Then I Met You

by Dunn, Matt

  ‘Are you sure it’s open now?’

  ‘One way to find out.’ She grinned. ‘Well, two really. I could phone them, but . . .’ She stopped walking and cupped a hand to her ear, indicating he should do the same. ‘Listen.’

  Simon strained his hearing, and sure enough, the sound of screaming could be heard, carried on the wind, from further along the seafront. And while he feared the sound of screaming was possibly a regular thing in a faded seaside town like Margate, this time it was accompanied by the unmistakable rumble of a rollercoaster.

  ‘Great,’ he said, with as much eagerness as he could muster.

  ‘Come on!’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  Lisa had tightened her grip on his arm, and was hurrying the two of them past the clock tower. ‘It’ll be . . .’

  ‘Please don’t say “fun” again.’

  ‘It will! It’s a funfair – the clue’s in the name!’

  Simon gave himself a mental kick up the backside as they walked, telling himself he owed it to her to be at least a little enthusiastic. Lisa had seemed much more animated since she’d decided on this plan of hers, and he envied her positivity. How could she still be so hopeful when life had taught her that things – relationships, in particular – didn’t work out for her? Maybe he could learn something from her this afternoon.

  They made their way past the arcades that lined the seafront, serenaded by the cacophony of bleeping and electronic music, illuminated by the gaudy flashing lights. Inside, people were playing the slot machines as if their lives depended on it, feeding in coin after coin in the hope of hitting the jackpot, and Simon tried to ignore the symbolism. He’d loved arcades as a kid – the coin-balancing, sliding-ledge things (he’d never known their actual name) had been his favourite, and he’d always believed he’d be the one who fed his two-pence piece in at just the right time, willing it on its jagged journey down to join the rest of the coins, where it would find just the right place to nudge a few unsuspecting coppers off the ledge and down to where his hands were eagerly waiting. Quite often he did win, through a combination of deft timing, a subtle spin on the coin as he fed it into the slot, an eye for the gap and a sense for the pile of coins that was the most likely to drop, as he’d tell himself. Nowadays he was wiser, knowing it was purely down to ‘luck’, whatever that was, and there was nothing he could do to influence the random way his money cascaded towards its destination – though Lisa might disagree with the word ‘random’, he realised with a half-smile. Her coins would be guided by fate, no doubt. Straight on top of the rest of them. Never to be seen again.

  He’d always fed his winnings back in, of course, but that was never a tragedy. No one got rich playing with two-pence pieces (though he’d soon learned that no one got rich at all in these places). Then he reminded himself that wasn’t the point. Wasn’t why you played. You did it for ‘fun’. The elusive thing he and Lisa were about to have.

  Up ahead, just past the furthest of the arcades, a large, unshaven man in a poorly fitting tracksuit had been banging a fist against the side of the parking ticket machine. Now he was ambling towards them, and Simon instinctively stepped between him and Lisa.

  ‘Got any change, mate?’ the man said, and Simon shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’ Then he noticed Lisa was reaching for her bag.

  ‘Simon!’ she admonished. ‘What do you need?’ she asked the man.

  ‘Anything silver,’ he said, as Lisa rooted around in her purse.

  ‘Here,’ she said, smiling sweetly as she passed the man a handful of coins. ‘It’s all the change I have. I hope it’s enough.’

  ‘Thanks, love,’ he said, handing her a fistful of coppers, but Lisa waved it away.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Is there anything else I can get you? A hot drink?’

  ‘Lisa, you shouldn’t . . .’ Simon stopped talking. Lisa was giving him a look – one he’d become quite familiar with, despite their short time together.

  ‘Something to eat?’ she continued, indicating the café next to the arcade, and the man peered at her strangely, as if struggling to focus.

  ‘No, you’re all right,’ he said, sounding a little confused. Not that Simon could blame him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ hissed Simon as the man began counting out the coins.

  ‘What am I doing?’ She smiled sympathetically at the man, then took Simon to one side. ‘I didn’t have you down as one of those people,’ she said, scolding him.

  ‘One of what people?’

  ‘Who doesn’t believe in giving money to homeless people.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Okay, I know some people say you shouldn’t, because it only perpetuates them being on the streets, but quite frankly I think we all need to show a little compassion from time to time – to brighten someone’s otherwise-miserable day. Let’s face it, it’s just a handful of small change to you and me, but to them it might mean the difference between finding somewhere warm and safe to sleep this evening or spending another cold, uncomfortable night on the pavement. And if a hot cup of coffee and a sandwich—’

  ‘He’s not homeless.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He just wanted some change for the parking meter.’ Simon nodded towards the kerb, where the man was feeding Lisa’s coins into the machine.

  ‘What?’ said Lisa, again.

  As the machine spat out a ticket and the man stuck it on the windscreen of his car – his expensive car, Lisa gradually appeared to be appreciating – Simon started to laugh.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, but Lisa was already striding, red-faced, along the seafront.

  He followed her at a safe distance, until she looked round for him, and Simon was pleased to see she was laughing too.

  ‘Don’t say a word.’

  ‘Hey.’ He held both hands up. ‘I think that was . . . admirable of you.’

  ‘Just drop it!’ she said, struggling to keep the smile from her face.

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  He fell into step beside her, and the two of them followed the noise coming from the funfair. As they neared the entrance, Simon braced himself.

  ‘So . . .’ Lisa had stopped in front of the huge sign saying dreamland, and was preparing to address him as a tour guide might. ‘This is for the “Did you go on somewhere?” section. I know normally they mean for a nightcap, or perhaps to a club, but I thought this would be a bit more original. Or perhaps highlight our sense of fu . . . um, adventure. Plus, it’s only not even five, and clubbing and a nightcap are a long way off.’

  ‘Right,’ said Simon, neutrally, conscious that seemed to be his word of choice – and how he’d been saying it all day. ‘And do we have to actually go in, or can we just say we went on something and be done with it?’

  ‘Oh no, we have to go in! Keeping it real and all that.’

  ‘But . . . there’s nothing real about any of this!’

  ‘Consider it research, then. You never know, Dreamland might be the perfect place to take a date in the future, so this can be like a dress rehearsal,’ she said, grabbing him firmly by the arm and steering him through the amusement park’s garishly lit entrance. ‘I’m sure it’s a great way to find out about someone, by seeing if they get scared on the rollercoaster, or how aggressive they are on the dodgems, or whether they try to take you into the tunnel of love.’

  ‘Ooh-er!’ said Simon, flatly, and Lisa gave him a look. ‘This your kind of thing, is it?’ he asked, peering up above their heads, to where the brightly lit Ferris wheel was – well, ‘spinning’ would suggest some kind of speed was involved, and from what Simon could see, the leisurely pace at which it was rotating wouldn’t pose much of a problem to even the most nervous of riders.

  Lisa let his arm go, then stood back to take a photo of the park’s neon sign. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she said. ‘But sometimes you’ve got to seize the day. Be a bit more spontaneous. Say yes to things when they come up, rather than always saying no. Turn every nega
tive into a positive. Otherwise you might be missing out on life.’

  Though he just about managed to hide it from Lisa, Simon winced at that last sentence. Alice was missing out on life. And he was missing out too – missing out on a life with her. Instead – and the pang of guilt that had just seared through him almost made him want to throw up – he was about to go and spend a couple of frivolous hours at a funfair, with a girl. A girl who – as nice as Lisa was turning out to be – just wasn’t Alice.

  As Lisa made her way towards the ticket booth, he stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, wondering when – if ever – he’d stop feeling like this. For a while after Alice had died, even making coffee for female customers had felt like some sort of betrayal. Just chatting to them in that friendly-but-superficial way you did with the regulars had been about as much intimacy as he could cope with. As for talking to them, or the prospect of actually asking one of them out . . . This was what he’d struggled to communicate to Will – both because he didn’t have the emotional strength and because he feared it would sound pathetic.

  But this was grief, his therapist had told him. It was like a tsunami, thundering through your world, sweeping away everything you knew and loved, never to be seen again. And when you’d experienced that, dipping a toe back into the water was the last thing you wanted to do. In case it happened again.

  ‘Lisa, I don’t think I can do this . . .’

  Lisa looked at him strangely, perhaps misinterpreting his reluctance to follow her as nervousness about going on the park’s rides. ‘Come on!’ she said, grabbing his arm again and half dragging him towards the nearest of the brightly lit booths. ‘You never know’ – she fixed him with a smile – ‘you might actually enjoy yourself.’

  And though he nodded, and did his best to smile back at her, Simon doubted it.

  Chapter 20

  Lisa marched Simon towards the ticket booth, feeling a little guilty she’d forced him to come somewhere he so obviously didn’t want to be, but also determined they’d have a good time – or, at least, appear to have a good time. After all, there was the small matter of appearing in next week’s paper to think about, and while Simon didn’t seem that bothered if he met someone as a result, Lisa was. Plus Margate was a small town, and she didn’t want to scupper her chances of ever finding love again.

  She’d spent serious time on the paper’s website earlier in the week, reading through the previous fifty or so ‘Blind Date’ features, seeing what she could learn from each one. And while what she’d actually learned was how infrequently they worked out – at least, where the last few dozen or so were concerned – she’d taken heart from that. Like Russian roulette, where every time you pulled the trigger and didn’t shoot yourself the likelihood that the next shot would blow your head off increased, she’d reasoned that each blind date that hadn’t resulted in a happy-ever-after must surely increase the chance of hers being a success. And while she was now sure that being a success didn’t mean that she and Simon would get together, she’d already resolved that both of them would be in a better position by the time the date ended.

  ‘So,’ she said, looking at the pricing board as they joined the shortish queue. ‘Do you want to get a wristband, or just pay for the rides we go on?’

  ‘A wristband?’

  ‘I suppose it’s like those tags criminals wear around their ankles. Except you can go where you want, rather than nowhere.’

  Simon ignored her joke as he consulted the board. ‘Wristband’s probably easier. Means we don’t have to queue up to pay each time.’

  ‘It’s more expensive, though, especially if we only go on a few rides.’

  ‘Your point is?’ he said, retrieving Jess’s credit card from his pocket, and Lisa smiled.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  They purchased their wristbands, Simon gallantly offering to ‘pay’, and headed on into the centre of the park. The place was busy – not surprisingly, perhaps, for a Saturday afternoon – with hundreds of overexcited children accompanied by exhausted-looking parents, and groups of too-cool-for-school teenagers gathered next to the more thrilling rides, the boys daring each other to prove their manliness by going on something that health-and-safety rules had probably sanitised beyond the slightest risk of anything dangerous happening, while the girls dared each other to talk to the boys. It was all so much simpler at that age, Lisa thought wistfully. Or perhaps it was simply that the stakes hadn’t seemed so high.

  ‘Where should we start?’ she asked, and Simon peered around the park, taking in the various attractions.

  ‘How about the Chair-O-Plane,’ he suggested, pointing at the near-merry-go-round-level ride directly in front of them, where several small children were screaming at the tops of their voices despite the relative sedateness of the ride.

  ‘That’s for kids.’

  Simon gave her a look as if to suggest it was all for kids. ‘Okay. Why don’t you choose?’

  Lisa looked across at the rides on the opposite side of the park. ‘Right,’ she said, confidently picking one at random. ‘Air Force it is.’

  With Simon following half a pace behind, they made their way over to the ride, flashed their wristbands at the attendant and joined the queue of people waiting.

  ‘So what does this one do?’

  Lisa gazed up at the ride, where a number of tiny planes – which looked like they’d been designed by a five-year-old – were attached to a set of long metal arms, which allowed the planes to go up and down (as well as upside down, she noted nervously) as the ride rotated.

  ‘I think it’s kind of a flight-simulation thing.’

  ‘Oh-kay,’ said Simon.

  ‘You could at least look as if you’re enjoying yourself.’

  Simon opened his mouth, perhaps about to say something, then shook his head. ‘Sorry. You’re right. I’m just . . .’ He rapped a couple of times on the side of his head with his knuckles, as if to reset it. ‘Flight simulation! Great! I had one of these when I was a kid. Not one of these these, but a flight simulator. On my computer. So this’ll be . . .’

  ‘A trip down memory lane?’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Though I always used to crash, so . . .’ He made a face. ‘Come on.’

  The line was moving forward and the two of them shuffled towards the front, stopping agonisingly one place before getting on, so Lisa took the opportunity to scrutinise the ride. Each plane had room for two people, side by side: potentially perfect for future dating opportunities, she noted.

  They’d stopped in front of the operator – an acned teenage boy with long hair – who was looking her up and down. Something Simon couldn’t help but point out.

  ‘He’s checking you out!’ he whispered, and Lisa reddened.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘The ride operator.’

  Lisa blushed even more as the kid looked away hurriedly. ‘No, he isn’t!’

  ‘Well he was.’

  ‘I’m old enough to be his . . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway. He was probably just making sure I’m the right height.’

  ‘For?’

  ‘The ride, dummy.’ Lisa pointed at a notice by the safety gate. ‘Look. “You have to be 1.25 metres tall to ride Air Force”, it says.’

  Simon let out a brief laugh. ‘I very much doubt that was what he was checking.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re clearly much taller than that.’ He frowned. ‘How tall are you, anyway? Or is that one of those things you’re not supposed to ask a woman, along with how old they are or how much they weigh?’

  ‘Too late now.’ Lisa thought about asking him to guess, but she was sensitive about her height, and didn’t want to risk him overestimating it (like men sometimes did when they guessed her age – something that never left her feeling particularly good about herself). ‘I’m five-eight. You?’

  ‘Six foot nothing,’ said Simon, pulling himself smartly upright.

  ‘Congratulations!’ said Lisa, though she wasn’t sure w
hy, and Simon made a face.

  ‘Tell me something . . . what is this fascination women have with men’s heights?’

  ‘We don’t have a fascination.’

  ‘No? Back before . . . I mean, in the days before Tinder, I signed up for this dating website, and it was always one of the first questions I’d get asked – one of the first ones that wasn’t rude, anyway. So what’s the big deal with being six foot tall? And if you’re in a country that doesn’t have the imperial system, what threshold do you choose? One-point-eight-three metres? Because that just sounds weird.’

  Lisa thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know about the specifics,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s just that no woman wants to go out with a man who’s shorter than her.’

  ‘But most of us aren’t. I mean, you’re almost freakishly tall . . .’ Simon winked at her outraged expression. ‘. . . so it might be a problem for you, but generally . . .’ He threw his hands up in the air in an expressive shrug. ‘And don’t start on the “physical prowess” thing. It’s not as if we have to be out hunting mammoths nowadays. Besides, most sex takes place in the dark, lying down, so height’s hardly relevant, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  They stood there in awkward silence for a while, watching the ride go through a series of acrobatics, Lisa simultaneously wondering whether it was a wise choice as their first one and hoping her lunch would stay down. Then it was their turn, and as Simon helped her up into their ‘plane’ and ensured she was safely strapped in, she turned to him.

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Not as much as I was four hours ago!’

  ‘Ha!’ Lisa nudged him playfully, then she fixed her gaze in front. The ride had started moving, and she suddenly began to doubt the wisdom of coming on here after mixing her drinks all afternoon.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ said Simon as their plane picked up speed, but Lisa was already doing that, gripping the safety bar in a white-knuckled way.

  ‘So do we control what we do, or . . . Jesus!’

  With a lurch that made her want to throw up, they were suddenly lifted some twenty or so feet above the ground. Wild-eyed, she suddenly noticed Simon was grinning at her.