Then I Met You

by Dunn, Matt

  Simon tried not to look grateful at that. ‘But when you know, you know. You know?’

  Lisa nodded. ‘You do,’ she said, though it sounded a little like a question.

  ‘And I think I did fall in love with Alice at first sight. She worked as a nurse at Guy’s and St Thomas’. Used to come in for a coffee at the café I worked at on Bermondsey Street after her shifts. That’s how we met.’

  ‘What with you being a barista and all that,’ Lisa said, then she briefly shook her head, possibly at the fact that currently she couldn’t seem to open her mouth without saying something inane.

  ‘Yeah. At first she’d order her coffee to go, then she started to hang around and we’d chat a little, then we’d chat some more, then one day . . .’ He pressed his lips together in a wistful smile, though partly to stop his lower one from trembling. ‘She asked me out. Can you believe that?’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘You’re not that bad-looking.’

  ‘I meant that it was something of a role reversal. But thanks. I think.’

  ‘So what was it?’ she asked, readying herself to take another piece of burger. ‘You wanted different things? Couldn’t decide whether to get a cat or a dog? No – don’t tell me . . .’ She selected another piece, dipped it into her rapidly diminishing dollop of ketchup, and smiled. ‘You decided you didn’t want anything serious,’ she said, offering him a chip from the bucket.

  ‘Nope.’ Grateful for the distraction, Simon reached for a chip, studied it contemplatively for a moment or two, then put it into his mouth, chewed a few times and swallowed it. Now wasn’t the time to tell the truth about Alice. What would be the point? He’d never see Lisa again after today – though perhaps that was the point.

  ‘So?’

  He helped himself to a serviette and wiped his fingers, aware of Lisa’s eyes burning into him, knowing this was a test, desperate to keep it together, all too aware of the emotional tightrope he was walking. Then – and with the greatest of effort – he met her gaze. ‘She . . . left,’ he said simply. Keener to change the subject than he’d possibly ever been in his life – especially before Lisa asked the next, obvious question – he noticed she’d nearly finished her drink.

  ‘Another?’ he said, standing up and nodding towards the bar.

  ‘I’d better not.’

  ‘Are you driving too?’

  ‘No,’ said Lisa, and Simon frowned.

  ‘Right, well . . .’ He sat back down again, picked his beer up, realised the bottle was empty but decided to go for one last swig anyway, then sat there, with the bottle inverted over his open mouth, until he realised he probably looked a bit silly. Sheepishly, he put it back down again, smiled briefly at Lisa, and looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want another drink?’

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ Lisa said, and Simon leapt up out of his seat as if it were electrified.

  He made his way across to the bar, then hesitated. Lisa had been drinking wine. White, he remembered – though perhaps she’d prefer red now? Maybe he should hedge his bets and get rosé, halfway between the two – or was it? Then again, if he got a red and a white, Lisa could either choose one of them, or mix them in her glass to make rosé . . . Perhaps he’d better check.

  Embarrassed, he made his way back to the table, where Lisa was sitting, flicking through images on her phone – probably deciding which of the (what, to him, looked identical) photographs of her lunch to post – and waited politely until she noticed him.

  ‘What would you like? To drink. I forgot to ask. Same again?’

  She put her phone down and smiled up at him. ‘Actually, no, I’ll have something else.’

  ‘And that something else would be?’

  Lisa was looking at him like she was assessing him, and it was making Simon feel more than a little uncomfortable.

  ‘Surprise me,’ she said, so Simon nodded.

  ‘Will do!’ he said.

  Though he didn’t have the faintest idea how.

  Chapter 14

  Lisa was picking at the remnants of their lunch, shielding their plates from a passing restaurant employee who was circling the table collecting empties. The burger had been pretty good, and the chips (although cold now) still were. This would definitely be a place she’d come on future dates, with future dates. And while it was perhaps a bit noisy, she and Simon hadn’t had too much of a problem communicating.

  He’d been a bit tight-lipped about his last girlfriend, but Lisa had decided not to press him. After all, her own relationship history wasn’t something she necessarily wanted to get into this afternoon, so she told herself it must just have ended badly. Most relationships did, otherwise they wouldn’t end. And if he didn’t want to talk about it, that was up to him. After all, Alice wasn’t someone – or something – she had to deal with, just like he wouldn’t have to deal with Chris.

  She peered over towards the bar – Simon had been gone for a while – then did her best to keep her jaw from dropping open. He was on his way back to the table, carrying what looked like two goldfish-bowl-sized glasses of red wine. Carefully, he set one down in front of her, swivelled it round so the plastic straw protruding from it was facing her, did the same so his straw aimed at him, and slid back into his seat.

  ‘Ta-da!’

  ‘What on earth is this?’

  ‘You said to surprise you.’

  Lisa stared at her glass in disbelief. In her experience, men trying to get her drunk was more of a common tactic than a surprise; and besides, she and Simon weren’t even on a date. Not a real one, at least. Not anymore.

  ‘I said a drink. As in one glass. Not the whole bottle!’

  Simon frowned, then he let out a short laugh. ‘It’s not red wine. Not all of it, anyway.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Taste it, then I’ll tell you.’

  Lisa eyed him suspiciously. ‘You first.’

  ‘But I already know what it is.’

  ‘That’s not what I . . .’ Lisa regarded the drinks for a moment, then she reached out and swapped them round. ‘Sorry,’ she said, clocking Simon’s mystified expression. ‘But you hear these stories of people having their drinks spiked, and I know you’re Will’s friend and everything, but I’ve never met you before today.’

  ‘What reason could I possibly have for spiking your drink?’ said Simon, aghast, and Lisa had to fight to stop the colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘Because you might want to, you know . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do I need to spell it out for you?’ she asked, though from what she’d made of him so far, Lisa already knew the answer to that. ‘Sleep with me!’

  ‘That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re a man,’ said Lisa, by way of an explanation, and Simon looked offended for a microsecond. Then – to his credit, Lisa thought – he let out a short laugh.

  ‘I’d be pretty stupid to try something like that on a date that’s going to be written about in the local paper, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Like I said – you’re a man.’

  ‘Which means I’m likely to be stupid?’

  ‘It means you tend to think with your . . . with a certain part of your anatomy.’

  ‘Even so. It was a blind date. I had no idea what you looked like before we met. So do you really think I’m going to be bringing along some . . .’ He thought for a moment. ‘I don’t even know what it’s called . . . Just so I could slip it in your drink at the first available moment?’

  ‘Just humour me, will you?’

  Simon looked at her as if weighing something up, then he sighed. Loudly. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, in the manner of someone who didn’t think it was fair at all. ‘Though I could be double-bluffing you.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  He leaned across the table and lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Maybe I suspected you might think that. Anticipated you’d swap them over. So I put the spiked one down in front of me.’ He tappe
d the side of his nose. ‘Clever, eh?’ he said, sitting back up and folding his arms, evidently pleased with himself.

  ‘Right.’ Lisa slid her glass across the table so it was level with his, and angled both straws towards him. ‘Taste them both.’

  Simon regarded her incredulously for a moment, then he leaned in, took a sip from his glass, removed the straw, then dipped it into hers and did the same, following it with a satisfying lip-smack. ‘Just so I don’t have to go and get you a fresh straw,’ he said, noting her confusion. ‘Unless you’re now worried that whatever I was planning to drug you with is in your straw . . .’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’ Lisa understood she was being a little ridiculous, but she didn’t care. Like she said, you heard the stories. Then again, it was possible Simon was knowingly drinking from the spiked glass because he already knew this would be a day he was going to want to forget . . . She caught herself, realised she was being a lot ridiculous, and shook her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry. All this.’ She indicated the drinks with a wave of her hand. ‘I just . . . My ex-boyfriend, Chris . . . In fact, a lot of the men I’ve been out with have been a bit . . .’ She fished around for the right word, then decided there were too many to choose from – and none of them complimentary. ‘Not that I’ve been out with a lot of . . . Never mind. Let’s just say it’s not you, it’s me, and start again, shall we?’

  Simon was looking relieved, so Lisa picked ‘her’ glass up and clinked it against his. ‘Cheers!’ she said, then she regarded the deep red liquid for a second, swirled her straw around in it a couple of times and took a sip, widening her eyes as the fruity, fizzy and more-than-a-little alcoholic concoction hit her taste buds.

  ‘This is delicious!’ she admitted, grudgingly.

  Simon was beaming across the table at her, as if he’d finally done something right today, and suddenly Lisa felt awful.

  ‘It’s sangria,’ he said. ‘Spanish for “bleeding”, in fact, and—’ Lisa made a face and he caught himself. ‘Sorry, that doesn’t make it sound quite as appetising, does it? But there’s no, you know’ – he mimed slitting his wrist and directing the flow of blood into his glass – ‘in it. Ha ha. No, it’s red wine and . . . actually, I’m not sure what else goes into it. But I had it on holiday in Spain a few years back, really liked it, and this is the first time I’ve seen it anywhere in Margate, so when you said “surprise me”, I thought it might just surprise you. Because when I saw they had it at the bar, it, you know . . .’ His voice was trailing off. ‘. . . surprised me.’

  ‘Well, you thought correctly.’ Lisa cheersed him again, silently this time, then she pulled her phone out, slid her glass to the middle of the table and took a picture of it.

  ‘Instagram?’

  ‘Of course!’ Lisa snapped a few more photos, then she retrieved her drink, chased the straw round the rim of the glass with her mouth and took another sip.

  ‘This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?’ she said, putting her glass back down.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t have to use the straw if you’re finding it diff—’ Simon facepalmed himself so hard that Lisa half expected him to develop a bruise on his forehead. ‘You mean this whole “blind date” thing.’

  ‘Duh,’ she said, good-naturedly, and Simon grinned.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think there’s any shame in the notion at all. After all, over a billion Indians can’t be wrong.’

  Lisa paused, mid-suck. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’

  ‘Just that . . .’ Simon had gone the same colour as his drink. ‘. . . they have, you know, arranged, um, marriages, and, well, this is, sort of, the same’ – he picked his glass up, removed the straw and took a huge gulp – ‘concept.’

  ‘I suppose. But nowadays you kind of feel you should be able to meet people the normal way.’

  Simon smirked. ‘What is “normal” anymore, exactly?’ he said. ‘Logging on to some app where everyone lies about themselves, or uses a photo that’s been taken on holiday years ago when they were much younger and thinner, pretending they’re looking for “the one” when in reality they’re just after the next one-night stand?’

  ‘That might be your experience, but—’

  ‘God no!’ Simon had widened his eyes. ‘You wouldn’t catch me on the likes of Tinder. I had enough being the last one picked at games when I was at school, so repeating that as an adult is my idea of hell!’ He stared wistfully into his glass for a moment. ‘Besides, name one happy couple you know who met online?’

  Lisa thought for a moment. Naming one happy couple she knew at all was proving difficult. ‘Hang on,’ she said, eventually, resisting the temptation to take her turn in the facepalm rota. ‘Will and Jess. They seem to be getting on okay.’

  ‘They met on Tinder?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘That’s not how Will tells it.’

  ‘No? Well, she told me this afternoon, so I’m pretty sure that—’ Lisa stopped talking abruptly and clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry. I think I might just have given something away there that I maybe wasn’t supposed to.’

  ‘Not to worry, I won’t tell. But good to know for my speech. If, you know, they ever . . .’

  Simon grinned shyly, and Lisa smiled broadly back at him across the table. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the way the conversation was flowing – it could even be the fact that Simon wasn’t full of himself like so many other men she’d met – but to her surprise, she found herself enjoying his company. And while she’d initially thought she’d just stay and chat over a drink while they waited for the photographer, she was beginning to suspect there might be more to him than she could find out over one – admittedly large – glass of sangria.

  She grabbed her straw purposefully to avoid a repeat of her earlier chasing-it-round-her-glass incident, took a long suck, then worried it was going down a little too easily – at this rate, her drink wouldn’t need to have been spiked for her not to remember today.

  And Lisa was beginning to think she might actually want to.

  Chapter 15

  Simon watched Lisa in awe as she picked at the crispy remnants at the bottom of the chip bucket – so keenly that he half expected her to peel out the greasy fake newspaper lining and lick it clean.

  ‘Yum,’ she said, sucking the salt from her fingers after she’d polished the last morsel off. ‘Cold chips. They still taste good. Like cold pizza. Or . . .’ She nodded towards her drink. ‘What’s that Spanish cold soup called?’

  ‘Gazpacho?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ she said, and Simon grimaced.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There are certain foods that need to be hot. Pizza and soup, to name two.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Lisa, as if he’d just expounded his theory on life, the universe and everything in it. ‘I love cold pizza.’

  ‘And yet, if it was a cold calzone?’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘But that’s pretty much a folded-in-half pizza . . .’

  ‘Okay. You got me there. Mind you, I could never go out with anyone who eats the Italian equivalent of a Cornish pasty. Hot or cold.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Fair enough. Me either.’

  ‘So where do you stand on iced coffee, Mister Barista?’

  She’d angled her head, as if pleasantly surprised at the accidental poetry of those last two words, and Simon felt something inside him twinge at the cuteness of it. ‘Nothing wrong with it if it’s made correctly. But it’s actually quite a different drink. Cold-brewed, rather than simply chilled hot coffee. The mistake people often make is just pouring a cortado into a glass with a few ice cubes. All that does is water it down, and . . .’ Simon rolled his eyes at himself. ‘There I go again.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s nice to hear someone so passionate about their job.’

  ‘Back atcha.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Like you were earlier.’

  ‘Oh. Back at
you. I thought you were getting all technical about coffee again.’

  ‘Again.’ Simon mimed shooting himself in the temple with an imaginary gun. ‘Point taken.’

  ‘No. It’s fine. But all this “cold brew” and “cortado” . . .’ Lisa made a confused face. ‘I’m not sure I could tell the difference.’

  ‘You could if I made you one,’ said Simon, and when Lisa widened her eyes, he wondered whether he’d overstepped the mark a little. ‘Speaking of which, did you want a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘I’ve got a much better idea,’ said Lisa, standing up abruptly and slipping her coat on. ‘Dessert.’

  ‘Dessert?’ Simon felt a lump form in his throat. On his third date with Alice, they’d eaten dinner in a pub, and she’d looked at him with seductive eyes and asked if he wanted to come back to her place for ‘dessert’. Simon, in his naivety, had peered at the menu and asked her if she had sticky toffee pudding at her place – and when, a little surprised, she’d said no, he’d suggested they stay where they were.

  Alice had told him afterwards that had been the moment she’d fallen in love with him, and the memory seared through him like a lightning bolt. This time, though, he knew ‘dessert’ meant dessert, so he looked at Lisa for a moment, then he half smiled, half sighed.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, with a little less enthusiasm than she was perhaps hoping for.

  ‘Great.’ She beckoned him to follow her towards the door. ‘Just to prove I can be a “sweet” person,’ she said. ‘We can get something down by the harbour. While we’re waiting for the photographer. And while we eat it, you can tell me some more fascinating facts about coffee, and I’ll . . .’ She shrugged. ‘. . . well, pretend to be interested is the best I can promise.’

  ‘Ha!’ he said, then he followed Lisa out of the restaurant and on to the seafront. The afternoon sun was giving the golden sandy beach a warm glow, and the sight made him smile. The beach had always been a thing of beauty here in Margate, even if the town still had a way to go to catch up – and the two of them strolled in silence for a while, enjoying the view.