Then I Met You

by Dunn, Matt

  ‘Well, I’m probably the last person to give you advice. Or, at least, the last person you want to hear it from. But . . .’ He put his glass down and looked earnestly at her. ‘Just take it slowly, will you? Men can be a bit put off if the girl’s too full on.’

  ‘I’m not full on. And besides, and not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing Simon again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ said Chris, then he checked the time on the clock on the oven, and looked anxiously across the kitchen at her. ‘So. We good?’

  Lisa stared back at him for a moment, surprised to find she didn’t actually care that much. ‘Good?’

  ‘Great,’ said Chris, either not even waiting for her to answer, or mistakenly thinking she already had. ‘In that case, c’mere.’

  ‘What?’

  He was standing there, his arms wide open and a puppy-dog look on his face, so Lisa thought: What the hell. The quicker she got shot of him, the quicker she could get shot of the rest of that Chardonnay. Reluctantly, she stood up, strode across the kitchen and allowed herself to be hugged. And hugged. Because, for some reason, Chris wasn’t letting go.

  ‘Chris, what are you . . . ?’

  ‘You smell good.’

  ‘Thank you, but—’

  ‘I missed you, you know?’

  ‘You could have fooled me.’

  ‘I did. Still do, actually.’

  Chris leaned down and kissed her briefly on the forehead, and when Lisa looked up, more in surprise than anything else, he planted a kiss on her lips.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Come on, babe. You and me were good together.’

  ‘Evidently not that good.’

  ‘No, I meant . . .’ He indicated the way to the bedroom. ‘In there.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. No, hang on, that didn’t come out right.’

  ‘So how about it? One last time. For old times’ sake?’

  Chris still hadn’t let her go, and Lisa’s jaw had dropped open in amazement, though he seemed to see it as an opportunity, as a split second later he’d clamped his mouth to hers, stuck his tongue in and was moving it around like someone trying to find something in a lucky dip.

  She stood there for a second or two, trying not to gag at the taste of Chardonnay and stale tobacco, wondering how best to respond. A knee in the groin might do the trick, though clamping her jaws shut would probably produce a similar effect. Eventually, a swift shove to his chest gave her the space she needed to duck down and out of his grasp.

  ‘What on earth was that?’

  Chris was looking surprised, in a ‘how on earth could you turn me down?’ kind of way. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

  ‘Why on earth would you—’

  ‘It’s Saturday night. You’re lonely. I’m . . .’

  Lisa held a hand out to stop him. ‘You really don’t want me to complete that sentence.’

  ‘Oh well. Worth a try.’ He winked at her. ‘You’re sure now?’

  Lisa stared incredulously back at him. ‘Yes, I’m sure! And what about Cat?’

  Chris stared at her, seemingly genuinely puzzled. ‘Oh. Right,’ he said, after a second or two. ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

  ‘It will, Chris. Eventually.’

  ‘She’s getting what she wants.’

  ‘Maybe not what she deserves, though.’

  Chris shrugged again, though a little less confidently this time. ‘Anyway,’ he said, after a pause, ‘I’ve said what I came here to say. Sorry for coming round so late and all that, but I just thought you needed telling.’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘All of it, Lise.’

  Lisa felt the tears build in her eyes. Maybe she had needed telling, but tonight wasn’t the best time for her to hear such a thing. She eyed the bottle of wine thirstily, but decided she’d wait until Chris had gone before she finished it off.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re looking so upset,’ he continued. ‘You should be flattered.’

  ‘Flattered?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Chris, strutting out of the kitchen and into the hallway. ‘Anyway. No harm done. I’ll see myself out. You take care now, Lise. And don’t fuck it up with Stephen!’

  He raised both eyebrows in rapid succession as he said the wrong name, and Lisa knew it was probably meant as a joke, but it took all her willpower not to pick the wine bottle up and chuck it at his head. And ‘flattered’ was . . . actually, the opposite was true. That he’d think she’d have gone for his offer . . . It said a lot about him. Though perhaps it said a little about her, too.

  She sat back down at the kitchen table, wondering whether the day could get any weirder. There were positives she could take from this, she knew, not least that Chris was a shit, and she was best out of there. Also, she reminded herself, he’d wanted to sleep with her despite his twenty-one-year-old girlfriend, so she couldn’t be that bad at sex, despite Simon’s earlier rejection. And lastly – and most importantly – she hadn’t caved. She’d been drunk, emotional, lonely and feeling rejected, and someone had come along who might have made her feel better about all of those things – even if she’d have ended up feeling worse in the long term. And that – strangely enough – was worth celebrating.

  She blew her nose noisily on a piece of paper towel, reached across the table and purposefully picked up the wine bottle. She shouldn’t keep drinking straight from it, she knew, but she didn’t want to use Chris’s glass and she couldn’t be bothered to walk across to the cupboard and get a fresh one.

  Lisa looked around the kitchen. Her glass measuring jug was on the draining board next to the sink, within reach, and it had a handle. More importantly, it held a decent amount. Not really appropriate, but it would do for now.

  A phrase, Lisa suspected as she emptied the bottle into the jug, that had probably applied to most of the men in her life.

  Chapter 31

  Simon stood and stared at Lisa’s house, steeling himself to go and knock on the door. The lights were still on, which he supposed was a good sign – at least he wouldn’t be waking her up. He’d spent the short walk back planning what to say. A simple ‘I think I left my car keys on the dryer’ should do the trick – though, then again, that might remind Lisa he’d had his trousers off earlier (and consequently how he’d been so keen to put them back on again), and out of spite she might decide not to let him in.

  Perhaps it would be better to make a joke of it. Keep things light. After all, they still had to get together to make sure their answers for the Gazette tallied up, and . . . actually, perhaps not. Lisa hadn’t looked particularly amused earlier, so any attempt at humour might not go down all that well. Simon suspected she might not see the funny side yet. If ever. He was having a hard enough time doing that himself.

  No, a simple in-and-out, bolstered by the reminder about getting their stories straight, made the most sense. Perhaps he should suggest that was why he’d come back. Deal with that tonight, then he’d be out of her life for good, she’d never have to see him again . . . Yes, he should lead with that. Tell her he’d come back so they could finish what they’d started – though not the other thing they’d started – and try to make peace with her, tell her they needed to make sure they were singing from the same hymn sheet, work through the last bits of the questionnaire (though he was already nervous about revisiting the ‘Did you kiss?’ section), and at some point she was bound to need the toilet. Then all he had to do was sneak into the kitchen, retrieve his keys and job done.

  Simon caught himself. Why was he being so disingenuous? Sneaking around wasn’t him. Never had been, in fact. Surely it was better to just knock on the door, and then, when she answered, he’d smile apologetically, pat his pockets, wonder where his keys were, he and Lisa would hunt round the house for them, and – ha ha! – they’d find them on the dryer. Although that might involve going back into the bedroom, of course – and Simon wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, in case
Lisa got the wrong idea, because he didn’t think Lisa could take being turned down a second time. And – given how their kiss was playing on his mind – he was worried he might not be as resolute as he’d been earlier.

  He walked along the garden path and readied himself at the front door, but just as he was about to press the bell, the door opened and – though it was a toss-up as to who was the more surprised – Simon was shocked to find himself face to face with Chris.

  ‘It ain’t what you think!’

  Simon frowned. ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Me being here now. With Lisa,’ he said, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder, in case Simon was in any doubt where she was.

  ‘And what do I think, exactly?’

  ‘You know.’ Chris looked sheepish. ‘That there’s been anything weird going on.’

  Simon almost laughed. He’d had enough weirdness today to last him a lifetime.

  ‘In fact,’ continued Chris, ‘I’ve just been telling her not to fuck it up with you. Excuse my French.’

  ‘Right. Thanks,’ said Simon. ‘Or rather, merci beaucoup. If you excuse mine!’

  Chris looked a little confused. ‘Listen, I’ll be off. Can’t keep Cat waiting. Told her I was only heading out to the garage to get some fags, and I’ve been gone so long she’ll be wondering what I’m up to!’

  Simon made a neutral face, even though Cat wasn’t the only one.

  ‘Anyway. I’ll leave you two to it!’ Chris winked, then – giving him a wide berth on the path – hurried off out through the garden gate, so Simon made his way inside and closed Lisa’s front door softly behind him.

  He crept along the hall, then saw the kitchen light was on, so he quietly pushed the door open. Lisa was sitting at the kitchen table, a determined expression on her face, emptying the contents of a bottle of wine into a glass measuring jug. As she raised it to her mouth, he knocked lightly on the door frame, and she nearly dropped the jug in surprise.

  ‘What the . . . ?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  Lisa glanced guiltily at the jug of wine. ‘I was, um, measuring how much was left,’ she said, half-heartedly attempting to pour it back from the jug into the bottle.

  ‘Um . . . why?’

  ‘Why not?’ Lisa said, sharply.

  ‘Oh-kay.’ Simon walked over to stand behind the chair opposite her. ‘Chris let me in.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

  He flinched at the venom in Lisa’s reply. Still, he realised, he couldn’t blame her for being angry. ‘Can I ask what he was doing here?’

  ‘No, you can’t!’ Lisa huffed impatiently, then gave up on trying to refill the wine bottle. ‘He came round to apologise. For being such a shit. Then demonstrated exactly what a shit he was by trying to sleep with me.’

  Simon was surprised to feel a mix of anger and jealousy bubbling up inside him. ‘Oh-kay,’ he said again, and Lisa’s eyes flashed angrily.

  ‘Will you cut that out?’

  ‘Cut what out?’

  ‘That sanctimonious “oh-kay” of yours.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Simon nodded at the chair in front of him. ‘May I?’

  ‘It’s a free country.’

  He took that as a yes, albeit hardly an enthusiastic one, and sat down.

  ‘So what did you want?’

  ‘Me?’

  Lisa gave him a look, and Simon made a face.

  ‘What Chris wanted. Well, not exactly what Chris wanted.’ He grinned, but when Lisa didn’t return as much as a flicker of a smile, he understood that may have been a little insensitive. ‘Firstly, to apologise. And because I didn’t want to leave things like that. Especially since we still have to finish that questionnaire. You know, to make each other look good.’

  ‘And having “Lisa’s a slut because she tried to force me to sleep with her” in the paper might not be the best way to achieve that?’

  ‘You’re not . . . I mean, I don’t think . . .’ Simon sighed. ‘It . . . Events just took me a little by surprise, that’s all. As you know, I’m not that experienced in what happens on dates nowadays. And you know how they say “it’s not you, it’s me”? That’s actually true.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Lisa was eyeing the wine-filled measuring jug as if she was considering downing the whole thing, and Simon was keen to make sure she didn’t –though she might pass out, meaning his route to retrieving his keys would be easier, he couldn’t leave her like that if that was the case.

  He reached across the table gingerly, and slowly and carefully removed it from in front of her, as if disarming a trigger-happy gunman.

  ‘It’s true. I . . . freaked out, okay?’

  ‘Thanks very much!’

  ‘Why do you keep making this about you?’

  Lisa was staring at him, and Simon wondered what he’d said wrong now. Though fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on your point of view – she had no issue in telling him.

  ‘How can it not be?’

  ‘Because not everything is!’

  He’d almost shouted that last sentence – not meaning to raise his voice, but somehow the evening’s events had got to him. And, for some reason, he wanted – no, needed – Lisa to understand. She deserved to know.

  Now was as good a time as any. And, Simon suspected, quite possibly his last chance.

  ‘Listen, Lisa. Alice and I didn’t split up, or finish with each other, or anything like that,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Alice died. Unexpectedly. In the middle of what I hoped was going to be the last relationship I’d ever have.’

  ‘Oh, Simon.’

  ‘Yup.’

  He put his head in his hands, unable to meet Lisa’s eyes. It was the first time he’d admitted that to anyone, despite his therapist advising him to do the opposite, since he’d run away (because that was what he’d done, he now knew) from London and moved to Margate. But somehow, this evening, perhaps due to a combination of everything that had happened, the emotions Lisa had stirred up, and not an inconsiderable amount of alcohol, everything had fallen into place. Become clear.

  Why he’d felt the need to tell Lisa, of all people, was beyond him. Maybe it was just because she was here. But, right now, he was really glad she was. Glad he was. And then, like a thunderbolt, Simon realised something. That sometimes, the purpose of your pain was that it might help you connect with someone else. And that Lisa might be that person.

  ‘How did she . . . ?’ Lisa’s expression was hard to read, but Simon could only imagine what his face looked like. ‘I mean, what . . . ?’

  ‘Happened?’ He puffed air out of his cheeks. ‘A road accident. The other driver was on their phone. Sending a text. He was going way more than twenty miles per hour, and . . . well, he didn’t see her. She didn’t stand a chance. The ambulance crew did their best, but . . .’ He hesitated, aware his voice was cracking, and Lisa reached across to give his hand a brief supportive squeeze.

  ‘And when exactly did this . . . ? I mean, how long ago did she . . . ? I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be able to finish my . . .’

  Simon looked at his watch, which Lisa evidently found strange, until she realised he was checking the date. ‘Two years ago,’ he said.

  ‘Today?’

  Simon let out a short laugh. ‘That would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it, me coming out on a date on the anniversary? If “anniversary” is the right word?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Lisa. ‘Gosh,’ she said, looking like she was doing her best to take it all in. ‘And the driver?’

  ‘He was okay, unfortunately. Denied he’d been texting. Even tried to blame her for the accident, so he didn’t have to lose his no-claims bonus.’

  ‘But that’s . . .’

  ‘Isn’t it.’ Simon shook his head slowly. ‘He said she’d run a red light. Pulled out in front of him.’ He paused again, and Lisa blushed, perhaps at her earlier road-crossi
ng faux pas. ‘But Alice was a good driver. And wasn’t the type to take risks. She was a nurse, and she always said she’d seen enough accidents during her time working in A&E to make her extremely aware of her surroundings. But sometimes, despite your best efforts . . .’ He pressed his lips together and took a moment to compose himself. ‘Anyway, his phone records proved he was lying. Which was something, I suppose.’

  ‘Is he in prison?’

  ‘Yeah. Six years for dangerous driving. Out in three. Hardly seems fair, if you ask me.’

  Lisa put her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘That’s . . . ridiculous.’

  ‘Isn’t it? But it’s also the law. Unfortunately.’

  ‘Christ. I bet you wished you were a barrister. Maybe you could have done something about that.’

  ‘Good one,’ said Simon, flatly, and Lisa suddenly looked horrified at herself.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, though if she meant for his loss or the stupid thing she’d just blurted out, Simon wasn’t sure. She reached out across the table again, but drew her hand back without touching his, perhaps worried it might be inappropriate, then looked at him earnestly. ‘How on earth do you get over something like that?’

  Simon reached for a piece of kitchen towel from the roll on the table and blew his nose. ‘I’m not sure you do. But you can move on. According to my therapist. Though I’m still trying, to be honest. As Will keeps reminding me. Which is why . . .’ He indicated the two of them, then he blushed furiously. ‘I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right at all. What I mean is, life goes on – for the rest of us, at least – and when something like that happens, you’ve got two choices: either carry on with things, or curl up into a ball and hide away from the rest of the world.’ He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Which is kind of what I did for a while. For almost two years, actually.’

  Lisa had gone silent, and was currently staring at a spot on the table in between the two of them, so Simon reached for the wine jug and took a swig. Maybe telling her about Alice was a mistake, but the evening’s events seemed to require an ‘all cards on the table’, full-disclosure policy, so why not? It wasn’t a secret, and it wasn’t as if Simon had murdered her, so why on earth shouldn’t he mention it? Plus his therapist had told him to talk about it. As much as possible. Made him promise he wouldn’t skirt around the subject if asked. The fact that for the past two years he’d avoided putting himself in a position where he would be asked was neither here nor there. And while constantly referring to something had seemed to him a rather strange way to achieve what was apparently called ‘closure’, perhaps it had been good advice – though, like all good advice, it had been difficult to hear, and was even more uncomfortable to act on. And although he’d worried telling any woman he met might put them off, he reminded himself that putting Lisa off wasn’t actually a problem, seeing as he’d already managed to achieve that. Plus, finding out how she reacted might just be useful in the future. If and when he decided to start dating again.