Then I Met You

by Dunn, Matt

‘Manipulative?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Hello? Because he was so manipulative.’ Lisa was looking like one of those cartoon characters who was about to blow steam out of their ears. ‘Please, Simon, spare me any more of your insights, which quite frankly . . .’

  Lisa stopped talking mid-sentence, then let out a brief, high-pitched scream, which Simon guessed was his cue to shut up. While he wasn’t a fan of awkward silences, he consoled himself with the fact that – given how far out of his depth he was, and how relationships so weren’t his specialist subject – this one would surely be less awkward than anything he might say. But as she stomped angrily back along the seafront, his desire to make Lisa feel better got the better of him.

  ‘All I’m saying is . . .’ Simon took a deep breath. ‘. . . and, like I mentioned, I’m hardly an expert, so feel free to disregard anything I say, which I imagine you’ll probably do anyway, but don’t you think you just need to find someone who appreciates you? Chris clearly didn’t. And maybe going out with a man who seems to like to upgrade his girlfriends as often as he upgrades his phone isn’t the smartest . . .’ Simon had walked on a few steps more, then he noticed Lisa hadn’t, so he wheeled around smartly and walked back to where she was standing.

  ‘Upgrade?’

  Simon winced, pretty sure the almost-pleasant tone Lisa had adopted was a complete contrast to how she felt inside. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because men are liars!’ spat Lisa, angrily. ‘They say one thing and then do something completely different. Or they tell you what you want to hear, but all the while they’re thinking the complete opposite. Or they promise you the world, then let you down. And so how are you supposed to tell the good ones – if there are any – by what they say, because . . .’

  ‘What about by what they do? “Action is character”, and all that?’

  ‘You’re quoting literary stuff to me?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was, um, literary stuff.’ Simon was about to attempt air quotes, but he quickly pulled them back in. Lisa was looking like she wanted to break his fingers.

  ‘Yes, well. You’ll excuse me if I take your advice with more than a pinch of salt. Because for one thing, you’re a man. And if it was that easy . . .’ Lisa glared at him for a moment, and Simon instinctively braced himself. ‘I wouldn’t have found myself having to go out on a stupid blind date with someone like you!’

  As she began walking, Simon started to apologise again – on behalf of all males of the species – but her ‘Don’t!’ made him clamp his mouth shut.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Hello? The photographs?’

  ‘You still want to . . . ?’

  ‘It’s not a case of “want”, Simon,’ she said, angrily. ‘So let’s just go and get them done, smile for the camera, then we can put an end to this charade and we’ll never have to see each other again.’

  ‘You’re angry . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’m angry, Simon! Well spotted! And I’m afraid that’s not something you can just turn off.’

  ‘Lisa!’ he said, then he repeated her name, a little louder this time, but she seemed to be making a point of pretending not to hear him. Almost as though she was giving him the same treatment Chris had obviously meted out to her after they’d split up.

  And as he thought about it – remembering what she’d been through, then trying to put himself in her shoes – Simon decided he couldn’t blame her.

  Chapter 24

  Lisa stormed along the seafront, Simon following obediently a few yards behind like a scolded puppy. Yes, she was angry: angry with Simon, angry with Chris, angry with Jess, angry with Will – but more importantly, angry with herself. And the worst thing was, Simon was right. She did know how to pick them.

  She checked her watch, unable to believe how the day was turning out. They were due to meet the photographer in five minutes, and although she’d rather not have to endure a photo shoot where she had to pretend to be all lovey-dovey with Simon – or anyone, for that matter – she’d promised Jess she’d go through with it. Plus she had a vested interest in the feature getting published. Once it was out, she’d be ‘fighting them off’ – or, at least, fielding interest from men as a result. And, more importantly, men who were her type. The Anti-Chris, as Jess had put it earlier. Men who wanted to date an attractive, arty, thrill-seeking, independent woman. Men who wanted to commit to one.

  A man was down by the harbour, taking photographs of the boats, a large camera with a lens the size of a bucket slung round his neck, so Lisa gave Simon a ‘hurry up’ gesture, and walked over to where he was standing. She hesitated before stepping gingerly on to the beach: the tide was out, but the sand was still a little damp and her shoes were expensive. Still, she reminded herself, what was a little wet sand when the end prize was such a big one? It would brush off. Just like she’d be giving Simon the brush-off in a few minutes.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, and the man lowered his camera and turned around. ‘Lisa? And Simon?’

  The man gave her the once-over, then he glanced at Simon. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And?’

  Lisa pointedly glanced at her watch. ‘Well, seeing as we’re all finally here, perhaps you could take our photos now? Unless something more important comes up? A cat stuck up a tree, for example?’

  ‘Take . . . your photos?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m sure we’re all keen to get this over and done with, plus it looks like the tide’s coming in, so . . .’ Lisa peered around their area of the harbour, then rubbed her hands together. ‘Where do you want us?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  The man was frowning at her, so Lisa pointed towards the beach. ‘Down there might be good?’

  ‘For?’

  ‘Our photo. You could use the harbour as a backdrop. Not that I want to tell you how to do your job.’ Lisa caught Simon’s eye, and realised that was exactly what she was doing. Still, the quicker they got these shots done, the quicker they could be on their way. ‘So, shall we?’

  ‘Shall we what?’

  ‘Pose.’

  ‘What?’ The man looked down at his camera and did a double take, almost as if he’d forgotten it was round his neck. ‘You want to pose for me?’

  ‘I think that’s the general idea,’ said Lisa, sarcastically.

  ‘Well . . .’ The man stared at her for second or two, then he glanced across to where Simon was standing, and when Simon simply shrugged, he nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said, reaching down to fiddle with a couple of buttons on his camera.

  Lisa grabbed Simon’s arm and hurried him towards the harbour wall. ‘Come on,’ she said, and Simon frowned.

  ‘Are you sure this is . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?’

  ‘What?’ Simon peered down at his trainers. ‘Oh, no. It’s just . . . the photographer’s supposed to—’

  ‘I’m sorry if you think I’m being bossy, but by the looks of him he’s a bit dopey, so I’m just giving him a friendly kick up the—’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Do you want to be in this photograph or not?’

  Simon was looking like he’d rather not, and Lisa couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. ‘Photoshop it is, then,’ she said to the photographer. ‘So maybe take a few shots of me first? You can always add him in later.’

  ‘Right,’ said the man. ‘So, if you could just . . . ?’ He nodded towards the sea wall, so Lisa went and positioned herself in front of it. The stone was wet and covered in seaweed, so she didn’t particularly want to lean against it.

  ‘How do you want me?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said the man. ‘I’ll just take a couple of test shots.’

  ‘So should I smile, or what?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Lisa stood there, feeling a little self-conscious as the man zoomed in on her and fired off a few
shots. ‘Right,’ he said, checking the results on the screen on the back of his camera, and Lisa frowned.

  ‘Is that it?’ she said, marching across the short expanse of wet sand between them.

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Only I’ve – I mean, we’ve – been hanging around for hours for these. The least you could do is take a couple more.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So we’ve got a selection!’ Lisa said, in an ‘obviously’ way.

  ‘Well, I kind of wanted to . . .’ The man indicated the boats he’d been photographing earlier, and Lisa widened her eyes.

  ‘Can I at least see what you’ve taken?’ Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the camera and peered at the screen on the back. ‘How do I . . . ?’

  ‘This button here,’ said the man, in something of a strangled voice, though perhaps because Lisa’s tugging on the camera had tightened the strap around his neck.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, relaxing her grip on it as she reviewed the pictures, then her face fell. ‘These aren’t very flattering.’

  ‘Excuse me!’ The man was looking a little put out, but Lisa was determined not to let it drop. After all, no matter what she and Jess could concoct between them regarding the date, if her photo let her down, then the only invites she’d be getting would be to Halloween parties.

  ‘Can we just try a few more?’ she pleaded, then she jabbed a thumb at Simon. ‘Then you can get a couple of him, and that’ll be it.’

  ‘Fine,’ said the photographer.

  ‘And maybe try to find my best side?’

  ‘Which is?’ he said, and Lisa gritted her teeth. Chris had said it was her backside, but there was no way she was going to . . .

  She caught herself. If she wanted this to pay off, then maybe she did have to go the distance. Take one for the team – photographically, at least. Even though the team didn’t include Simon.

  ‘How about this?’ said Lisa, looking coquettishly back over her shoulder at him, then sticking her bum out a little. ‘Or is that a bit too much?’

  ‘No, that’s—’

  ‘Or this?’ she said, maintaining the bum-out position and doing the same thing with her chest, much like she’d done for some of the more adventurous yoga poses in Cancún.

  The man seemed a little more animated now, and seemed to be taking a few more photos than perhaps strictly necessary, and Lisa felt a bit awkward. She wanted to look good in the paper, but maybe she’d taken things a bit too far. And shouldn’t Simon be in some of these shots too?

  She glanced to her left, where he was standing next to one of the boats, and noticed he was trying to attract her attention. He’d been joined by a woman carrying a metal equipment case, and the two of them seemed to be discussing something. The woman laughed, and Lisa was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy.

  ‘Can you stop that? You’re putting me off.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Whatever it is you’re doing,’ said Lisa, crossly.

  ‘You might want to do the same,’ suggested Simon.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because this is Alex.’

  ‘Who’s Alex?’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound jealous.

  ‘The photographer. From the Gazette.’

  Lisa’s jaw dropped open. ‘But . . .’ She turned to stare at the man who’d been photographing her. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Me? I’m Dave,’ said the man.

  ‘You’re not from the Gazette?’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lisa glared at him as she quickly straightened up. ‘What are you doing, taking photographs here?’

  Dave looked shiftily at her. ‘It’s a free country,’ he said.

  Lisa could hear a laugh, and didn’t need to look across to know that it had come from Simon. ‘Well, if you could please delete those ones of me!’

  ‘But you asked me to take them.’

  ‘And now I’m telling you to do the opposite!’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, stabbing at the buttons on the back of his camera, and Lisa was about to berate him, tell him he was a pervert, then she remembered she was the one who’d asked him to take her photo. Instead, she harrumphed as haughtily as she could, and strode over to where Simon and Alex were standing.

  ‘So,’ said Simon, doing his best to smother a grin. ‘Alex. This is Lisa. I’d say she’s probably warmed up by now, so where did you want us?’

  Alex smiled at her, then peered up at the sky. ‘Down by one of the boats might be nice, so we can get a bit of authentic seaside atmosphere in. The tide’s out, so we can hopefully get a few photos on the sand before it comes back in.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Lisa, glaring at Simon, though he responded with a ‘not my fault’ gesture, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

  ‘How’s it gone so far?’ said Alex. ‘Will our readers be hearing wedding bells, or alarm ones?’

  Simon and Lisa exchanged glances, and she was surprised to see him blushing. ‘It’s been . . . fine,’ she said.

  ‘Only I have to ask. Whether you want a photo with you both looking all romantic, or . . .’ Her eyes flicked between the two of them. ‘Not.’

  ‘Why don’t you take a selection,’ said Lisa. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Early days, eh?’ suggested Alex.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Right, well, let’s . . .’

  Alex was indicating the nearest fishing boat, currently marooned on the sand, so Lisa went and stood in front of it, careful to avoid the pool of seawater around the hull. ‘Okay,’ she said, as Simon came over to join her. ‘What would you like us to do?’

  Alex smiled. ‘Just relax, and talk to each other. Or pretend you’re talking, if that’s easier. I just want to get a few natural shots, then we’ll go in for some poses.’

  ‘Right. So . . .’ Lisa looked up at Simon, who, to his credit, looked like he was enjoying himself, and Lisa hoped that wasn’t because their ‘date’ was almost over. As he seemed to be struggling to suppress a laugh, she reached across and dug him in the ribs.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Sorry. Just . . .’ He nodded over to the far side of the harbour, where Dave was doing his best not to watch the proceedings. ‘Do you suppose he’s going to put those photos of you on his Instagram?’

  ‘As long as that’s all he does with them,’ said Lisa. Then, when Simon grimaced, she let out a long eew! and added, ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘No. Of course. Sorry.’ Simon grinned and, conscious Alex was still taking photographs, smoothed down the front of his sweatshirt. ‘So, should we . . . ?’ He made to put his arm round Lisa’s shoulders, but she moved to block it, as if the two of them were choreographing a fight scene.

  ‘Best not. Don’t want to give people the wrong impression.’

  ‘Oh. Sure. Sorry.’ Simon thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘And what would the right impression be, exactly?’

  ‘Just that, you know, we’ve had a nice time, but . . .’ Lisa looked down at her feet, ostensibly to avoid standing in a pile of seaweed. ‘This is where it ends. That we got on, fancied each other, had a great day, but for reasons that shall remain a mystery, decided we weren’t right for each other. Just didn’t . . .’ She paused as Alex fired off another shot. ‘. . . click. Something like that, anyway.’

  Simon puffed air out of his cheeks. ‘That’s rather lot to try to convey in a photograph, don’t you think?’

  Lisa shrugged. Maybe it was. But what was the alternative?

  ‘Okay,’ said Alex, nodding towards the sea. The tide was coming in rapidly, and waves had begun lapping round the fishing boat. ‘We better move up off the beach. Just in case.’

  Lisa followed the two of them across to where a low concrete jetty, covered in green seaweed and with black barnacles clinging to one side, jutted out into the harbour. Simon offered her his hand, but with a terse ‘I can manage’ she batted it away and climbed up beside him. The wind was getting up
a little, and she shivered.

  ‘Did you want my sweatshirt?’ said Simon.

  ‘Please. Then I can have my photo in the paper looking like a pathetic female.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and Lisa realised she’d possibly been a little rude. Besides, by going on this blind date in the first place, she probably already looked like one.

  ‘Okay,’ said Alex. ‘This is great. I’m just going to take a couple of longer shots for atmosphere, so if you two could just lark around a bit.’

  ‘“Lark around”?’ said Lisa.

  ‘Yes. Perhaps Simon tries to kiss you, you look horrified, you put an arm around him, he looks awkward, that sort of thing. Then we’ll do a couple where you look like you actually like each other.’

  Lisa nodded, but Simon was glancing at his watch, and she couldn’t blame him.

  ‘Bored?’

  ‘Pretending to be. It’s called “larking around”.’

  ‘That’s hardly—

  ‘No – that’s good!’ said Alex, then she moved a few paces back and began taking photos, so the two of them went through the various poses as instructed. ‘Right,’ she said, eventually. ‘A couple more, then we’re done. Lisa, if you could reach up and pretend to strangle Simon, then we’ll do it the other way round.’

  ‘Really?’

  Lisa and Simon had said this simultaneously, which made all three of them laugh, so Alex nodded. ‘It’s for comedy value,’ she said. ‘You know, in case it turns out you two end up hating each other.’

  Simon was looking horrified. ‘I don’t think I could . . .’

  ‘Aww,’ said Lisa. ‘That’s sweet of you.’

  ‘Strangle you, I meant.’

  ‘Give it a go,’ said Lisa, reaching for his neck, so Simon pretended he was being throttled.

  ‘Perfect!’ said Alex. ‘Now if you could just square up to each other, like you’re in a boxing match.’

  Lisa assumed the position. ‘These dates really don’t work out that often, do they?’ she said.

  Alex looked like she was doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic. ‘Not that often,’ she said, hastily taking a few more photographs. ‘Okay. Now, Lisa, if you could fold your arms and look angry?’