by Dunn, Matt
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you Lisa’s boyfriend?’ she asked, though before Simon could answer, Lisa’s aghast ‘Mum!’ made him clamp his mouth shut.
‘Or should I say latest boyfriend?’ continued Lisa’s mum. ‘Only she does seem to rather go through them. No fault of her own, I’m sure. Although her father and I were already married at her age. And pregnant with her.’
Simon stared at the two women, knowing he was expected to say something, though a hesitant ‘Congratulations?’ was all he could come up with.
‘Simon and I have been out on one date,’ huffed Lisa.
‘Last night,’ said Simon, helpfully, before realising it was quite possibly the worst thing he could say given the way Lisa’s mother raised both eyebrows.
‘And you’re still here?’ she said, consulting her watch exaggeratedly.
‘It was . . . I . . .’ He thought about saying ‘slept on the couch’, but even as he tried the thought on for size, he realised no one was likely to believe that. ‘We just . . . chatted. All night.’
‘Your jaws must be positively aching.’
‘Mum, please stop giving Simon the third degree. What I get up to in my private life is nothing to do with you.’
‘I know it isn’t, sweetheart.’ Lisa’s mother sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Your father and I just want you to be happy. That’s all.’
‘I am happy.’
‘That’s good.’ She reached over and caressed her daughter’s cheek. ‘Because you weren’t happy with that Christopher character. Or the one before him. Or the one before him, come to think of it.’
‘How would you possibly . . . ?’
‘A mother knows, darling.’ Lisa’s mother smiled. ‘You’ll realise that when you have children.’
‘If I have children.’
‘When. You’ll be a wonderful mother. As long as you don’t leave it too late,’ she said, flicking her eyes at Simon. ‘And your father and I would make excellent grandparents. So it’s the least you could do.’ She smiled again. ‘That’s not too much to ask. Is it, Simon?’
Simon shook his head rapidly, like a guilty teenager denying something to a policeman, though he wasn’t sure what it was that Lisa’s mother was asking wasn’t too much.
‘Anyway,’ said Lisa, after a pause so uncomfortably long Simon was sure he was about to say something stupid just to break the silence. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Lunch, remember? Your father’s waiting in the car. We had a . . .’ Lisa’s mother gave Simon a lingering look. ‘. . . date.’
‘Oh, god, I completely forgot. Simon, I’m sorry, but I have to . . .’
Simon stood there, feeling more than a little self-conscious. Maybe Lisa was finding her mother’s visit embarrassing too, but at least it was cutting short their awkward goodbye. And perhaps this way was best. He’d say a cheerful ‘cheerio’, leave Lisa to head on out for what was sure to be a Spanish inquisition of a Sunday lunch with her parents, and that would be it. Last night would be chalked down to experience. He’d have to accept that – as pleasant as it had been – it had been a one-off (or, technically speaking, a two-off). They could both go their separate ways, and . . .
‘Though here’s an idea,’ said Lisa’s mother, addressing him directly. ‘Why doesn’t Simon join us for lunch?’
Lisa’s eyes had suddenly gone all deer-in-the-headlights, and while Simon felt the same way, for some reason he found himself nodding.
‘That would be lovely, Sonia,’ he said.
Chapter 38
Lisa escorted her mother and Simon out through the front door, her head spinning. While it occurred to her to let them go through, slam it behind them and lock it from the inside to spare her from what was sure to be an excruciating couple of hours, that would be rude. Besides, as her mother had demonstrated a few minutes ago, she had a key.
No, better to get lunch over with – plus it might give her a chance to see another side to Simon, which might help her (or rather, help her to help him) with her write-up. He’d already proved he could be thoughtful, and now she’d get to see what he was like with other people (though those ‘other people’ were her parents, and hardly representative of ‘normal’).
As to why he’d agreed to join them, Lisa could only guess. He’d been about to say something when her mother had barged in, and, though she didn’t like to admit it to herself, Lisa was intrigued to find out what that had been. Perhaps he was genuinely interested, and this was a good way to spend more time with her? Maybe he wanted to check her out some more before he decided if he wanted to see her again – you could tell a lot about a person by meeting their parents, seeing what they were like in a family environment. Then again, he hadn’t wanted to go on their date in the first place, she reminded herself.
She crammed her feet into the bright-red Adidas trainers she kept by the door and followed the two of them down the garden path, then along the pavement to where her parents’ Toyota was parked, gleaming from its usual Sunday-morning trip to the car wash. As her mum headed round to the other side of the car, Lisa ignored her dad’s look of surprise from the driver’s seat, and grabbed Simon gently but firmly by the arm.
‘What are you playing at?’ she hissed.
‘I was a little hungry, so . . .’
‘We’ve just had breakfast!’
‘Yes, but when you consider yesterday’s dinner only consisted of one Jaffa Cake . . .’
‘Simon!’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Maybe I’m taking a lesson out of your book?’
‘I don’t have a book! And, even if I did, who said you could read it?’
‘How does it go?’ he said. ‘“Seize the day”? Like it says on your tattoo?’
‘When did you . . . ?’ Lisa found herself blushing. She knew exactly when Simon had seen her tattoo. And had forgotten that he could probably translate it.
‘Or, at least, I imagine it’s supposed to say that.’
‘What do you mean?’
Simon lowered his voice. ‘There’s no “t” on the end of “carpe”.’
Lisa turned a shade of red that matched her trainers. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have had those margaritas!’ she said, more to herself than anyone else, and Simon grinned.
‘As I was saying: be a bit more spontaneous, you said. Say yes to things when they come up, rather than always saying no – like I’ve been doing for the last couple of years. Turn every negative into a positive. It’s called Can-cún, rather than Can’t-cún.’ He counted Lisa’s earlier pronouncements off on his fingers, then fortunately stopped before he ran out of digits. ‘That kind of thing.’
‘But . . .’
‘And what was it you said? About a ship being safe in the harbour?’
Lisa stared at him for a moment. That hadn’t been the answer she’d expected. But Simon was watching her intently, and while it occurred to her to tell him that particular ship had sailed, she had to concede he’d won that round. She allowed him the briefest of smiles in return, then she stood back as he opened the car door for her.
‘Hello, love!’
‘Hi, Dad.’
Lisa leaned over the seat-back and kissed her father on his cheek. He always had a way of making her feel like a little girl around him. Something she didn’t particularly want to let Simon see.
‘Peter, this is Simon,’ announced Lisa’s mum, as Simon got into the car.
‘Nice to meet you, Simon.’ Her dad swivelled awkwardly round in his seat to shake Simon’s hand, then arched an eyebrow at his daughter.
‘Simon’s, um . . .’
‘A friend of Lisa’s,’ interrupted her mother.
Her mum had added a clear ‘don’t ask any more’ emphasis to the word ‘friend’, so her dad just nodded. ‘Great,’ he said, fastening his seat belt before starting the car. ‘Any friend of Lisa’s, and all that.’
‘Especially a boy friend,’ said her mum. ‘Don’t you agree, Simon?’
Simon looked round
sharply from where he’d been staring out of the car window, like a convict taking a last look at freedom. ‘Um . . .’
‘Mum!’ said Lisa, for the second – and what she suspected wouldn’t be the last – time today.
‘Are you joining us for lunch, Simon?’ said her dad.
‘He is!’ interrupted Lisa’s mum, as if announcing a win on the lottery. ‘Isn’t that right, Lisa?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Lisa, though as if she’d just found out the lottery win was a ten-pound one.
Her dad let out a short chuckle as he put the car in gear, and Lisa tried to ignore the fact that he seemed to be watching her in his rear-view mirror, doing that thing with his eyebrows that reminded her of a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘Can you just drive, please, Dad?’
‘Will do!’
‘We’ve booked a table at The Hussar,’ announced Lisa’s mum, as the car pulled away slowly from the kerb. ‘Do you know it, Simon?’
Simon nodded. ‘It’s my local,’ he said. ‘As in, it’s near where I live, rather than me going there all the time.’
‘Isn’t that a coincidence? And it’s nice to know you’re not an alcoholic!’
‘Mum!’ Lisa shook her head at her mum’s latest insensitive observation. ‘Do you have no filter at all?’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘He could still be an alcoholic. Just because he doesn’t drink himself silly in his local pub doesn’t mean . . .’ She stopped talking. Somehow her mum made her lead herself up these kinds of conversational dead ends, and Lisa often wondered how on earth she’d got there.
‘Calm down, dear. I was making a joke. I didn’t really think Simon was . . .’ She paused, and mimed someone all over the place while holding a glass of something, and Lisa felt herself shrink into her seat. ‘You’re not an alcoholic, are you, Simon?’ she said.
‘No, Mrs . . .’ Simon had paled, and Lisa realised it was because he couldn’t remember her surname. How did that look, given the fact her mum assumed he’d spent the night? Though, fortunately, her mum saved the day.
‘Please. Call me Sonia.’
‘Okay. Sonia it is. And no, I’m not an alcoholic.’ He lowered his voice, and said, so only Lisa could hear, ‘Not yet, anyway.’
And to her surprise, and though she did her best to hide it from him, Lisa found herself feeling glad Simon was there.
Chapter 39
Simon laid his knife and fork carefully on the plate, pushed them together to indicate he was finished, then slid the plate an inch or two away for good measure. He’d never eaten such a huge serving of roast chicken in his life, hadn’t even known his local pub put on such a spread every Sunday, or that it was such a nice place to while away a few hours at the weekend. If being out was like this, then he really did need to get out more.
Lisa’s parents had been great hosts, insisting lunch was on them as soon as the menus had arrived so Simon could ‘have what he wanted’, and while initially what he’d actually wanted was to do a runner given the way Lisa had been glaring icily at him when they’d first arrived (and when Lisa’s mother had insisted the two of them sit side by side on the small sofa she’d delightedly said was called a ‘love seat’), she’d defrosted a little once the starters had arrived – or rather, when the second bottle of wine had. She’d even spent two minutes photographing everyone’s roast dinners in order to make an Instagram collage (something her mother had said sounded like a posh photography school – an observation that’d had the entire table in hysterics).
Surreptitiously, he checked no one was watching him and sneaked a glance at his watch. Half past two! So far, yesterday’s ‘date’ had lasted almost twenty-five and a half hours, and, judging by the way Lisa’s dad was eyeing the dessert menu written on the chalkboard next to the bar, it wasn’t over yet. How had what was supposed to have been a routine lunch with Will turned into this?
The pub was warm, so he pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, hoping he didn’t smell. After all, he was still in yesterday’s clothes, and he – unlike Lisa – hadn’t had a chance to take a shower (or two, as he’d heard her apparently do earlier). But, if anything, Lisa’s mother had taken every opportunity on her frequent trips to the loo to give him a hug as she passed, so he doubted that was the case. Even so, it hadn’t stopped him disappearing off to the bathroom earlier to surreptitiously sniff his armpits.
‘So, Simon. How come you’re still single?’ Lisa’s mum was on her fifth glass of wine, and though he doubted it was possible, her questions were becoming even more personal. ‘I would have thought a catch like you would have been snapped up by now?’
‘I’m hardly a catch.’
‘Of course you are!’ Lisa’s mum reached over and squeezed his hand – for a little too long, Simon felt. ‘Stop being so modest. As I always used to tell Lisa, you believed in Santa Claus for the first eight years of your life, so you can at least believe in yourself for five minutes!’
Lisa’s mum threw her head back and laughed so loudly the people at the neighbouring table looked round, and Simon had to stop himself from cringing.
‘Never met the right girl, eh?’ Lisa’s dad winked at him across the table, then pointedly looked at his daughter, but when Simon caught Lisa’s eye, she appeared to be mortified.
‘Dad, please . . .’
‘I’m just making conversation. Or “banter”, as I think you’d call it.’
‘Well, whatever it is, Simon doesn’t need to be subjected to your grilling.’
‘It’s hardly a grilling,’ Lisa’s dad protested. ‘More of a light toasting.’
‘There’s nothing light about it! So please just drop it.’
‘No, that’s okay,’ Simon said neutrally. ‘Actually, the truth is, I did meet the right girl. A while back, when I lived in London. Her name was Alice.’
‘Oh.’
Lisa’s mum and dad were exchanging disappointed glances, and while he was pleased he’d finally managed to silence them – temporarily, at least – he knew what was coming next. And while Lisa was giving him a look that inferred both ‘please’ and ‘no’, Simon was past covering this up. Alice dying was as much a part of his story as this weekend might turn out to be. And it was nothing to be ashamed of.
‘So, what happened?’
‘Dad!’ said Lisa, though with the resigned tone of someone who realised any further protestations were futile.
‘She . . . well . . .’ Simon looked at the three of them in turn, then realised something. While his therapist had told him he needed to talk about it, not everyone needed to know. It shouldn’t define him. And, although he was glad he’d told Lisa, right now there was no upside to telling her mum and dad. It would mean lunch finishing on a massive downer, they’d end up feeling sorry for him and somehow he knew they’d then make Lisa feel bad about it if – well, when – he couldn’t convince her to go out with him.
‘It just didn’t work out,’ he said, just catching Lisa’s sigh of relief.
‘Why not?’
Lisa’s mum, like a terrier with a bone, was staring at him intently from across the table. Or, at least, as intently as someone who’d already consumed the best part of a bottle of rosé could.
Simon smiled at Lisa, then he took a breath, and as he exhaled he felt the weight of the world slip from his shoulders. ‘Fate, I guess,’ he said.
Lisa’s mum stared at him for a moment longer, as if disappointed she’d been denied a juicier story, then she picked her glass up and clinked it against his.
‘Well, lucky for Lisa it didn’t,’ she said.
Suddenly embarrassed, Simon glanced across at Lisa, wondering what she’d made of the exchange. And although she was looking at him strangely, he decided not to take it personally.
Chapter 40
Lisa followed Simon out of the pub, rolled her eyes as her mum and dad hugged him goodbye, and rolled them again when her mum made him promise he’d see them again ‘soon’. Then she quickly kissed her
parents before setting off along the pavement, Simon keeping pace obediently by her side.
As lunch had progressed, she’d simultaneously found herself having a good time and feeling awful. Simon had been great company: funny, well mannered, laughing politely at her dad’s terrible ‘dad’ jokes and humouring her mum’s inquisition, and all the while being attentive to Lisa regarding everything from checking her wine glass was topped up to offering her the last of the gravy. Jess had been right – he was the Anti-Chris. Which is why she was feeling awful about dismissing him so soon.
She’d realised she might have been using his ‘disappearance’ this morning as an excuse – as proof that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, backing up what she’d heard from Jess about him having to be tricked into turning up yesterday. And she was beginning to suspect she’d actually been worried about ‘taking him on’, given the Alice thing. So it was possibly more of her problem than his. Which made her feel ashamed.
She’d suggested they walk home, batting off her parents’ protestations – quite frankly, she’d had enough insinuations and questions for one day – and, since they were near where he lived, insisted she walk him home. So now they found themselves heading towards Simon’s street.
‘I’m sorry about those two,’ she said, fixing a smile on her face as she waved her parents’ car away. ‘They can be a bit full on.’
‘Hey. It was . . .’ Simon narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m going to go with “fun”.’
‘I won’t ask you what you didn’t go with,’ she said. Then, after a moment: ‘Why didn’t you tell them?’
‘What?’
‘About Alice.’
‘I did.’
‘Yes, but . . . not the whole story.’
‘Like I said last night, I don’t tell anyone – at least, not just anyone. And what purpose would it have served? We were all having a nice lunch. The last thing we needed was for me to put a damper on the whole thing. Especially if I might never . . .’