by Dunn, Matt
‘Nothing. Except that you’re in a coffee shop. And you’ve ordered tea. That’s like going into Burger King and ordering a pizza.’
‘You’re just a coffee snob.’
‘Not at all! Well, maybe a little. Though “snob” is a little harsh.’
‘Sorry. Should I have said “stickler”?’
‘It’s like anything in life. You’ve just got to know the rules.’
‘There are rules?’
Simon nodded enthusiastically, pleased Lisa seemed to have hit upon his specialist subject. Since losing Alice, it had been the rituals – the routines – that kept him sane, and his attention to detail when making coffee was one of the best. His job was fortunate in that respect – he was able to lose himself in a process he knew so well.
‘There are always rules,’ he said, deciding not to refer to Lisa’s road-crossing earlier.
‘I might regret asking this question, but . . . such as?’
‘You’re sure you want me to . . . ?’ Lisa was looking interested, or at least doing a good job of pretending to be, so Simon sat up straighter. ‘When and where to drink what, for example. Cappuccino’s Italian, right? But you’d never see an Italian order one in the evening, and especially not after dinner.’
‘What would they have? Expresso?’
‘It’s, um, espresso. With an “s”, not an “x”. And, yes. If you order a cappuccino after a meal in an Italian restaurant, the owner’s going to think you haven’t enjoyed your food, because if you’ve still got space for a large cup of milky, frothed coffee, the food can’t have been that good.’
‘But espresso,’ said Lisa, making an effort to pronounce it correctly. ‘After dinner, at night . . . ?’
‘What about it?’
‘Hello? Caffeine?’
‘Aha.’
‘What’s “aha”? Apart from an eighties Norwegian pop group.’
Confused, Simon stared at her, then rolled his eyes when he finally got the joke. ‘Well, caffeine actually raises the levels of acid in your stomach, aiding digestion. Plus the way espresso is made, with an extraction time of around twenty seconds, it means there’s not too much caffeine. And it’s a relatively short drink, so . . .’ He stopped talking, and rolled his eyes at himself this time. ‘Sorry. That must have been especially fascinating to someone who doesn’t even like it.’
‘No, it was . . .’ Lisa looked like she was struggling to find the appropriate word, then evidently decided to stop looking for it. ‘You certainly know your stuff.’
‘Only if we’re talking about coffee.’
She smiled, though the rest of her face didn’t seem to follow through, and Simon tried desperately to think of something else to say.
‘Who’d come on a blind date, eh?’ he said, after a silence so long and awkward anyone watching might have thought they’d just had an argument, and Lisa nodded.
‘Not me!’ she said. ‘At least, you’re my first.’
‘You’ve never done this before?’
‘I haven’t had to.’
‘Right.’ Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering not for the first time how to process something Lisa had said.
‘Oh god! Sorry – I didn’t mean it like that. But – and don’t laugh – my horoscope said something about not being afraid to take a few risks, so . . .’
‘Your horoscope?’
‘You don’t believe in astrology?’
Simon let out a short laugh, then feared it might have sounded a little rude. ‘Personally, no. Though I fully accept that some people might.’
‘That’s big of you,’ said Lisa, though Simon could tell she was being sarcastic. ‘What star sign are you?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Velociraptor?’
‘That one doesn’t exist!’
‘It might as well be one, though, given that none of them do!’
Lisa gave him a look – one he was becoming familiar with. ‘When’s your birthday?’
‘First of March.’
‘A Pisces!’
‘I’ll take your word on that.’
‘You should – that’s a good one. Sensitive and reserved. A good listener, and a good friend.’
‘Well, that’s me all right. Maybe there’s something to it after all?’
Lisa shot him another, slightly less kind look. ‘I’m a Virgo,’ she said, and Simon sniggered.
‘How old are you?’ said Lisa, sounding annoyed, and Simon assumed it wasn’t really a question he was meant to answer.
‘And are they, what is it, compatible?’
‘Funnily enough, yes. Despite being opposite each other on the zodiac chart.’
‘Right. Well, that’s . . .’
‘Isn’t it?’
As Lisa sipped her wine, Simon sat there for a moment or two, wondering what they should talk about next and then remembering Will’s advice about asking Lisa questions, but as hard as he tried he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Besides, given their obvious incompatibility (something that proved him right about astrology), he realised he wasn’t actually all that interested in her answers.
‘Maybe the Gazette should make you fill in some sort of form or something,’ said Lisa, after a moment or two more.
‘Form?’
‘Beforehand.’ Lisa smiled, in the manner of a primary school teacher explaining something to one of her pupils. ‘Questions. To see if you’re compatible. Ensure you’ve got something in common. Or, at least, give you something to talk about.’
‘What, like “What’s your favourite colour?”’
‘Why not? Or whether you prefer dogs to cats, or EastEnders to Coronation Street. It’d save a lot of time, and stop you making a . . .’ Lisa cleared her throat, then took a large glug of wine. ‘Mistake.’
Simon laughed politely, though in truth he was horrified. He’d been struggling to work out why on earth someone like Lisa would have had, in Will’s words, a ‘chequered dating history’, but right now he was beginning to understand why. Even he knew that relationships weren’t just based on a series of shared ideas and likes and identical interests, or even a corresponding lack of bad habits: he and Alice had been so, so different – and that had been half the fun. If Lisa was simply looking for someone who ticked all her boxes, then she was going to be looking for a long, long time.
He picked up his beer and took a swig, and tried not to make a face – the warmer it got, the worse it tasted. Normal beer wasn’t his favourite, and this wasn’t even as ‘nice’ as that, nor did it have any of the benefits.
‘Do you really feel that’s the best way to find out all about someone?’
Lisa was looking at him the way you might regard a drunk on a bus. ‘Why wouldn’t it be? Cutting to the chase and all that.’
‘Well, because . . .’ Simon took a deep breath, fearing he was about to go seriously off-piste – and not only because this was hardly his area of expertise, but also because he was worried he’d forgotten how to ski. ‘Surely it’s more useful to give a Q&A like that to someone after you’ve split up with them? Almost like an exit interview? You know, to find out where you’d been going wrong.’
‘Where I’d been going wrong?’
‘No – not in terms of anyone’s fault. Rather in terms of the sort of person you were seeing. How well you got on. Which isn’t the same as compatibility. Besides, don’t you think that successful relationships aren’t necessarily – shouldn’t be – things that work on paper? Sometimes the best ones don’t.’
‘The problem with that, though,’ said Lisa levelly. ‘Is that – no offence – most men are liars. They’ll say anything to get what they want. And then say something completely different afterwards.’
‘Such as?’ said Simon, though he suspected he’d made a mistake as soon as he asked the question, because Lisa’s eyes flashed angrily.
‘I love you,’ she said, quietly.
For a second, Simon considered making a joke, saying ‘I love you too’ or som
ething similar, hoping he might score at least half a point like he had done with his ‘You’re welcome’ quip earlier, but Lisa wasn’t looking like she’d find anything funny right now.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If, you know, that’s happened. To you. It’s a horrible thing to’ – he cleared his throat awkwardly – ‘be on the receiving end of. But most people have probably said that at some point in their lives and . . .’ He swallowed hard, a task made harder by the fact that his mouth had suddenly gone dry. ‘. . . not meant it.’
‘Have you?’
‘Possibly. I mean, I can’t think of a specific time, but I’m sure . . .’
Lisa folded her arms. ‘And what circumstances could there possibly be to justify saying something like that?’
‘You might not want to hurt someone’s feelings.’
‘But it would hurt their feelings. If they ever found out.’
‘How would they find out?’
‘Because if you tell someone you love them, then you split up with them soon afterwards, then when I . . . I mean, when that person thinks back to that conversation, she – I mean, they – will realise the person had been lying to them, and be even more hurt.’
‘They might not have been lying. At the time.’
‘Yeah, right!’ said Lisa.
‘All I’m saying is, sometimes, perhaps a little white lie—’
‘Is still a lie!’
Simon found himself wishing he’d ordered a normal beer. ‘Not . . . always.’
‘What is it then?’
‘It might be, er, postponing the truth.’
‘So you’re saying honesty isn’t always the best policy?’
He hesitated, wondering whether Lisa was trying to catch him out. ‘Maybe. Sometimes. If it comes from a good place.’
‘If what comes from a good place?’
‘Um . . . dishonesty.’
At this, Lisa sat back in her seat and linked her arms behind her head in an ‘I win’ way, and Simon found it difficult to disagree with her. Besides, she was looking like she couldn’t be bothered to argue any more, so he smiled as pleasantly as he could.
‘Okay, okay,’ Simon said, noticing Lisa had almost finished her drink. Then he realised the conversation ball was firmly in his court. ‘Nice place, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ She gazed around the venue. ‘If you’d asked me five years ago whether I’d ever be eating at a street food restaurant in Margate, I’d have thought you were having a laugh. But now? Just shows you anything’s possible, I suppose.’
She sounded hopeful, as if the fact that somewhere like Margate could change for the better meant there was no reason why she couldn’t too, and to his surprise, Simon found himself admiring her for that. ‘You a local, are you?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Margate born and bred. And lived here all my life.’
‘Right,’ said Simon. ‘That’s . . .’
‘Choose your next word very carefully!’
‘Nice,’ he said, as neutrally as he could.
‘I’m guessing you’re not from here?’
‘London. I moved down after . . .’ He caught himself. Now wasn’t the right time to get into his life story – not that he was planning to at any time. ‘After my friend Will did,’ he said, instead.
‘Will?’
Simon nodded, wondering why Lisa was frowning, then to his horror he remembered Will had told him he was supposed to have written in to the paper. He fixed his gaze on a spot in front of him on the table and soldiered on, hoping Lisa hadn’t smelled a rat. ‘Anyway, Will used to be my flatmate – in London – and he moved down here to work at the Gazette, and I’d already decided I wanted to move out of London. Too many’ – he stopped short of saying ‘memories’ – ‘people. So I fancied a change of scene, then this job came up at Wholly Ground, the new coffee place in the Old Town. Funny story – they were going to call it “Grinder” but . . .’ He felt himself blushing at the prospect of explaining why a similar name to an app for hook-ups maybe hadn’t been the best idea, and decided against it. ‘They didn’t, in the end. Anyway, Will was forever banging on about how Margate’s the new Shoreditch-on-Sea, which it isn’t, because the old Shoreditch isn’t on the sea, despite having the word “shore” in it – it isn’t even on the river – so technically you should say it’s the new Shoreditch but on sea . . .’ He paused for breath, sure Lisa’s eyes had glazed over this time but not wanting to look up for confirmation, still trying desperately to cover his slip-up. ‘Anyway, the job’s good. We roast our own artisan blend. Import the beans and everything. Which makes it a bit more interesting.’
‘Let me stop you there,’ said Lisa, in a tone that suggested making coffee – or, indeed, anything that was coming out of Simon’s mouth right now – wasn’t interesting at all. ‘You’re a friend of Will’s?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Jess’s boyfriend Will?’
Simon nodded nervously. ‘That’s the one. He’s the one who told me I should, you know . . .’ He made a face, trying to represent the ‘gawd, isn’t this embarrassing, but there you have it’ aspect every blind date must surely come with, and crossed his fingers under the table. ‘. . . write in.’
Lisa was regarding him with narrowed eyes, her expression hard to read. ‘Listen,’ she said eventually, then she reached across the table and patted Simon’s hand. ‘I think it’s obvious what’s happening here. Don’t you?’
‘Um . . .’
Simon realised he must have been looking like it wasn’t obvious at all, because Lisa decided to soldier on. ‘You like coffee, I like tea?’ she said, by way of an explanation. ‘I suppose it’s the risk you take, isn’t it, when you go on a blind date?’
‘Er, what is?’
‘That you don’t get on. That you’re not compatible. Haven’t got anything in common.’
‘I suppose.’
‘We’ve quite clearly got different views about everything, from road safety to our favourite hot beverage, and, who knows, the perfect partner for each of us might be just around the corner. So we could sit here, make small talk, be polite, both of us just waiting until the other one decides they’ve had enough, or . . .’
Lisa was nodding encouragingly at him, as if expecting him to complete her sentence, but given how things had gone so far, Simon didn’t dare.
‘Or we can just call it a day now,’ she continued, when he was silent. ‘Cut our losses. Onwards and upwards, that sort of thing!’
‘Right,’ said Simon. ‘Although technically there haven’t been any losses. Seeing as the Gazette are paying.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Lisa, impatiently. ‘So. Shall we?’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘So let’s.’
And though he knew he perhaps shouldn’t be, Simon had never been more relieved about anything in his entire life.
Chapter 10
Lisa fished around inside her handbag, retrieved a couple of sheets of paper she’d printed off earlier from the email Jess had sent her that morning, and handed one to Simon, telling herself she was doing the right thing. She and Simon really weren’t compatible. What on earth could he have put when he’d written in to the paper – and if he hadn’t made something up, what had Jess been thinking? Then again, what had she been thinking, expecting to meet the love of her life like this? Was she being stupid, hoping that fate might help her find her ideal partner, when it had hardly been kind to her so far?
She took a breath, and reminded herself how that kind of negativity wouldn’t do her any favours. Onwards and upwards, like she’d just told Simon. After all, things surely couldn’t get much worse.
She hoped.
‘So why don’t we just fill these in,’ she said. ‘I’ll give them to Jess when I see her next, and that’ll be the end of it.’
‘What’s this?’
Simon was frowning at the questionnaire, so Lisa smiled patiently. ‘Our questions. For the interview. In the Gazette?’ she added, noting Simon’s b
lank expression.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do you have a pen?’
She rooted around in her handbag and – despite three packets of tissues, four lipsticks, an unwrapped piece of chewing gum, and a half-empty strip of tablets so old she couldn’t quite identify them – couldn’t locate the pen she’d thought she had in there. ‘Or we could just write the answers down on our phones like normal people?’
‘Oh. Sure,’ he said, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. ‘So I’ll just . . .’
‘Me too.’
‘Great.’
Lisa drained the remaining few drops of wine in her glass, then turned her attention to the questions in front of her. She glanced across the table at Simon as he did the same, and smiled. He looked like he was taking an exam at school, and she half expected him to be shielding his answers from her with a cupped hand, so she couldn’t cheat.
The first question seemed an easy one: ‘What were you hoping for from the date?’ Or so Lisa thought, but the more she considered it, the more she wondered what they meant. Was it physically – as in was she expecting someone who looked like Harry Styles (her current crush, though she knew she was old enough to be his . . . She decided to go with ‘much older sister’) – or did it require a more general response, along the lines of ‘A fun lunch’, or perhaps simply ‘Good food and good company’? All of these things were true, would have made her happy, but they also made her sound a little purposeless. But ‘To meet the love of my life’ might come across as . . . naive, perhaps. Stupid, even. Unrealistic, certainly. Though the truth was, that was exactly why she’d come – the hope she’d meet someone amazing, who might just feel the same way about her. Instead she’d ended up with . . .
Lisa caught herself. It wasn’t about recriminations – not yet, anyway. She’d go for the ‘love of my life’ answer, and see where that took her. After all, as Jess had hinted, any man reading the piece would understand that was what she was about, and hopefully only men looking for the same would get in touch. If anyone got in touch.
As for the next section, ‘First impressions?’, well, that one was a little harder to answer. Yes, Simon had almost run her over, but she had to concede that was possibly a little bit her fault, and that had happened before she knew he was her date, so it couldn’t really be her first impression. Then, when he’d turned up at the table, she’d been too busy trying to send him away that she hadn’t really given him a chance to make a first impression, so by the time she’d realised who he was and he’d sat down, it had been a little bit late. And while he’d seemed nice enough . . .
