by Dunn, Matt
‘What do I do?’ said Simon.
‘You should . . . Wave!’ said Alex, so Simon raised his hand.
‘Like this?’
‘No!’ Alex was back-pedalling along the jetty as quickly as she could, though, to her credit, still taking pictures as she went. ‘Wave!’
Lisa looked round and froze. A freak wave had just broken over the far end of the jetty, and a wall of water a foot or so high was heading towards them. And while she feared for her shoes she was more worried she might be swept off the jetty and into the sea below.
‘Simon . . .’ she said desperately, figuring it was probably too late for her to run, wondering what the appropriate action was in a situation like this. She’d seen Titanic about a hundred times, but nothing prepared you for when it happened to you in real life. With no other option, she braced herself, mentally bid her heels and her dignity goodbye, and prepared for the onslaught of what was sure to be cold, sandy, seaweed-ridden water.
Then, and before she knew what was happening, Simon had gently swept her off her feet and lifted her up and out of danger. Now he was holding her in his arms as the sea lapped around his ankles.
She stayed there, her arms linked around his neck, waiting for the water to recede, marvelling at the feeling of being held. If she’d been here with Chris, he’d probably have made a run for it – or, even worse, tried to jump into her arms.
‘That’s perfect!’ said Alex, still snapping away from the other end of the jetty.
And Lisa realised she couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter 25
For the second time that afternoon, Simon did his best to stifle a burp. He’d never been particularly keen on champagne (and hadn’t had many occasions to drink it since Alice), but as Lisa had reminded him, the Gazette was paying, and although he felt slightly guilty that Jess might have some explaining to do to her editor when she submitted her expenses, she and Will owed him. Big time. Especially since he might be adding ‘new trainers’ to the list.
He hadn’t thought too much about what he’d done – when the photographer had shouted ‘Wave!’ Simon had remembered the tide was coming in, put two and two together, and looked round just in time to see what Lisa had described rather melodramatically afterwards as a ‘mini-tsunami’ rushing in towards them. In the absence of any other ideas, he’d swept Lisa off her feet – ironically, the only time he’d done that all day – braced himself, and stood there as the wave crashed around his ankles, soaking his trousers from the knees down, and filling his trainers with icy seawater.
It had made the perfect photograph, according to Alex – and the picture had certainly looked both dramatic and romantic when she’d shown it to the two of them: him stood there stoically with Lisa in his arms, her gazing adoringly up at him, in (what looked like) the middle of the sea. It was just a shame that wouldn’t be the photograph they’d be using to illustrate the piece. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not if they wanted people to think they weren’t going to end up together, or didn’t have any ‘spark’.
Embarrassed, he’d waited until he was sure the wave had receded, carried Lisa the few paces to the end of the jetty and gently lowered her to the sand, and she’d looked at him with an expression of . . . well, Simon hadn’t been sure what on earth it had been. Gratitude, maybe. He at least felt he’d atoned for the Chris incident earlier. And hoped that they wouldn’t be parting on such bad terms.
But when they’d said goodbye to Alex, Lisa had suggested they find the nearest pub with an open fire so Simon could dry off; then (as compensation for everything they’d been through, and as a thank you for saving her – though Simon suspected it was more for saving her shoes) he and Lisa had ordered a bottle of the pub’s finest bubbly, which – although it had turned out to be the pub’s only bubbly, and had only been twenty-five pounds, and had tasted a little more ‘moat’ than ‘Moët’ – had gone down rather well. Simon did fear it might come up again later, but at least he was feeling better about how the day (he couldn’t really call it a ‘date’) was ending.
They’d done their duty as far as Will and Jess were concerned, and Simon was pretty sure Lisa had forgiven him for the Chris-on-the-Ferris-wheel incident – or maybe the excitement of her ‘near-drowning’ (as she’d begun referring to what he’d saved her from, after her second glass of champagne) had meant she’d temporarily forgotten about it. But since arriving at the pub, Lisa and he had talked – really talked. Like friends, even. And if that was what they became after today, Simon decided it wouldn’t be a bad outcome.
‘So?’
Lisa had climbed – a little unsteadily, perhaps not surprisingly – to her feet, and he looked up at her. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was even that she was growing on him, but he suddenly remembered just how attractive she was. Nothing like Alice, perhaps, but . . . not in a different league – more like a different sport entirely. A redhead, as opposed to Alice’s brunette, with long hair, in contrast to Alice’s crop. A fuller figure too. Not fat; but not thin, like Alice had been. And with a completely different sense of style too – more expressive, whereas Alice’s dress sense was . . . He thought for a moment, struggling to remember what his ex had been like . . . Converse – no, that wasn’t it. Conservationist . . . ? He shook his head to try to clear it. Conservative. That was it. Then he remembered Lisa’s ‘So?’ was probably a question, so he did his best to focus on her.
‘So?’
‘How are your shoes?’
Simon wiggled his toes around in his trainers, and tried not to grimace at the combination of soaked sock and wet sand he could feel. ‘Getting there.’
‘Great.’ Lisa smiled down at him. ‘Well, I’m not sure I can have any more to drink, so did you want to go on somewhere, or . . . ?’
Confused, Simon frowned. Going on somewhere would surely mean more to drink, and he’d had enough too. Going on somewhere might also mean a club, and he hadn’t been to a club since . . . well, he couldn’t remember when. A fact that was more down to how long it had been, he realised shamefully, rather than the amount of alcohol he’d consumed so far today. But at the same time, he didn’t want the evening to end either.
He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. Since Alice – and since Will had met Jess, and therefore been too busy to drag him down to the pub – his Saturday nights had mostly been spent on his own in front of Netflix, trawling through series after series. But now, being out in Margate, and after dark . . . He almost laughed at how uneasy that made him feel. A night-time stroll through Margate was hardly like venturing on to The Walking Dead set. Despite appearances to the contrary.
‘I don’t think I can go on somewhere,’ he said, then he wondered if he’d imagined the look of disappointment that flashed – albeit briefly – across Lisa’s face. ‘I’d offer you a lift home, but . . .’ He mimed being drunk, then frowned. ‘Where is home?’
Lisa hesitated, and Simon feared he’d overstepped the mark, then he realised she was just trying to focus. ‘Addington Street,’ she said. ‘It’s not that far. So no need. For a lift. Home.’
Simon hid a smile. Lisa was having trouble constructing sentences – or at least, ones longer than three or four words. Then he began to worry. Addington Street wasn’t that far, but it was getting late, and it was dark, and Lisa was a little tipsy. Perhaps it wouldn’t be safe for her to walk home on her own.
‘Let me call you a taxi, at least.’
‘Don’t worry. I’d rather walk. I could do with the fresh air.’
‘Let me walk you home, then.’ He saw Lisa’s eyes widen, and held both hands up. ‘No funny business. I just want to make sure . . . What?’
Lisa had begun to snigger, and Simon wondered why. Was his dating technique really so bad that she’d think that was some clumsy attempt at a chat-up line?
‘Funny business!’
‘What about it?’
‘The phrase! “Funny business” . . . How old are you?’
‘Thirty-one. Didn’t Jes
s tell . . . Ah. Yes, I suppose it does sound a little old-fashioned.’ He tried, and failed, to prevent the redness spreading across his cheeks, but to his surprise Lisa had reached down to place a palm against the side of his face.
‘You’re sweet,’ she said, patting his cheek as he hauled himself to his feet. ‘But I’ll be fine. Honestly.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Great,’ he said, though he wasn’t convinced it was.
Lisa had picked her bag up and was walking towards the door of the pub, so Simon hurried to get in front of her, opened the door and ushered her through. The rush of cold night air hit him instantly, and he realised a walk might do him good too.
‘Where are you parked?’ she said, and Simon thought for a moment. Where had he parked? It seemed like so long ago now.
‘Top of the High Street.’
‘In that case, let me walk you to your car.’ She smiled. ‘Seeing as it’s on my way.’
‘What? Oh. Okay. Sure.’
Obediently, Simon fell into step alongside her. He had no intention of driving – he’d drunk way too much for that – but he could do with a little longer in Lisa’s company, if only to convince her to let him walk her home. And even though the taxi rank was in the opposite direction – and Simon didn’t think Margate had smartened itself up so much that he needn’t worry about walking around the town centre alone late at night – he didn’t have the heart to tell her.
‘Listen,’ he said, after an uneasy couple of minutes of what had felt like perhaps the most heavily loaded silence he’d ever experienced. ‘Thanks again for – you know . . .’
‘Sure,’ said Lisa. ‘Back atcha.’
‘It’s been . . .’
‘Interesting!’
Lisa was smiling – Simon could see her out of the corner of his eye as he walked – but she was right. It had been an interesting experience. Not at all what he’d expected. But while perhaps the romance wasn’t there, would they be ending it as friends, or just on friendly terms? Because ‘friends’ would suggest they’d be seeing each other again, even just on a non-romantic basis, whereas the alternative was – probably – to never see Lisa again. And Simon wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
He walked on for a moment or two, trying to tread as lightly as possible to minimise the squelching sounds his trainers were making, hoping Lisa wouldn’t notice the trail of wet footprints he was leaving, then he had an idea, and while it was perhaps a bit shameful, he was quite proud of himself. His car was just up ahead, but on the opposite side of the road. If he remembered his geography, Addington Street wasn’t that far away. So all he had to do was distract Lisa, get her to keep walking, maybe by getting her to start talking – and in a few minutes, he’d have achieved his goal of walking her home.
But what to talk about? He and Lisa had covered a lot this evening, and for someone who wasn’t skilled at making small talk with women, he’d pretty much run out of conversational gambits. Lisa had been the one who’d been doing most of the talking – probably because Simon had been content to just sit there and listen – and he couldn’t think of a thing to tell her. Unless . . . finally, some of Will’s advice might actually prove to be useful.
‘I imagine Cancún was quite a change from Margate?’ he said. And when Lisa’s face lit up, he knew he’d hit the jackpot.
‘It was amazing.’
‘I’ve never been. And, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure where it is.’
‘Mexico,’ said Lisa. ‘Facing Cuba. It’s like paradise. Follow me on Instagram and you can see all the photos . . .’
‘I’m, um, not on Instagram.’
Lisa stopped walking abruptly, and Simon worried his plan had been scuppered. ‘Why ever not?’ she said, as if Simon had just admitted he didn’t breathe oxygen.
‘Well, because it’s kind of a platform for people to show off their perfect lives, isn’t it? And there isn’t that much about mine that’s worth sharing.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, then thought she probably wouldn’t. ‘Besides, there’s only so many photos of cups of coffee I could post on there before people got bored and stopped . . . what was it?’
‘Following you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You never know. If you’re as into coffee as you sound, you could end up being an influencer. You could call yourself “Mister Bean” and . . . No, hang on.’
Simon laughed. ‘Better that than “Has Bean”.’ He nudged her playfully, hoping he hadn’t just steered their evening towards ending on a downer. ‘So . . . you were saying?’
‘Eh?’
‘Cancún?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Lisa brightened up suddenly again, and Simon mentally patted himself on the back. ‘I was feeling a bit . . . lost, to be honest. Chris and I had just . . . well, you know the story. And, like I said earlier, I’m a Virgo. And Virgos are constantly analysing and thinking, which I think I’d been doing a little too much . . .’ She let out a short laugh. ‘And there I go again! Anyway, then I read this quote about how most people tiptoe quietly through life, and for what? Hoping they make it safely to the end of it? Where’s the fun in that? So I thought, if I wanted to change, I had to take a few risks. Then one of the influencers I follow . . .’
‘On Instagram?’
‘That’s right!’ Lisa gave him a quick round of applause, evidently pleased he’d been paying attention. ‘So she was posting all these amazing photos and inspirational quotes from this retreat, and before I knew it I’d booked my ticket.’
‘And it changed your life?’
Lisa puffed air out of her cheeks as they turned the corner. ‘It’s a bit early to tell, to be honest. It changed me, though, so I’m expecting it to. Eventually.’
‘So how long have you been trying this new approach of yours?’
Lisa looked at her watch. ‘Since I agreed to go on a certain blind date,’ she admitted, sheepishly, and though the next, obvious question to ask was ‘And how is it working out for you?’, Simon didn’t dare.
‘Well, I think that’s . . . admirable,’ he said, and Lisa punched him lightly on the shoulder.
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Not at all! I just wish I – I mean, more people could be that brave.’
‘Well, you obviously are.’
‘Me?’
‘Hello! It wasn’t just me on this blind date! And by the sound of things, you’ve made some big changes too. Moving here from London, for example. That’s quite a dramatic step. Takes some guts.’
‘Margate’s not that bad.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
Simon ever-so-gently returned her shoulder punch. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded, then a thought occurred to him. ‘Hey – maybe you could be one of those “influencers” you mentioned?’
‘Doubtful,’ said Lisa as they turned into Addington Street. ‘Who could possibly be influenced by me?’
Simon smiled. Because, right now, he could think of at least one person.
Chapter 26
‘Oh!’ said Lisa, suddenly recognising that the house they were standing in front of was hers. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘Where I parked it.’ Simon rocked nervously from foot to foot. ‘At the top of the High Street.’
‘But that’s . . .’
‘Where it’s staying, given how much I’ve had to drink. And I told you I wanted to see you home. It’s not safe to be out around here at night. There’s all sorts of strange men . . .’
‘So I see,’ she said, and Simon half smiled.
‘Anyway . . .’ He looked at his watch, then glanced towards her door, and Lisa wondered if he was angling for an invitation. Then she caught herself. One thing she’d realised about Simon over the course of the day – and especially when he’d saved her so heroically from the incoming tide – was that he was the perfect gentleman, so he was probably just making sure
he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Though what exactly that was, Lisa wasn’t quite sure.
‘So, should we catch up some time next week?’ he said, though he quickly followed it with: ‘Just so we can touch base about our answers. Get our stories straight. Otherwise Jess is going to be writing I-don’t-know-what.’
‘I guess,’ said Lisa, suddenly disappointed. Before they’d met, she’d assumed today would be hers to lose: Jess had told her once that the fundamental difference between men and women was that if a woman went out for the evening, she was pretty much guaranteed sex – after all, how many men would turn it down if offered? And while she hadn’t offered – it hadn’t been that kind of date – the least she’d have expected was for whoever she’d met to be asking for her number, or at least to ask her on a second date. Nobody had ever rejected her before – or, at least, not shown any interest of that kind (or ‘tried it on’, as her parents might say), especially not after spending what had turned out to be the best part of nine hours with her. And suddenly, Lisa realised, she needed to find out why.
Of course, Simon’s lack of interest might simply be because Lisa had indicated – several times – that she wasn’t interested in him. But they’d been getting on so well this evening, so much so that Lisa had been convinced that – the ‘Alice’ legacy aside – Simon was interested. And standing there, a little drunk, and very, very lonely, Lisa decided she needed to know if she was right.
‘Did you want my number?’ she said. When Simon looked a little confused, she continued: ‘So we can, like you said, touch base.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes, please.’ Simon fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her, so she punched her digits in and handed it back.
‘Call me,’ she said, and when Simon’s eyes widened she added, ‘Now, I mean. So I can save yours.’
‘Sorry. Of course.’
Simon pressed the dial button, waited until he heard Lisa’s phone ring from inside her bag, then cancelled the call. ‘Okay then.’
‘Right.’
‘So . . .’
‘Well . . .’ Lisa put one hand on her front gate. ‘I’d ask you in for a coffee, but, as you know, I don’t like coffee.’
