by Anna Bell
‘I bet Instagram Luke would care.’
‘And that’s why he’s only a fantasy,’ he says.
We walk along for a bit in silence and eventually I can’t take it.
‘I actually went to the cinema and then we bumped into my friend and her new boyfriend Gareth. He’s an accountant.’
‘You’re right, I was missing out by not knowing that,’ he says sarcastically as we arrive at the park.
Of course he doesn’t understand the subtext of what I said but he doesn’t want to find out either. He really isn’t interested in anything but himself. I give him a little shove through the gateway to the park and he turns and gives me a smile.
‘Let’s get down to business then,’ I say, sitting down on an empty bench and pulling out a notepad. Evidently no point in wasting any more of my lunch break on small talk.
‘I’ve come up with a few ideas for dates,’ he says, sitting down next to me and pulling up a list on his phone.
‘Are you actually telling me what they are?’ I say, thinking back to his big surprises last time.
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Do I get a veto?’
‘You’re not going to need it.’
‘Really? Well, as long as none of it involves me dressed in underwear or swimwear.’
His face falls. ‘Trip to the lido’s out, then?’
‘Yep, I had far too many creepy messages the last time I wore a bikini on Insta.’
‘Too bad. I always get pretty good comments on photos of me topless,’ he says with a grin.
‘What’s next?’
‘Rowing at Henley,’ he says, scrolling down his list.
‘Veto.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s so Bridget Jones and so cliché.’
‘But women love romantic clichés.’
‘Not all women. Don’t you think we shouldn’t just copy movies?’
‘OK,’ he says, swiping up and down with his finger.
‘Have you got anything else?’
‘Not really.’
I shake my head at the lack of imagination.
‘Why don’t we keep it simple – go to a restaurant,’ I suggest. ‘We might be able to wangle a free meal.’
‘I like that. There’s a fancy new Italian that might be up for it. Hey, we could do that thing with spaghetti like in—’
‘Lady and the Tramp? Last time I looked, that was a movie. We could go on a wine tour at the vineyard in Twyford.’
‘Like that. Bet it would make a great actual date. Bit sophisticated. Bit boozy.’
He makes a note in his phone and I’m not sure if it’s for us or his real-life dating repertoire.
‘So dinner, wine tasting,’ he says, nodding. ‘What about one of those aerial climbing parks?’
‘The ones where you have those harnesses on that give you a giant wedgie, and the helmets flatten your hair?’
‘Oh yeah, couldn’t flatten this big boy,’ he says, patting his quiff. ‘I feel like we should do something active. Are you sure we couldn’t do the rowing? It’s not the most iconic Bridget Jones moment, is it? It’s not like I’m asking you to wear a bunny costume.’
‘Bet that was on your original list.’
He purses his lips to stop himself laughing. ‘Maybe but perhaps I guessed it would share the same fate as anything in a swimsuit.’
‘Damn straight. Get you, knowing Bridget Jones back-tofront.’
‘You might not like chick flicks but I do.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I say, pulling my sandwich out of my bag and tucking in.
‘Fine. I get my ideas for dates from them,’ he says, shrugging.
‘You know women would like it if you did things from the heart too – things that they might actually like rather than what Hollywood thinks they should like.’
He looks at me like I’ve just imparted great wisdom.
‘Do you think that’s something you’ll try?’ I ask. Perhaps I’m going to be able to change him for the better.
‘Yeah, well, I’m going to copy what we do on our dates. You know I’ve gone to all the effort with you, might as well get some use out of it. I bet I could have a date straight after when it’s all set up.’
‘Why don’t you just invite them along on our date? They could take the photos,’ I say, joking.
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he says.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My mum was right: a leopard never changes his spots.
‘So, can we put rowing back on the table?’
‘Fine,’ I say, sighing. He seems so keen on it.
‘Right, I’ll link our Google calendars together and then we can come up with a schedule.’
‘I don’t have a Google calendar,’ I say.
‘OK, then what do you use?’
I pull my trusty paper diary out of my handbag.
‘You cannot be serious,’ he says, groaning. ‘You are far too old-school for your own good. Don’t you remember how much trouble your watch got us in?’
‘I haven’t had many diary-related incidents.’
He eyes it suspiciously just in case.
‘I’ll set you up with a Google calendar and send you the link. Ideally we should do something this week.’
‘I’m free any night but Saturday. I’m off to see The Princess Bride – you’re still welcome to join me if you like, I’m going by myself.’
‘I wonder why,’ he mutters. ‘Wish I could, but I’m busy.’
‘I’ll know if you’re lying with the shared calendar.’
He laughs. ‘No tights, remember. How about tomorrow night after work? Let’s get dinner so we can strike whilst the iron is hot. I think we’ll aim for posting once or twice a week to make it believable at first and then we can ramp up posts as we get more serious.’
I must look alarmed because then he says, ‘Don’t look so horrified; we can do multiple dates in one session with outfit changes. You won’t actually have to go out with me three times a week.’
I try not to sigh too loudly with relief.
‘I’m busy this weekend,’ he says, scrolling through his phone. ‘So how about Henley a week on Sunday. Are you free?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, making a note of it.
‘All sorted then. Now, in the meantime, don’t forget to respond to your comments. Brands love that.’
‘I know,’ I say, remembering the wisdom of Small Bubbles. ‘I’ll keep plugging away. It’s hard when there are so many.’
‘Just think what it’ll be like when we get even bigger.’
His eyes widen and I think his head starts to swell.
Whereas I want to become an influencer to change my life and to make Ben proud, I think that Luke is all about the fame. I guess it doesn’t matter why we’re both doing it, as long as it works and we get to where we both want to be.
Chapter 12
I arrive at The Princess Bride so early that the pre-film adverts are on and the lights are still up. I really wish I’d been able to find someone to come with me to see it as being here, alone I’m thinking about how much Ben would have loved this. I miss him so much.
I pull my phone out of my bag to pop it on silent and I see that I’ve got a new Whatsapp message from Luke.
Luke:
See if you can nab someone to stage a photo with you and we can use it at a later date.
I wrinkle my nose up. I see a major flaw in his plan.
Me:
Won’t people know it’s not you?
Luke:
Make a heart with your hands and someone else’s. Against a dark background no one will know. But make sure they’re big hands, OK? – I’ve got a reputation to protect.
I send an eye-rolling emoji to him.
Me:
Are you at least quoting Grease 2?
Luke:
Never seen it.
Me:
Come on… have you not seen any of the classics?
Luke:
>
I’ve seen Dirty Dancing.
Me:
I’m turning my phone off now…
Luke:
Don’t forget to take the photo.
Me:
Yes, Luke of the BIG hands, got it.
I’m actually scanning the people walking in to see how big their hands are.
Luke:
Good, we’ll save it to use next week. Have you seen that people loved the restaurant photos?
Ah, yes, the restaurant photos. They were lovely, unlike the dinner itself which was stone cold by the time we got to eat it after the mammoth photoshoot. I’d talked Luke out of bringing his tripod, encouraging him to use his iPhone instead, only to die of embarrassment when he extended his selfie stick until it was hanging over the middle of the next couple’s table. In the end the guy was so pissed off with Luke that he offered to take the photos of us himself, probably so he didn’t end up with a phone in his face.
Me:
I saw. Better go. Lights are going down and my chances of finding a man with the right hand-girth are dwindling.
He replies with a thumbs-up, oblivious to my sarcasm. I wonder how I’m going to take this bloody photo; I’m obviously not going to ask a random stranger. I wonder if I could make an optical illusion with my own hands, holding one closer to the screen so it looked bigger. I balance my popcorn between my legs and after setting my camera to timer, I hold it under my chin and hope for the best.
The phone slips and it flashes right in my eye as it takes the photo mid-flight. I go to grab it before it tumbles to the floor and I spray popcorn everywhere.
‘Are you OK?’ asks a man.
In all the commotion I didn’t notice that a man has sat down a couple of seats away from me.
I turn to tell him in a very British way that I’m absolutely fine, despite the fact I’m mourning two-thirds of my tub of popcorn, when I catch sight of who it is. It’s Aidan from the train station. I stare at him open-mouthed for a second, but he shows no sign of recognising me.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say. ‘I was trying to take a photo of my hands and it all went a bit pear-shaped.’
‘A photo of your hands?’ he says, raising an eyebrow.
‘Uh-huh.’ I feel like a ginormous dick and wish I hadn’t explained what I was doing.
‘Don’t tell me, Facebook photo?’ he says, sounding unimpressed.
‘It’s for a friend. I said I’d take a photo of my hands in a heart shape.’
‘As you do. Did you want me to take it for you?’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that…’ I want to add that he’s done so much already, but I don’t because he doesn’t seem to realise that we’ve already met. It’s so hard to pluck up the courage to thank him because I know it’s going to catapult me back to the emotions of that day.
‘Really, what else am I going to do waiting for the film? I’ve already memorised the number of the fast-food shops from the adverts,’ he says, pointing at the screen.
I smile. Aidan is literally the nicest guy in the world, and I look down at his hands which are a size that I imagine Luke will be happy with.
‘So what are we going to do?’ he asks, sliding across to sit next to me.
‘I’ll make half a heart with one hand and you make the other with your hand.’
He gives me a look.
‘I know it’s cheesy. But I promised my friend.’
He gives me a quizzical look before he holds his hand out.
‘Like this,’ he says, making a claw shape. I laugh and go to reshape it and I feel a jolt when my fingers touch his. I look at him to see if he noticed and he’s looking straight at me.
‘Sorry, a heart is more like this.’
I bend his fingers round before I get my phone ready and make the mirror image with my left hand.
My hand is shaking with nerves and I take the photo quickly.
The flash goes off and I immediately take my hand out of the pose and pull up the photo on my phone. I’m amazed it’s worked. Our hands are perfectly silhouetted in a heart with the screen as our backdrop. I turn it for Aidan to see.
‘Nice,’ he says.
I’m about to reply when a torch is flashed in my face.
‘Excuse me, we have a no-filming policy,’ says a cross-sounding usher.
‘I was just taking a photo,’ I say, holding up my phone, terrified that I’m going to be ejected.
‘Look, no filming,’ says the usher. ‘We don’t want any video piracy here.’
‘Video piracy?’ says Aidan. ‘You do realise this film is over thirty years old, don’t you?’
‘It doesn’t make it any less of a crime.’
‘But it hasn’t even started yet,’ I protest.
The usher sighs loudly.
‘Just put your phone away. If we see it out again we’ll confiscate it and you’ll both be removed.’
‘Me as well?’ says Aidan.
‘We’re not together,’ I splutter. ‘I don’t know him!’ I don’t want him to get kicked out because of me.
‘Is he bothering you? Was your flash a cry for help?’ The usher points the torch in Aidan’s face.
Aidan puts his hand over his eyes to block out the torch beam.
‘No, no, he wasn’t bothering me. I asked him to help me with a photo, which on reflection was a very silly thing to do. Look, I’m putting my phone down,’ I say, lowering it like it’s a loaded weapon. ‘I’ll just put it in my bag.’
When the usher’s satisfied my phone is safely put away, he lowers the torch.
The lights start to fade and the first trailer starts to play.
‘No more or else you’re out, right?’ says the usher before he marches off.
‘I’m so sorry. Can I at least offer you some popcorn to apologise?’
I hold out my tub only to remember I spilt most of it on the floor.
‘Tempting, but I’m all right with my pick ‘n’ mix,’ he says, holding up his bag. ‘That was a bit intense, wasn’t it?’
‘Just slightly. I can’t remember if I put my phone on silent and I’m too scared now to check.’
He laughs at me.
‘No, I’m deadly serious. What if it goes off in the movie and he chucks me out?’
I bend down and peek at my phone in my bag and I’m relieved when I see the silent symbol on the top.
‘You’re not touching that phone again, are you?’ The usher’s voice comes booming before the torch beam shines on my bag.
‘No,’ I say, holding my hands up. ‘I was just collecting some of the popcorn I’d spilt.’
I pick up a couple of bits off the floor and I cringe as I put them back in my tub.
Satisfied, he turns and walks away again.
‘I’ve never known a cinema trip to be so stressful,’ says Aidan.
I look into my tub of popcorn, there’s no way I can eat it now. I could barely see on the floor, God knows what I put into there.
‘I know, stressful and I’ve lost most of my food.’
‘You can share some pick ‘n’ mix, if you like?’
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t. I think I’ve got some mints in my bag. I’ll make do with those.’
‘Are you really going to reach into your bag again?’
I look over in the corner where the usher is eyeballing us.
‘Perhaps not.’
Aidan opens up the paper bag he’s holding and puts it under my nose.
‘Thank you,’ I say, pulling out a jelly snake.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Sssh,’ whispers a voice from two rows back, making us giggle.
‘I should have asked, did you want me to move back across,’ he says, leaning in closer to whisper. ‘I don’t want us to get in any more trouble. Or for you to think that I’m “bothering you”,’ he says.
‘I absolutely don’t think you’re bothering me. You and your pick ‘n’ mix can stay right there.’
It’s a bittersweet experience w
atching the film; it brings back so many memories of watching it with Ben, and it makes me wish more than ever that he was here with me. I manage to keep it together for the whole film but when the credits start to roll a rogue tear escapes and I hastily wipe it away.
‘You know, every time I watch the film I get sad too,’ says Aidan. ‘I always wanted Miracle Max to actually fully restore Westley. I always feel it’s so unjust that he’s left partly paralysed.’
I laugh and wipe my eyes. ‘At least he got the girl at the end.’
‘I guess so.’
The lights come back on and the rest of the cinema-goers stand up and start shuffling out.
‘You OK?’ he asks in a serious tone.
‘Yes and no,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘It’s just, it always reminds me of watching it when I was a kid. Brings back memories.’
‘Painful ones?’
‘Happy ones, which is almost worse,’ I say, looking him in the eye.
‘I’m sorry, this is going to sound a little nuts,’ he says, screwing his face up. ‘But have me met before? God, that sounds like such a line. It’s not a line, I’m not trying to hit on you or anything. Not that I wouldn’t want to hit on you, there’s nothing wrong with you, you know, looks-wise, it’s just – oh crap. Have we met before?’
He’s cute when he’s flustered but I put him out of his misery and nod.
‘It was a couple of years ago. You helped me at the station to catch a train, I—’
‘That was you? You look so different – your hair.’
‘Yeah, it’s straight now. I mean, it’s still curly, but I straighten it.’
‘Those curls were cool. Not that your straight hair isn’t nice. It’s all glossy and shiny… but I meant, the curly hair’s a bit more fun and…’ He looks pained. ‘I’m not usually like this. I’m usually quite articulate.’
‘I’m really glad I ran into you, actually. I’ve been wanting to thank you for that day.’
I feel bad lying that I haven’t seen him since then, but I don’t know how I would explain not thanking him on those occasions. It didn’t feel right then, but it does now.
‘I always wished I’d been able to check afterwards that you were OK,’ he says. ‘I wish I’d gone with you in that taxi to make you sure you’d got to your mum’s.’