by Lindsey Kelk
‘What have you got against a quiet moment?’ he replied, shielding his eyes against the sun. I was sort of surprised his glasses weren’t sun-adjusting. He just seemed like the type to account for all occasions. ‘Must you always have noise?’
‘I have quiet,’ I said defensively, my sandals swinging from my forefingers. ‘I spent a fortune on noise-cancelling headphones so I wouldn’t have to listen to Brian all day.’
‘That’s not true quiet,’ he argued. ‘Even if there’s no noise, you’re trapped in that deafening digital squall, constant communication. You’re always in the middle of a conversation or an argument, it must be exhausting.’
I considered his point. My blood pressure had certainly gone up since we took over Lily’s Twitter account. Some people needed their thumbs or their caps lock removing. My brain was never really off, I was either reading Twitter, checking Instagram stories or Snapchats, catching up on Facebook or watching YouTube videos. I couldn’t even watch a film without googling the actors halfway through, and if the plot wasn’t up to much, I was straight to Wikipedia to see if it was worth sticking with.
‘What’s the last thing you do at night?’ Sam asked.
‘Check my phone,’ I admitted.
‘And first thing in a morning?’
We were not close enough for me to admit the first thing I did in a morning was pee and we definitely weren’t close enough to admit that, really, the first thing I did was check my phone while I peed. Everyone did it, literally everyone.
‘I like knowing what’s going on,’ I said, stepping down to the water and letting little fresh waves wash over my toes. I felt a sharp shiver flash through my body and everything tightened at once. ‘Stay on top of current events.’
‘But how to filter through all the noise?’ Sam frowned. ‘No, I couldn’t bear it.’
‘You get used to it,’ I promised, leaping out of the waves and wiggling my toes in the frigid sand. ‘Although I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.’
He stuck his hands in his pockets and wrinkled his nose. When his arms were at a slight angle, I noticed, his biceps swelled against the tight cuffs of his short-sleeved shirt. He must have been lifting some very heavy books.
‘Shall we have a wander around?’ I suggested. ‘See what we can see?’
He answered with an agreeable nod.
‘Where are you on your grand romantic gesture?’ I asked as we made our way across the sand and back towards the promenade. ‘Are we thinking ride a white horse over to her work? Have a million white roses delivered to the flat?’
‘Why not go the whole hog and suggest an ostentatious diamond ring?’ he replied.
I choked on the last part, coughing madly to cover it up.
‘Sorry,’ I said, gasping for air. ‘Sand in my throat. There must be something more simple. Tell me about the day you met Elaine.’
He smiled. A true and proper smile.
‘I was in the library at university and so was she,’ Sam replied. ‘I think it must have been a Thursday, because otherwise I would have been in lectures.’
‘Right and more specifically than that?’ I suggested. ‘Did your eyes meet across the microfiche? Did your fingers brush against hers when you both reached for the same book?’
‘It is quite a good story,’ he said, smiling to himself. ‘She was asking someone to be quiet and he told her to fuck off and I told him not to be so rude.’
‘A meet-cute for the ages,’ I replied. Definitely not one to tell the grandkids.
‘I offered to buy her a cup of tea and we ended up in the Costa Coffee down the road, talking for hours.’ He sighed, a happy, nostalgic sound that was too light for him. ‘Then we went back to her flat and she cooked me dinner. I think we saw each other every day after that. That is, until she asked me to leave.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. There it was again, that same awful, gut-munching feeling. Maybe I was lactose intolerant too? ‘Don’t give up.’
‘I remember she had her hair up.’ He twisted his hands around behind his head to demonstrate. ‘In a bun. And she was wearing her glasses even though she never wears them now. I loved those glasses, it always looked as though she was investigating something. She was just fascinating to me.’
My little black heart sang, even as it broke. It sounded as though he truly loved her.
And then a terrible thought struck me. What if this didn’t work? What if I couldn’t mend what was broken?
‘She’s always been curious,’ Sam said, scratching his stubble. ‘Always wanted to know everything about everyone. The two of you might get along, actually.’
‘Do you think?’ I asked, recognizing a slightly sour note in my voice I didn’t care for at all.
‘No, not really,’ he said as he weighed up his own theory. ‘You’ve very little in common apart from the fact you both find me insufferable.’
‘I wouldn’t necessarily call you insufferable.’ I took my bag from him as we reached the promenade. I hadn’t thought about it before but I didn’t really have any specific hobbies. I had my friends, my family and my job and that was it. ‘But I’m not one for the salsa dancing or the stand-up or the spoon carving. Maybe I need to be more adventurous as well.’
He nodded for a moment, hands on his hips as he looked out at the horizon.
‘You seem to be doing all right. You’re ambitious and you’re bold. You’re not afraid to try.’
I sat down on the edge of the promenade, sliding my sandals back onto sandy feet. I fiddled with the tiny gold buckle for a moment, not entirely sure what to say.
‘That’s good, is it?’ I said, standing up and hitching my bag over my shoulder. ‘What else?’
‘You’re funny.’ He scrunched up his face, clearly giving his answer some real consideration. I was almost afraid to hear what he would come next. ‘You’re kind. And I think you probably care too much about what people think about you.’
‘No I don’t,’ I lied. Of course I did, who didn’t?
‘Yes, you do but you shouldn’t,’ he replied, matter-of-factly. ‘You’re stubborn and you don’t know when to take no for an answer. But you’re also infectiously optimistic. One of those things is going to get you into trouble.’
‘If you had any inkling about my relationship history, you would not call me optimistic,’ I said, trying to kick sand out of my sandals as I walked. ‘My sister always says I’m too competitive.’
‘I haven’t known you for very long, so my opinion is very subjective,’ Sam said. ‘But since we met due to you taking on a bet, I’d imagine she’s right.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy competition.’ I skipped a couple of steps to get ahead of him. Thank god he didn’t know the Marie Brown hockey-stick story or I’d never hear the end of it.
‘But who are you competing with?’
I turned to see Sam leaning carefully against the spiky, green railings, back to the clock tower, face to the sea.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Who are you competing against?’ he said again as I took two steps awkwardly back towards him.
I frowned. ‘Well, the bet is that I have to get you twenty thousand Instagram followers or—’
‘Not for the bet,’ he said. ‘In general. Every single day, all the time. That’s the part I don’t understand. You’re constantly going, it’s as though you’re scared to stop. When will you be satisfied?’
It was a question I didn’t have an answer for.
We both stayed exactly where we were, forearms resting against the railings, full of sugar and new things to know about one another.
‘This is the perfect place for a very important boyfriend bootcamp lesson.’ I pawed through my bag, looking for my phone. ‘I’m only using it as a camera,’ I said when he began to protest. ‘The ability to take a good couple selfie is an indispensable skill in this day and age. You’re going to learn.’
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about.’
Sam folded his arms, hiding each hand in an armpit. ‘Just hold up the phone and take a photo. Or better yet, don’t be such a narcissist and wait for someone to take a photo of you at an appropriate time.’
‘Take the phone,’ I insisted, holding it out. ‘Take it.’
‘I’m taking it,’ he said, holding the edges of my iPhone as though it were made of precious crystal. Which it could be for all I knew. ‘Now what?’
‘I’m going to stand here,’ I stepped closer, forcing myself into his personal space and awkwardly nestled in under his left arm. His entire body froze. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a wedgie,’ I promised. He relaxed by a fraction and so I carried on with my instruction, focusing on the task at hand and not how nice and warm and snug I felt.
‘Now hold the phone above your head, angle it down so we’re both in the picture and then click, you’re done.’
‘I can’t press the button on the front,’ he said through a grim smile.
‘You don’t press the button on the front, you use one of the volume buttons on the side,’ I replied. ‘Much easier.’
‘Why such a strange angle?’ Sam asked, gurning as my phone fired off a million shots.
‘Because it’s flattering,’ I replied, tilting my chin just so. ‘You’ve got to trust me on this. A thousand Kardashians can’t be wrong.’
‘Excuse me.’ A little old couple, resplendent in their Sunday best on a Saturday, stood in front of us, all smiles. They were both wearing hats and he leaned against a walker while she clutched his arm for support.
‘Would you like us to take a photograph for you?’ the old gentleman asked.
‘That would be splendid, thank you,’ Sam said, nodding for me to give them my phone.
‘You just press this button here,’ I said as I handed it over.
‘Oh, we know,’ his wife replied. ‘We’ve got grandchildren. I’m at level three thousand of Candy Crush.’
‘That’s bloody impressive,’ I said, swearing under my breath as I stepped backwards and moved in closer to Sam.
‘Language,’ he replied, placing his arm politely around my shoulders.
‘Go on,’ the husband called. He held the phone out to better frame the picture. ‘Give her a proper cuddle.’
Sam pulled me a little closer and I laughed, entirely involuntarily. His skin was so warm, his hands were so big. I leaned towards him, my cheek resting against his chest.
‘Say cheese!’
I looked up, as Sam did as he was told. Why couldn’t I get him to follow an instruction so easily?
‘I like your dress,’ the lady said, handing me the phone as her husband rearranged himself with his walker. ‘It’s nice to see young people dressed properly. You make a very lovely couple.’
‘Oh, we’re not a couple,’ I assured her, very, very quickly.
‘Just friends,’ Sam agreed. ‘But thank you very much. Have a lovely weekend.’
They nodded, weaving themselves back together and set off slowly up the promenade while I checked the photos.
All of the selfies we’d taken were ridiculous. Sam looked like he was either crying or being goosed while I was laughing in every one of them. Me and my eighteen chins. But the picture taken by our new friend was something else. Sam was smiling straight at the camera, blue eyes clear and honest. I was in profile, chin lifted, laughing happily, smiling at Sam.
‘Tell me that’s not a better picture,’ Sam stated, peering at my phone over my shoulder.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, quickly closing the photo library and putting my phone back in my bag. He had captured something I wasn’t quite ready to see. ‘Can you believe they thought we were a couple?’
‘Quite frankly, no.’
‘Glad you took a moment to think about that,’ I said, rolling my eyes and still clutching my phone through the fabric of my bag. ‘Thanks, Sam.’
‘It’s a ridiculous concept,’ he went on, not quite finished demolishing my ego. ‘As if someone like you could be with someone like me. Imagine it, Annie. You come home with all your parties and Facebook and your internet stuff and I’m there working on an essay about the fourth Duke of Rutland. Whatever would we talk about?’
‘I could stand to know more about the fourth Duke of Rutland,’ I replied, stung. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere. ‘But obviously I wouldn’t want to burden you with the things I care about.’
Wisely or not, Sam decided not to reply. Instead, we walked on down the promenade without speaking, soundtracked by the sound of barking dogs, children laughing and whatever song came out of the next set of speakers.
‘Seems to me we’re making great strides with your so-called boyfriend bootcamp,’ Sam began. ‘Even if I do think I’m going to have to pass on the second Magic Mike movie.’
‘It’s better than the first,’ I said, still not entirely ready to forgive him for his comment. ‘Well, it’s almost time for step five: the grand romantic gesture. And then you’re done.’
He looked surprised.
‘And then that’s it, is it? I’m fixed?’
‘You weren’t broken,’ I told him. ‘We all need a bit of a polish sometimes.’
His hair fell over his face as he ducked his head and walked ahead of me. I paused for a second, watching him as he went. Sunny blond curls, square shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He looked great. I’d done a good job with my makeover. My fingers found my phone in my bag and I took another look at our picture. He looked really good. But really, it wasn’t Sam’s face that stood out to me in that picture.
‘I think that’s where the pier was,’ he called, pointing off into the ocean as I locked my phone and dropped it back into the bottom of my bag. ‘Where all those people were trapped on that fateful January day.’
He carried on but I wasn’t listening. I was still thinking about that photo. When was the last time I’d looked that happy? And when was the last time I’d felt the way I did right now? I wasn’t altogether certain of the answer to either question and that would bother me a lot longer than the fate of forty people stranded on the Margate pier in 1877.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday, 24 July: Ten Days to Go
9,107 followers
We were twenty-one days into the bet and the Hip Historian still only had a little over nine thousand followers. Halfway to thirty days and not even a halfway towards hitting his follower target.
The account definitely had its fans but it was the same people hitting the like button every time. We weren’t building on the initial audience and I couldn’t work out why, no matter how long I spent running analytics and changing up the hashtags. It didn’t make sense that the account had already peaked, we were still so new. I had to find a new boost and sooner rather than later.
‘Annie?’
I looked up from my laptop to see the man in question standing just inside the door.
‘Are you working?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes,’ I confirmed, clicking out of an article on Emma Watson’s style evolution. ‘What’s wrong?
‘Might I speak to you outside for a moment?’ he said, turning away from the whiteboard without giving it a second glance. ‘I need to ask a favour.’
Without taking her eyes off her computer screen, Miranda sang out a couple of bars of wah-wah pedal guitar, evoking a seventies porno flick and massively entertaining herself in the process.
‘She’s a big Led Zeppelin fan,’ I said, dashing out from behind my computer and dragging him into the hallway. ‘What’s up?’
‘I wouldn’t have had her pegged for it,’ he said, with an admiring glance back at Mir. ‘Are you doing anything this evening?’
My mouth went dry and I opened my mouth before I had words ready to come out of it.
‘This evening I am not,’ I said, marvelling at my own stupidity. ‘I mean, I’m not doing anything this evening. Why?’
‘Tonight’s the night,’ he said, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Elaine’s back.’
I stared at him with an open mouth. Already?
‘Yay?’ I tried. ‘And wow.’
‘I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what you said and I’ve got my grand romantic gesture all planned out, but I want everything to be just so,’ he said, pinching his fingers together. ‘Will you help me?’
The last person who wanted to make sure everything was just so for me was the man who delivered my Chinese takeaway and even though he said he wanted to make sure I was satisfied, I had an inkling he didn’t actually give a shit.
‘What kind of surprise?’ I asked in a high-pitched voice. What if he was going to propose? What if he wanted me to help choose the ring? What if he wanted me to officiate the wedding? What if—
‘I’m going to cook her dinner,’ he declared with great pride.
Oh. OK then.
‘You’re sure it’s a good idea?’ I asked, running my pendant up and down its chain. ‘Surprising her with dinner in the middle of the week?’
‘It’s our anniversary,’ he nodded. My heart lurched. Because I was so anxious for this to go well, I reminded myself. ‘And according to your schedule, she has salsa class this evening so she’ll be out until eight. I can let myself in, make the dinner and have it all ready for her coming home.’
Wow. Look at him, making thoughtful plans. It was almost as if someone had spent three weeks coaching him on how to be a better boyfriend.
‘I’ve bought candles and I found a florist that sells bags of rose petals.’ His entire face bloomed bright red on cue. ‘But I was hoping you might help me with the meal. I’d really rather not poison her.’
‘Of course,’ I answered without hesitation. Because hesitation would suggest I didn’t want to do it and why wouldn’t I want to do it? ‘I’m not the world’s greatest chef but I can do one better than beans on toast.’
‘Then you can do one better than me,’ he said happily. ‘Shall we leave here at six-thirty?’
‘We shall,’ I confirmed. ‘See you then.’