by Dunn, Matt
‘Hold on. I haven’t said I’m going to! And why didn’t you tell me beforehand? Or was Lisa in on this?’
‘No way. We thought you might get on. That it might happen . . . naturally.’
‘Really?’
Will shrugged dismissively. ‘You never know. She’s always been unlucky in love, gone out with losers, or wankers, and you—’
‘Choose your next words carefully.’
‘Well, you might just have been . . .’
‘What? Desperate enough to think we had something?’
‘Not desperate, exactly. Just . . . keen.’
Will nodded, as if happy with his choice of word, and Simon started at him incredulously. ‘Even so. You were prepared to make me look like a loser in the local paper simply so your girlfriend didn’t get in trouble?’
‘I’d never make you look like a loser.’
‘Don’t tell me – because I do a good enough job of that by myself?’
Will laughed briefly. ‘Listen, mate. You don’t have to lie, exactly. Just pretend you had a good time, hint the two of you might have some sort of future, smile for the photographer, and—’
‘Photographer? What photographer?’
‘There’s always a photo,’ said Will, as if it was something Simon should know. ‘You know, the happy couple, grinning at each other. Not that there’s been many like that. Or any like that, come to think of it.’
‘No chance!’
‘Please. Do it for me. And if not for me, for Jess.’
Will was fluttering his eyelashes, and Simon didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him. ‘I don’t know. And I’m pretty sure Lisa won’t—’
As if on cue, Will’s phone bleeped with a text. ‘Jess,’ he said, before he’d even read it, then he glanced down at the screen and smiled. ‘The photographer’s on her way. She’s single, if you’re—’
‘Will!’
‘Okay, okay. Just one photo. We can Photoshop the two of you so it looks like you’re, you know, together. Then all you have to do is fill in that questionnaire.’
‘Will . . .’
‘I’ll owe you. Big time.’
‘You already do!’
‘Please . . .’
Simon sighed. On the television, the game appeared to have finished, but he suspected he had no option but to play along with this one. With a final, heavy-eyed look at Will, he shook his head, in the manner of someone who knows they can’t postpone the inevitable.
‘Fine’ he said, begrudgingly.
‘That’s my boy!’ Will leapt off the sofa, and hauled Simon up from his seat. ‘Now, come on. Pub!’
‘I don’t want to go to the pub.’
‘It’s not a case of “want”, my friend,’ said Will, putting an arm round his shoulders and steering him towards the door, and not for the first time that day Simon found himself being made to go somewhere he didn’t want to be.
And for what he could only hope would be the last time, he went.
Chapter 12
Lisa was sitting at a window table in The Old Cottage, flicking idly through her Instagram feed, pointedly refusing to like any posts that featured hashtags like ‘#couplegoals’. Her #couplegoal was simply to be in a couple, and all these people grinning happily at the camera, their arms around each other, only served to remind her she’d got no closer to that particular end point today.
Maybe Simon was right, and they shouldn’t be featured in the paper after all. Did she really expect that the potential love of her life would have written in to the Gazette in search of true love? A free lunch and the chance of a shag, maybe, but happy ever after? Lisa doubted it.
She considered checking out what her ex Chris had been up to, but stopped short of typing his name into the search box. She’d stopped following him (on Instagram – physically it had taken a week or so longer, when he’d almost caught her outside his house and she’d had to duck down behind a parked car) the day she’d come back from Cancún, telling herself she needed to move forward rather than keep looking back. But some days – today included – it was harder than others not to reminisce about what might have been; if, of course, things had been different. If Chris had been different. Though Lisa suspected if she had – if she’d been the person she was trying to be post-Cancún (i.e. herself) – she might not have been in this mess in the first place.
She double-checked the time on her phone against the clock above the bar. As usual, Jess’s ‘five minutes’ was closer to ten, and she’d already finished her glass of wine (and was tempted to make a start on Jess’s) by the time her friend finally appeared at the table.
‘Sorry. I’m just . . .’ Jess finished composing a text, then slipped her phone back into her bag as she waved a hand vaguely in the air. ‘You doing okay?’ she said, once she’d hugged Lisa hello.
Lisa glared at her, good-naturedly. ‘I’m still trying to work out whether I’m mad at you or not.’
‘Sorry, babe!’ Jess made a guilty face, then nodded at Lisa’s empty wine glass. ‘Can I get you another?’
‘Best not.’
‘Suit yourself. So . . .’ Jess sat down opposite her, clinked Lisa’s empty glass, poured a good measure into it from hers, then patted Lisa’s arm sympathetically. ‘Want to tell me all about it – from the beginning?’
‘Not really,’ said Lisa.
‘In my defence – our defence – Will and I thought this way was actually better.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Rather than set you up with someone random. Simon’s actually Will’s best friend. And Will’s hardly going to be best friends with someone . . . dodgy.’
‘Tell me again why you’ve never met your boyfriend’s best friend?’
‘Well, because Will and I are in that early stage of our relationship where we spend every spare moment—’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘I have suggested it. But Will’s kind of skirted round the issue, now I come to think of it. But I can’t believe he’s dodgy. And even if he is, he can’t be as dodgy as . . .’
‘As Chris, you mean?’
‘As Chris.’
‘I don’t think Simon’s dodgy. He’s just . . .’ Lisa thought for a moment. ‘He just didn’t seem that interested.’
‘In you?’
‘In anyone. So why he wrote in asking to go on a blind date is a mystery to me.’
‘Hmm,’ said Jess, fishing a piece of cork out of her glass with her fingernail.
‘As is why you put the two of us together.’
‘Because I thought he’d take one look at you, and . . .’ Jess mimed her heart pounding through her chest, and Lisa shook her head.
‘Well, he didn’t. So how’s that supposed to make me feel?’
Jess smiled sympathetically. ‘Never mind. You wait till you’re featured in the paper. There’ll be loads of men writing in to get your number. Stopping you in the street, probably. You’ll be fighting them off.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘Of course it is!’
‘No, I mean it’s not going to happen, because I’m not going to be in the paper. Sorry, Jess, but the last thing I want is for everyone to see how desperate I am.’
‘You’re not desperate.’
‘Or how badly the date went.’
‘It didn’t go badly. At least, that’s how I’ll write it up.’
‘Jess!’
‘I’m serious. Trust me – when the feature comes out, there won’t be a single man in Margate who won’t want to sweep you off your feet. And a few married ones too, probably!’
Lisa rolled her eyes at her friend’s joke. ‘Doubtful.’
‘Especially when they see your photo.’ Jess tapped the face of her watch. ‘The photographer should be along soon. Then . . .’
‘Jess . . .’
‘Relax. All we need is one shot of you and Simon together, and—’
‘The only way you’re going to achieve that is via Photoshop! Though while
you’re at it, if you could do something about the bags under my eyes.’
‘Deal!’ said Jess, pouring the rest of her wine into Lisa’s glass.
‘That’s not what I—’
‘Tell you what. I’ll just get us another round, and you can think about how you want to answer those interview questions I sent you, and—’
‘I’m not doing any interview questions. Simon and I decided we wouldn’t.’
‘But . . . you have to!’
Lisa picked her glass up and emptied it back into Jess’s. ‘The only thing I have to do is go home, take a long hot shower, and put this . . . debacle behind me.’
‘Whatever happened to “seize the day”?’
Lisa gave her friend a look. She’d like to seize the day – by the neck, and throttle the life out of it.
‘Okay,’ said Jess. ‘But at least stay for another drink. Keep me company. That is, unless you’ve got somewhere else to be?’
Lisa gave Jess a different look. ‘Fine,’ she said, resignedly.
‘Excellent!’
As Jess bounded off to the bar, Lisa slumped down on to the table, shut her eyes and rested her head on her folded arms. Idly, she wondered what Simon was up to right now – possibly having the same conversation with Will, in a different pub, and with another alcohol-free beer. Unless their meeting had sent him off in search of something stronger. It was a shame they hadn’t connected. He had seemed like a nice guy. But you shouldn’t worry about the things you can’t change, as she knew. Or at least, as she often told herself.
The noise of a tray being set down on the table snapped Lisa back to reality, so she hauled herself back upright.
‘Thanks, Jess,’ she said, as her friend deposited a large glass of wine in front of her.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Jess moved round to her side of the table and gave her a hug. ‘Now budge up.’
Obediently, Lisa shimmied along the bench, just as she noticed a couple of bottles of beer sitting on the tray, then she frowned.
‘Are we getting pissed?’
‘No.’ Jess let out her tinkling laugh again, and glanced over at the pub door. ‘But you might be. With me.’
‘Huh? I don’t . . .’ Lisa stopped talking. Over Jess’s shoulder, she could see a man walking into the pub – a man who looked suspiciously like Will – closely followed by someone else.
Someone else she recognised.
Someone who she’d already had a drink with today – albeit a non-alcoholic one, in his case.
Someone she’d thought she might never see again.
As Jess waved both men over, Lisa gritted her teeth. ‘What’s going on?’ she hissed, realising Jess had moved seats to ensure she couldn’t.
‘Will!’ said Jess, louder than was perhaps strictly necessary, rising a little from the bench – just enough to give her boyfriend a kiss, but not enough to allow Lisa to make a break for it. ‘And you must be Simon! What a nice surprise.’
‘Jess,’ said Will, then he flashed Lisa a sheepish grin. ‘Hey Lise,’ he said.
Jess was looking at the two of them in wonderment, as if this were some sort of special occasion. ‘What a coincidence!’
‘Isn’t it,’ said Simon, drily, causing Jess to laugh as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
Jess sat back down and put an arm round Lisa’s shoulders. A restraining one, Lisa couldn’t help feeling. ‘Lisa’s been telling me about all the fun you two had. Haven’t you?’
Lisa glared at her. ‘Something like that,’ she said, then she grimaced at Jess’s response; that tinkling laugh was really starting to get on her nerves now.
‘Join us?’ said Jess, after several extremely uncomfortable seconds.
‘Why not?’ said Will, and as Simon tried to make eye contact with him, as if unsure what exactly it was they were doing, Lisa tried to nudge Jess along the bench so she could get out, but Jess had a firm grip on the underside of the table and she wasn’t budging. Simon hadn’t sat down – though Lisa realised that was probably just him being polite.
‘At least till the photographer gets here?’ suggested Jess.
‘Whatever happened to “we can do it with Photoshop”?’ said Simon.
‘Well, we’ve still got to get a photo of each of you, and the photographer’s on their way, so it’s probably easier if we . . .’ Will grabbed Simon by the shoulders and almost manhandled him down on to the bench, then nodded at the drinks, as if they were some sort of irresistible bribe, and though Lisa could certainly do with hers she left it where it was. ‘Guys,’ said Will. ‘Please.’
‘Just stay for one drink,’ pleaded Jess. ‘That’s all we’re asking. And if the photographer hasn’t turned up by then, well . . .’
‘One drink?’ Simon was eyeing his beer thoughtfully, then he picked it up, so Lisa did the same with her glass of wine.
‘Why not,’ she said, then – as if of one mind – she and Simon raised their drinks, cheersed each other and both downed the contents in one.
‘Right. Well then . . .’ Simon stifled a burp. ‘Lovely seeing you again, Lisa, but . . .’
‘Hey!’ Lisa was feeling a bit light-headed from necking her Chardonnay. ‘Not so fast. What gives you the right to leave first?’
‘I’m just leaving. I’m not leaving “first”.’
‘Too right you’re not! Not before me, at least.’
She tried to push past Jess again, but Jess had wedged herself firmly in place, so Lisa slipped underneath the table, only to find her exit route blocked by the table’s metal frame. In desperation, she grabbed one of the legs, trying to ignore whatever the sticky substance was that she could feel on the palm of her hand, and gave it a shove, but it was too heavy to move on her own.
She sat there for a moment, considering her options, hoping she wouldn’t get splinters from the bare wooden floorboards. Staying where she was might work, but it wasn’t the most comfortable place to wait it out, and, besides, she needed the toilet. Then she heard someone clearing their throat, so she looked up to see Simon, grinning at her from underneath the far end of the table.
‘What?’ she said, crossly.
‘Need a hand?’
‘No thank you! I’m quite capable of . . .’ Lisa tried pushing on the leg again, but the table wouldn’t budge. ‘Actually, yes.’
‘Okay. Hold on . . .’
Simon moved to one end of the table, Will to the other, and between them they managed to pull it out, revealing Lisa cross-legged on the floor. As Simon helped her up, Will and Jess were doing their best not to laugh, and Lisa had to try her hardest to stop a smile from creeping across her face.
‘It’s not funny!’ she protested.
‘It is. A bit,’ said Simon, as he and Will shifted the table back to its original position. Then he sat down heavily on the opposite bench. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Downing that in one perhaps wasn’t the smartest of ideas,’ said Lisa, sitting herself back in her original seat, then she glared at Will. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Well, Jess thought . . . Ow!’ Will said, then he leaned down to rub the spot on his shin where Jess had evidently just kicked him. ‘I mean, we thought . . .’ He reached across the table and took his girlfriend’s hand, and Jess smiled.
‘What Will’s trying to say, Lise, is that I need you to complete the date. Or, at least, pretend you have. And that it’s been the best date you’ve ever been on.’
Lisa frowned. ‘And why is that, exactly?’
Simon cleared his throat. ‘Because Jess might lose her job if we don’t.’
‘What?’
‘He’s right.’ Jess had taken her hand. ‘The pressure’s on for this column of mine, if it doesn’t produce a happy ending sooner rather than later.’
‘In terms of the couple ending up in a relationship,’ said Will. ‘Rather than in a dodgy massage parlour sense . . . Ow!’
‘Which is why they asked us to go,’ explained Simon, as Will rubbed his other
shin. ‘Because if it had worked out between us, then great. If it hadn’t, then it could still be great, because they could convince us to say it had.’
Will was nodding. ‘In fact, don’t worry about those questions Jess sent you. She’ll – I mean, we’ll – take care of those. So when the photographer arrives, if you two could just . . .’ He grabbed Simon’s hand this time, and placed it on top of hers on the table.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lisa. ‘I—’
‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ said Jess, then she reached into her bag and retrieved a bank card. ‘Or, at least, the Gazette will.’
‘What’s this?’
‘My company credit card. Anything you want. Anything.’ She handed it to Simon, then gestured around the pub. ‘Within reason, of course. But seriously. Have another drink.’
‘Have two!’ suggested Will.
‘On us.’
‘Or rather, on the Gazette,’ said Will.
Lisa sighed. Loudly. ‘And all we have to do is pretend we’ve had a good time?’
‘You don’t even have to pretend that. Jess will make sure you did. Or that it looks like you did.’ Will grinned exaggeratedly. ‘All you have to do is smile for the camera.’
‘One photo?’ said Simon.
‘One photo,’ said Will. ‘Though they may need to take a few. Just in case.’
‘And you’ll make it . . . flattering?’ said Lisa.
Will nodded. ‘Of course!’ he said, as if the suggestion it would be anything else was outrageous. ‘Though, obviously, where Simon’s concerned that might be . . . Ow!’
‘So you’ll do it?’ said Jess, as Will rubbed his other shin.
Lisa exchanged glances with Simon. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, eventually. ‘If it’s all right with . . .’
Simon was looking like a man asking to choose between being punched on the nose or in the mouth. ‘S’pose,’ he said, glumly.
‘Great!’ Will stood up abruptly. ‘In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Like I said, the photographer will be along at four-ish.’
‘Here?’ asked Lisa, and Jess shook her head.
‘They’ll meet you down by the harbour.’
‘You know,’ said Will, ‘in case you’re harbouring feelings for each other.’
He elbowed Simon in the ribs, and Jess laughed in her trademark way again. ‘And listen,’ she said, ‘thanks. Seriously. I owe you one. Both of you. You’re lifesavers. Well – job-savers . . .’ Then she was on her feet too and was leading Will towards the door, as if worried staying any longer might mean Simon and Lisa would change their minds.
