by Dunn, Matt
He checked his watch – half an hour to kill before the photographer was due to meet them down by the harbour – and supposed that Lisa’s suggestion of finding somewhere for dessert wasn’t a bad one. Then all they had to do was get their photo taken, and this whole experience – he’d been going to go with ‘ordeal’, but that certainly hadn’t been true of the last hour or so – would be behind them. Something he was surprised to be feeling a little disappointed about.
‘Not quite Playa Delfines, but not bad,’ Lisa said suddenly, and Simon raised both eyebrows.
‘Playa Delfines?’
‘It’s in Cancún. A really beautiful beach. Miles of golden sand. Turquoise water. Just . . . paradise.’
‘You’ve been to Cancún? Actually, don’t answer that. Of course you’ve been to Cancún, otherwise you wouldn’t have said that. When did you go?’
‘February,’ said Lisa.
‘On holiday?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Kind of. I’d been through a bad break-up – another bad break-up – and I was feeling a little lost, then I read about this retreat where you were supposed to be able to go and . . . find yourself. So I went. To find myself.’ She let out a short laugh. ‘Sounds funny when I say it out loud.’
‘And did you? Find yourself?’
Lisa thought for a moment. ‘I did. Though I wasn’t so keen on what – or rather who – it was I actually found. But Cancún was amazing. Lovely people. Amazing beaches. Fantastic food. I did a lot of yoga. A bit of meditation.’
‘Eat, Pray, Love?’
‘The first two, at least.’
‘No, it’s a book. About self-discovery . . .’
Lisa stopped walking suddenly, so she could dig Simon in the ribs. ‘I know it’s a book. I was making a joke.’
‘Right.’
‘Obviously not a very good one.’
‘No. It was funny.’
‘Sure it was,’ said Lisa, sceptically. ‘But Cancún kind of taught me I should be looking for the good in everything. Focus on the positive. Only worry about the things I can change, and not make myself a prisoner to those things in the past that I can’t. Which has been quite a challenge for me, I can tell you.’ She shuddered and made a face. ‘When you’ve had the kind of relationship history I’ve had . . . it’s kind of hard to see the positives in that.’
‘It is,’ concurred Simon, a part of him hoping she wouldn’t go into detail. Because then he might have to. And that was the last thing he wanted.
‘Though I suppose everything happens for a reason, so . . .’
‘What?’
‘It’s fate. Our lives are actually predetermined . . .’
‘I don’t accept that,’ said Simon, levelly.
‘It’s true!’ insisted Lisa.
‘You learned that in Cancún, did you?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Along with a few other things. For example, we can’t control what happens to us, or what other people say or do. The only thing we can actually control is what we think about those things. The judgements we make. They’re the things that make us happy, or angry, or sad.’
‘Right.’
‘So once you accept that everything happens for a reason, you can rationalise . . .’
‘Rationalise,’ said Simon, doing his best to keep his voice level. ‘You mean if you’re, say, a smoker, and you’re dying of lung cancer, then I suppose you could say that the reason you’re dying from lung cancer is because you smoke. But say you’ – his hands, in his pockets, balled into fists – ‘have an accident—’
‘It’s not that kind of reason.’
‘What kind of reason is it?’
‘I don’t mean it in a cause-and-effect sense,’ continued Lisa. ‘Rather that it’s all part of a bigger, preordained—’
‘Rubbish!’
Lisa’s jaw dropped open. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, that’s just what I believe. And maybe you feel differently, but—’
‘Too right I do! And as for all that “we can control what we think about these things” nonsense, there are some things you can’t control!’
‘Such as?’
‘Emotions!’ said Simon, his voice cracking. ‘Feelings!’
She stared at him for a moment; then, as if taking her own advice, she said, simply: ‘Well, let’s just agree to disagree, shall we?’
Simon opened his mouth, keen to do some more disagreeing before he agreed to anything, then shut it just as quickly. There really was no point, and though he had the killer argument – if you excused the phrase – asking Lisa what part Alice’s death could have possibly played in some bigger, preordained ‘plan’ would only upset him further. Besides, even though she might think she did, Simon wasn’t convinced Lisa would have an answer to that.
‘So . . .’ Lisa was smiling, perhaps unaware – or oblivious to – the nerve she’d just touched. ‘Dessert. On me. Well, on the Gazette. What do you fancy?’
Simon peered along the Harbour Arm, trying to make out the brightly coloured restaurants at the far end. ‘How about we just get an ice cream?’ he said, realising it was probably the quickest of the various options available to the two of them. ‘We could eat it while we walk and talk. Or just eat it and walk. Without, you know, the talking.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Lisa, and Simon knew she’d got the inference. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
He followed her to the ice cream shop opposite the town’s art gallery, trying to settle his emotions after the reminder of Alice, wishing for a bit of alone time so he could calm himself down. But he liked ice cream. Especially when someone else was paying. And since they still had to wait for the photographer, two out of three wasn’t bad.
‘Right.’ Lisa rubbed her hands together, marched up to the counter, and stood staring at the various flavours on offer, so Simon did the same. ‘What’ll you have?’ she said, so he quickly made his selection.
‘After Eight.’
‘Even though it’s the middle of the afternoon?’
Simon narrowed his eyes, then he caught sight of Lisa’s expression. To her credit, she was trying to keep things light, and Simon decided he ought to at least try to do the same. ‘Ha!’ he said, politely, then he turned his attention to the woman behind the counter, her face suggesting she’d heard that joke a few too many times. ‘One scoop. In a cup, not a cone. No sprinkles.’ He looked at Lisa, for some reason feeling the need to involve her in the decision – or perhaps to get her permission – and he noticed she was looking at him strangely. ‘What?’
‘That was very . . . precise.’
‘Says the woman who cuts her burger into identically sized wedges. Besides, when you know what you like, you know what you . . . What?’
‘Like I said earlier, Mister Picky. You’re playing it safe. Going for what you know. Whereas I . . .’ Lisa was staring at the selection of flavours as if it was an intricate work of art. ‘. . . will go for coffee. And in a cone, please,’ she added, as if announcing she’d like to sign up for a parachute jump.
‘Coffee,’ said Simon.
‘Yup.’
‘You’re sure?’
Lisa nodded. ‘As you said earlier, everyone likes coffee, so I might as well see if I can get a taste for it. There’s plenty of things I used to dislike when I was younger, and now I love them. Like Brussels sprouts, and . . . well, that’s the only one that leaps to mind, and to tell the truth, I don’t love them . . . Anyway, my point is, sometimes your tastes change, maybe even without you realising, so you’ve got to keep trying new things. Approach life differently. Stop being so . . . intransigent.’
‘Intransigent?’
‘It means resistant to—’
‘I know what it means. But asking for what you like doesn’t necessarily mean you’re being intransigent. It might just be you wanting something you’re . . . familiar with. You discover you like something – prefer something – so you want to have it again. Repeat the positive experience.’
‘But this way you might just discover a ne
w thing. A different thing.’
As the woman behind the counter scooped up a huge ball of coffee ice cream, and balanced it precariously on top of a cone that hardly looked up to the job, Lisa gave him a look that suggested they both knew he’d lost this particular argument. ‘Four pounds, love,’ the woman said, and Simon produced Jess’s card with a flourish that made Lisa smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and – once Lisa had taken the obligatory photograph – the two of them walked towards the harbour.
‘It’s like a sailing boat,’ she said, gesturing with her cone at the nautical scene in front of them.
Simon peered at the assortment of boats in the harbour. The tide had gone out, leaving them balanced on the sand at various angles, like beached whales. ‘Um, what is?’
‘A sailing boat is perfectly safe in a harbour. But that’s not what a sailing boat’s for.’
‘Right,’ said Simon. It was becoming his go-to response where Lisa’s observations were concerned, he realised. ‘Learned that in Cancún too, did you?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Like I said – that and some other stuff. Anyway . . .’ She held her ice cream out towards him, and Simon was just about to lean in for a lick when she said ‘Cheers’ and tapped her cone against the side of his cup.
He watched, amused, as Lisa extricated the small, garishly coloured plastic spoon embedded in the side of her ice cream and waved it in the air in a ‘here goes’ kind of way.
‘So?’ he said when she’d had a taste.
Lisa looked like she was savouring her first mouthful, like someone might at a wine tasting. ‘Not bad,’ she said, eventually.
‘But not good?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
Simon gave her a look – not to prove that he was right, necessarily, but more to show that she perhaps wasn’t.
‘Besides,’ she continued, taking another spoonful. ‘Perhaps it’s an acquired taste. A lot of things are. Some people too.’
Simon gave a wry smile. The thing about acquired tastes, he knew, was that you had to want to acquire them in the first place. It was all about the motivation. And his, right now, was slipping.
He glanced at his watch – almost four o’clock – and double-checked it against the time displayed on the clock tower. So far, their ‘date’ had felt like it had lasted ages, and yet it wasn’t even three hours since they’d first met. Still, at least it would soon be over. They’d finish their ice creams, have their photos taken, he’d walk her to wherever their paths diverged – he’d already decided it was best not to offer Lisa a lift home, wherever that was – then they’d go their separate ways.
And while he knew he could get her number from Will (which spared him the embarrassment of having to politely ask for it later), realistically he couldn’t ever see himself calling. They were just too different. Opposites. Despite that old maxim that ‘opposites attract’, Simon couldn’t see it where Lisa was concerned. More importantly, Lisa just wasn’t Alice, and though he wasn’t realistically expecting her to be, wasn’t expecting anyone to be, he had hoped that he might see elements of Alice in any other woman he dated.
He wanted to be in a relationship. Of course he did. To have someone to come home to, to share things with, to talk – laugh – about your day, to commiserate if you’d had a bad one, to feel close to, to love, to know you were loved by . . . who wouldn’t want that?
But he and Alice had had a spark. Something really special. And lightning didn’t strike twice. For many people – perhaps for Lisa – it didn’t even strike once. And he should feel grateful it had, as his therapist had reminded him on more than one occasion. Not resentful that the spark had gone out. Or, rather, been snuffed out.
They’d walked as far as the end of the Harbour Arm by now, and a couple had just got up from the bench in front of them. Simon hadn’t been here before, and the view was pretty spectacular: a panoramic spread of Margate’s Victorian seafront. In other circumstances, and ignoring the slightly rotten whiff of seaweed drifting in on the light sea breeze, this might have been romantic. They’d have sat down, talked and talked, all the while edging closer to each other on the bench, until . . .
Simon almost laughed. Right now, he was quite happy standing.
He finished his ice cream, deposited the cup and plastic spoon in a nearby bin, and turned round. To his surprise, Lisa had taken a seat on one end of the vacant bench. What was more surprising was how she was patting the space next to her with her palm.
So – and only because he didn’t know what else to do – Simon walked across to join her.
Chapter 16
Lisa waited until Simon was staring out to sea, then – with a disappointed ‘Oh no!’ – she ‘accidentally’ dropped her ice cream. Her choice of coffee hadn’t turned out to be a good one, so she’d been surreptitiously holding the cone out in the hope that a hungry seagull might swoop down and relieve her of it like she’d seen in several YouTube clips, but, despite the dozens that were circling noisily overhead, none had taken the bait. Perhaps they’d tasted it before, Lisa thought, as she tried her best to ignore the weird aftertaste in her mouth.
‘What’s the matter?’
She nodded at the upturned cone – it had landed almost perfectly upside down, and she worried Simon would think she’d placed it there like that. ‘My ice cream!’ she said, not wanting to put the words ‘I’ and ‘dropped’ at the beginning of her sentence.
Simon was looking at her suspiciously, then he bent over and inspected the dropped cone, like someone might examine a discarded murder weapon on CSI.
‘Aren’t you going to photograph that?’
‘Ha ha.’
‘Would you like me to get you another?’
‘No, thank you!’ she said, a little too quickly. Perhaps sometimes this ‘trying new things’ philosophy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be – although at least she’d learned something: that if coffee ice cream was any indication of how actual coffee tasted, then she’d probably be sticking to tea in the future. Which was a positive, she supposed. ‘I mean no. Thank you.’ She smiled, then turned her face back towards the view. ‘You can put that down as our “Any embarrassing moments?” moment, if you like.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The questionnaire we’ve got to fill out for the Gazette.’
‘I thought Jess said she’d take care of those?’
‘Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that. And I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.’
Simon laughed. ‘Was any of this a good idea?’
‘You know what I mean! Isn’t it better if we actually do them? Especially since we’re going to be in the paper. Editorial control and all that?’
‘Don’t remind me.’ Simon regarded her dropped ice cream, as if wondering whether it could be salvaged. ‘And I suppose so. Although that’s the embarrassing moment you want me to choose?’
Lisa gave him a look, then nodded. ‘I’ve already picked mine.’
‘Don’t tell me – “he nearly ran me over before we even got to the restaurant”?’
Lisa made a face. ‘How ever did you guess?’ she said, then her phone pinged – a message from Jess. She read the text and her face fell.
‘Oh no!’
‘You already said that!’
‘No.’ Lisa showed Simon her phone. ‘The photographer’s been delayed. Something about a bus getting stuck under the railway bridge.’
‘And that was more important than getting a picture of the two of us?’
Lisa gave him a look. ‘Jess reckons they’ll be here nearer six o’clock. Which gives us a couple of hours to kill. I guess we could go home, then reconvene here at . . .’ She stopped talking as a thought occurred to her, and widened her eyes. ‘Though here’s an idea.’
‘Where?’ said Simon, without a lot of enthusiasm.
‘Seeing how this date’s being written up in the paper . . .’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘You have seen the feature, th
ough?’
‘Will shows them to me occasionally. Especially if there’s some . . .’ Simon thought for a moment. ‘Comedy value.’
Lisa nudged him. ‘And how do you feel about the people who take part?’
Simon rubbed his chin. ‘A bit sorry for them if it doesn’t work out. Especially if the girl seems nice and the guy comes across as a bit of a . . .’
‘Knob?’
Simon laughed. ‘Yeah.’
‘Me too.’ Lisa realised she’d folded her arms, so she uncrossed them. ‘Or . . .’
‘Or?’
‘Well, sometimes, if the guy doesn’t come across as a – you know . . .’
‘Knob?’
‘I think he seems nice, and what a shame it is that they’re not going on a second date, and if I saw him out in a bar . . . You know, like I said, only if it hasn’t worked out for the two of them . . .’
‘And correct me if I’m wrong, but according to Will, it normally doesn’t?’
Lisa ignored him. ‘. . . but the guy has come across as decent, I’d be tempted to go up to him and . . .’
‘Commiserate?’
‘Something like that.’
A seagull had landed in front of them, and was eyeing Lisa’s dropped ice cream from a distance, so Simon rescued the cone, broke it into bits and threw it to the bird.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just not following.’
‘Don’t you see? Even though our date’s been a bit of a . . .’
‘Disaster?’
‘Well, “disaster” is perhaps a little strong. But even so, there’s no need for anyone to know that, is there?’
‘Huh?’
‘In fact, there’s no reason we can’t come across as . . . well, fanciable. Dateable. In the eyes of someone else reading the article. Because the “fate” part of all of this might not be putting you and me together. It could possibly be putting us out there. So someone else can see us, think “they seem nice”, and then, maybe they bump into me in town, or come into your coffee shop, and . . .’
The seagull had finished the pieces of cone and was edging closer to their bench. Simon was looking nervous, but Lisa suspected it wasn’t the – admittedly huge – bird that was making him feel uncomfortable.
