talk to you about something.”

I felt a sudden hollow of doubt inside. We’d only known each other for about nine weeks; he surely wasn’t going to propose, was he?

“I really like you,” he said. “A lot. And I’d like to ask you—”

“It’s too soon!” I said.

He looked surprised. “I’d like our relationship to become serious. You know. ‘Go steady,’ as we used to say. But before we go any further, I have something to tell you about me – about my past. And I want to hear about you and your history.” (It was as if he’d rehearsed this little speech.) “We haven’t got to this point in our lives unscathed. Our past forms us and we need to know more about each other if we’re to continue.”

Had he been in prison or something? I took a sandwich out of the picnic box he’d carried up the hill in his backpack. “Mmm, nice cheese,” I said.

A flicker of irritation and he continued: “After my degree, I stayed on at uni to do my Master’s.”

“I didn’t know you had a Master’s!”

“While I was there, I had an affair.” He swallowed.

I kept my eyes on the view below us.

“With a woman who was a friend of my landlady,” he said.

For the full critique, see the January issue of Writing Magazine