by Dunn, Matt
‘My pleasure!’ said Lisa, smiling sweetly, then making herself scarce before he could change his mind.
She pushed her way back through the groups of diners, grateful security wasn’t escorting her off the premises – after all, how would that have looked? Still, it could have been worse. Simon might have decided he’d needed the gents at the same time, and that would have made for an interesting lunch.
For a second, she froze. Maybe he had been one of those men at the urinals, nervously emptying his bladder before meeting her. Perhaps he’d been the one who’d given her a strange look as he held the door open. And if he was, when he saw her appear at the table he was sure to make a run for it. If he recognised her . . .
Lisa told herself to relax. The men at the urinals had been more concerned with making sure she had nothing to look at, rather than looking at her. And even if he had been one of them, it would be an amusing incident for the ‘Any awkward moments?’ section of the questionnaire she and Simon would have to do for the paper after their date.
She checked her watch again – two minutes to one – and took a couple of breaths to calm herself down, a feeling of excitement replacing her earlier nerves. This could be it. Finally, she might be about to meet the man of her dreams, instead of something out of her nightmares, as most of her exes had turned out to be.
Excitedly, she checked her make-up in the selfie camera on her phone, then made her way to the rendezvous point, fixed a hopeful smile on her face and sat herself down to wait.
Chapter 5
Simon hurried towards the restaurant, wondering whether he’d beat Will to the table, hoping he hadn’t been delayed too much by the incident with the girl at the crossing. Then, as if on cue, and just as he caught sight of the venue, his phone rang: Will – to find out where he was, probably. With a defeated sigh, he answered the call.
‘Maaaaate!’ said Will, before Simon had a chance to say anything.
‘Maaate,’ Simon parroted back, sounding a little too much like a bleating sheep for his liking. Will was always like this: gregarious, upbeat, confident. Pretty much the opposite of Simon, in fact – so much so that he sometimes wondered why the two of them were such good friends. Some variant on the old ‘opposites attract’ idea, perhaps, though it wasn’t something he really wanted to analyse. Simon had done too much analysing recently. And he wasn’t sure it had got him anywhere.
‘You there yet?’
‘Almost. You?’
‘I’d hardly be calling to ask if you were if I was, would I?’
Simon rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll be there in two.’
‘Excellent.’
‘And you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Will, cagily. ‘About that.’
Simon reduced his walking speed from ‘hurry’ to ‘stroll’. ‘What “about that”?’
‘I’m not coming.’
‘What?’ Simon stopped in his tracks. ‘Why?’
‘Because I never was.’
‘I don’t—’
‘But you should go. Have to go, in fact.’
‘What for? And why?’
‘Because you’re meeting someone.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Someone . . . female!’
Will had given that last word the same amount of emphasis a magician might pull a rabbit out of a hat with, and Simon felt his insides clench. ‘Will . . .’
‘Relax.’ Will laughed. ‘She’s attractive.’
‘That’s not the point. And I’m turning right round and heading back to my car.’
‘You can’t!’
‘Why ever not?’
‘You don’t want to stand her up, do you?’
‘What do you mean, “stand her up”? It’s not a date.’
‘Um, it is, actually. At least, she thinks it is.’
‘Will,’ said Simon, calmly – a lot more calmly than he felt. ‘What have you done?’
‘Just call me Cupid.’
‘Stupid, more like.’
His friend paused, and then: ‘You know that “Blind Date” feature Jess does for the Gazette?’
‘What about it?’ said Simon, even though to his immediate horror, he could probably guess.
‘I’m sure I’ve shown it to you? The one where single people write in, and she matches them up, and the paper pays for them to go on a—’
‘I didn’t write in.’
‘As far as your date’s concerned, you did.’
‘So I’m not going.’
‘Like I said, you have to.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You do,’ said Will patiently.
‘I don’t!’ Simon said, again. As much as he wanted Will to understand how losing Alice made him feel, right now arguing like a five-year-old was a lot more appealing than getting into the actual reason.
‘You do,’ insisted Will. ‘And I’ll tell you why. One, because you don’t want to leave some poor girl sitting there like a lemon. Two, because if you don’t, then Jess won’t have a piece to write for next week’s paper, and that’ll be your fault . . .’
‘Your fault, actually.’
‘And three – and understand I’m only saying this for your own good – you need to get out more. Get back in the—’
‘If you say the word “saddle”, I’m going to—’
‘Trust me, you do!’
‘Trust you?’ said Simon, incredulously, though he knew he shouldn’t be angry at his friend. After all, Will didn’t know how he really felt after what had happened with Alice – though probably because Simon hadn’t told him. Couldn’t, in fact. Will might even have assumed – because Simon never spoke about Alice – that he was over her, and ready to move on. But the truth was, Simon couldn’t talk about her because he wasn’t over her. And he certainly wasn’t ready to move on.
‘Yeah, I know how that sounds. But, despite my best efforts, you’re hardly going to go up to someone at a bar and ask them out, and I don’t see you as a Tinder kind of guy, so this is the best way. The only way.’
‘To what?’
‘Break your duck.’
‘I don’t have a duck,’ said Simon, though he feared that was because it was more of a chicken. ‘And even if I did, I might not want to break it.’
‘Yeah, but don’t you think you kind of need to?’ Will paused, perhaps to let what he’d just said sink in, though before Simon could reply he launched into the next part of his spiel. ‘Lisa’s your age, and—’
‘Lisa?’
‘The girl you’re meeting? She’s Jess’s best friend. And Jess isn’t going to be best friends with just anyone.’
‘And yet she goes out with you.’
‘Ha ha. Good one. Joking aside, though, Lisa’s apparently had a bit of a . . .’ Will hesitated. ‘. . . chequered dating history.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Just that she could do with meeting someone decent.’
‘So I’m doing this for her?’
‘It doesn’t really matter why you’re doing it, as long as you do it.’ Will laughed nervously. ‘Seriously, mate, you need to go. And you need to get a move on, because otherwise you’re going to be late, and she might leave.’
Simon sighed. Right now, Lisa leaving was the most appealing option, even though he suspected – no, knew – that Will was probably right. Plus he liked Jess, and didn’t want to let her down – or, perversely, stand Lisa up. And maybe, just maybe, if he went this one time, and the date was the disaster it was sure to be, Will might realise he was a lost cause. It would certainly be easier than flat out telling him.
‘Fine!’ he said, reluctantly resuming his walk towards the venue. ‘I’ll stay for one drink, and—’
‘Hopefully you’ll be staying for more than that. Assuming Lisa wants to. It’s a date, after all.’
‘For her, maybe. And correct me if I’m wrong, but a date’s normally one drink. “Let’s go for a drink . . .” That’s what you say, isn’t it?’
‘Not at lu
nchtime. A lunchtime date involves, well, lunch.’
‘You’ll be telling me I have to talk to her next.’
‘Funny man!’ said Will. ‘Keep that level of humour up, and Lisa will be eating out of the palm of your hand.’
‘Don’t they have plates at this place, then?’
‘My sides!’ said Will. ‘And listen, I’m sorry about the deception, but it was the only way I could think of to get you back out there.’
‘Hence your “What are you wearing?” question earlier.’
‘Yeah. Let’s just hope jeans and a sweatshirt is smart enough.’
‘It’s not an interview.’
‘You clearly haven’t been on a date in a long—’ Will cut the sentence off abruptly. ‘Sorry, Si. And you’re right. As long as you’ve got a clean pair of underpants on.’
‘I don’t need a clean pair of underpants!’ Two girls who’d just passed Simon on the pavement overheard him and started giggling, so he lowered his voice. ‘No, hang on, that came out wrong. By that I mean I’m not going to, you know’ – he lowered his voice a little further – ‘sleep with her.’
‘You should be so lucky!’ said Will. ‘And you’re sure about that, are you?’
‘Yes, I’m sure!’
‘Fair enough – if you’re that confident that you can afford to turn down sex after two years, good for you. But if it was me . . .’
‘Well, it isn’t!’ Simon snapped. ‘And what I meant was, I’m sure it won’t come to that. Besides, who sleeps with someone on a first date, let alone a blind one?’
Will was silent for a moment, which Simon knew was an answer of sorts.
‘Whatever,’ Will said. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to give you a heads-up, and wish you good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ said Simon, as if the words ‘a’ and ‘lot’ followed it.
‘Right. Well. Give me a call later. Let me know how you got on.’
‘Sure.’
Simon had reached the food court’s entrance now, and he glanced up at the sign above the way in, just to make doubly sure he’d got the right place. In truth, he suspected he probably wouldn’t have to call at all. Lisa was bound to report back to Jess, so Will would probably know how well the date had gone long before Simon did.
‘Great,’ said Will. ‘So, have fun. Or try to, at least. And keep your receipts. The paper is picking up the tab.’
‘I should hope so! And, um . . .’ Simon coughed awkwardly. ‘What have you told her about me, exactly?’
‘Not much. Just that you’d written in and—’
‘But I didn’t!’
‘Don’t tell her that, whatever you do! And listen – she doesn’t know your life story or anything. Which should give you something to talk about.’ Will hesitated. ‘And on that note, just, you know, try to keep things . . . upbeat.’
‘Upbeat.’
‘Yeah. And Simon—’
‘Bye, Will.’
Simon stabbed the ‘End call’ button on his mobile, then he glanced at his watch, double-checked it against the time on his phone, wondered whether he had time to visit the gents (he’d gone before he left his flat, but felt a slight urge to go again – anxiety, probably – which, after a moment’s consideration, he thought he could ignore). Besides – not that he’d ever timed himself – it was already two minutes to one, and he wasn’t sure two minutes was long enough to find the bathrooms, check his reflection in the mirror, then find his way back, particularly if there was a queue, or he had some sort of accident with the hand dryer, or, even worse, some drunk guy at the adjacent urinal accidentally peed on his shoes, as had happened the last time he’d been out in Margate.
With a final deep breath, he made his way through the door, wincing a little at the cacophony of noise that hit him, and peered around the venue. To his horror, it looked just as ‘cool’ as Will had described: a series of brightly varnished wooden tables in the middle of a cavernous ex-industrial space, with a number of different food vendors operating out of various customised caravans and contraptions stationed around the outside. At the far end, a food truck was parked – an old Volkswagen camper van that had been converted into a mobile kitchen – with a sign above the side window that read gourmet scotch eggs. Beneath the sign, a man dressed in what appeared to be the de rigueur black chef’s outfit was staring, a little bored, at the centre of the room.
Simon hesitated, wondering whether he should call Will back to find out what Lisa looked like – not so he’d know if she was attractive or not, but so he could actually spot her in the crowd. Then again, Will had been very specific as to where to sit, so Simon shifted his focus to the table in front of the van where he’d been due to meet his friend, then nervously made his way across the room. The place was packed – couples, mostly, plus what he guessed must be a few out-on-the-pull gatherings, judging by the various groups of men (outnumbered by the empty beer bottles on their tables) and women (except the bottles were labelled Prosecco), and Simon began to feel even more anxious. This was what people his age did at the weekend: came out to places like this; mixed, flirted, chatted up; ate hipster food and drank copious amounts of super-expensive micro-brewed craft beer and fizzy Italian wine. This was how young couples entertained themselves, entertained each other, and how single people behaved nowadays – or rather how young single people behaved. After Alice, he’d moved here partly to get away from all that – to a Londoner like himself, Margate had always been a place to be visited on a day trip, for the beach and the funfair rather than its social scene, but since its recent trendification (if that was a word) Simon had sensed that things were changing. And quicker than he liked.
Emerging from the other side of a group of giggling girls he’d just self-consciously excuse-me’d his way through, he located the rendezvous point Will had told him to aim for, where he supposed Lisa should be sitting, waiting. At the far end of the table, two women were sharing a plate of something Simon couldn’t identify that did actually look like roadkill, while in the middle a girl was sitting, her back to him, alternately checking her watch and drumming her fingernails on the table.
He assumed neither of the women in the couple was Lisa – unless she’d brought backup, something that would definitely have encouraged Simon to make a run for it – so the girl on her own must be his date. She certainly looked like she was waiting for someone, and – Simon noticed, to his relief – she wasn’t glued to a mobile phone like everyone else always seemed to be, whether on the bus, on the beach, in the park he often ran round after work, at a bar, or – five minutes ago – stepping off a kerb.
Simon took another deep breath, wondering what that strange thumping noise was, then he realised it was his own heartbeat. He cursed Will as he exhaled and made his way to where the girl was sitting, and then – conscious he was about to step off a metaphorical kerb himself – he coughed politely.
As the girl looked round, her face fell so quickly Simon suddenly, desperately wanted to be anywhere else but here.
Chapter 6
‘Well, if it isn’t Lewis Hamilton.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Come back for a second go, have you?’ Lisa jabbed a thumb at the food truck. ‘You could try to get that thing started, and I’ll make a run for it, if you like? Or are you thinking about stoning me to death with an order of gourmet Scotch eggs?’
Lisa had instantly recognised the driver of the car that had nearly run her down, though she wasn’t sure he’d recognised her given the strange, almost disappointed look on his face. But while she’d presumed he’d either come over to apologise for nearly killing her earlier or to continue his lecture about the finer points of the Highway Code, a man hanging around her while she was waiting for Simon was the last thing she wanted. She sighed, smiled up at him and relaxed her tone.
‘Here’s an idea – let’s just say we were both in the wrong place at the wrong time, and let that be the end of it, shall we?’
‘But . . .’ The man swallowed
, so loudly the two women at the end of the table looked up at the noise. ‘I’ve only just got here.’
‘And it was very nice of you to come. But it’s probably best if we just go our separate ways and don’t give each other another thought. And by “we” . . . seeing as I’m already sitting here . . .’
She said that last sentence with as much finality as she could muster, and it seemed to do the trick, because the man stared at her for a moment or two longer, opened his mouth as if to say something, then obviously thought better of it, because he turned around a hundred and eighty degrees and headed smartly back into the crowd.
With a satisfied sigh, Lisa watched him go, quickly checked her phone for messages, then scanned the room anxiously. Simon was in danger of being late. And while she’d already decided she’d give him fifteen minutes’ grace, she’d been stood up before, and the last time had been in a restaurant full of couples. She’d gamely stayed and eaten dinner on her own, but it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat, even at lunchtime in an anonymous venue like this.
She tried to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Maybe Simon had already turned up, taken one look at her, decided she wasn’t his type and fled. Perhaps he had been in the toilet when she’d gone in there. But surely not. Or rather, hopefully not. How would that look in next week’s paper? Margate was a small town. You didn’t want to get yourself a reputation. Of any kind.
She checked her make-up for the umpteenth time with her phone’s selfie camera, then looked up to find the man from the car had sat down opposite her, and her jaw dropped. Nearly running her over was one thing, but potentially ruining her date . . .
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, politely but firmly. ‘But I’m meeting someone here, so . . .’
‘So am I,’ said the man.
‘Right, well, small world and all that, but do you have to meet them right here?’
‘Kind of.’
Lisa narrowed her eyes at him. ‘It’s a big table. Perhaps you could wait a little further along?’