by Dunn, Matt
He felt the familiar sensation of someone sitting down next to him, so he swivelled round, then reminded himself not to be so stupid. Of course it wasn’t Alice. It couldn’t be. And the chances of it being Lisa were almost as remote – even if she had got on this bus, there was probably no way she’d want to sit next to him.
‘Do you mind?’
An older man – seventy, give or take, Simon guessed – wearing a woollen hat and dressed in a similar puffer jacket to the one Simon had allegedly been about to steal yesterday – had just sat down next to him and was addressing him, so Simon quickly regained his composure.
‘Not at all.’
The man peered back over his shoulder. ‘I know there’s other seats free, but I just fancied the front. Can’t beat the view.’
‘No,’ said Simon. ‘You can’t.’
‘Funny, though. When you’re a kid, you convince yourself the back seat’s the place to be, then eventually you realise you’ve got it completely wrong, because the actual place to be is where you get to experience everything!’ He grinned. ‘You off to the festival?’
‘Festival?’
The man laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a no. The arts thing. At the gallery.’
Simon shook his head. ‘Just going to pick up my car.’
‘Ah.’ The man tapped the side of his nose. ‘Heavy night last night?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Well, good on you. You don’t want to be drinking and driving. That’s how accidents happen.’
‘I know,’ said Simon. ‘And people using their phones at the wheel.’
The man nodded. ‘It’s not safe out there. Which is why I like the bus.’ He nudged Simon. ‘Plus, it’s free.’
‘Huh?’
The man reached into his pocket and showed Simon his photo card. ‘People always use the phrase “getting your bus pass” as a bad thing,’ he said, slipping it away again. ‘It’s amazing. You can go anywhere you want. You just have to pick a destination. Takes a while, sometimes – a few changes on occasion – but you always get where you want to be in the end.’
Simon smiled flatly. He wasn’t so sure about that. ‘What’s the festival about?’
‘No idea.’ The man made a face. ‘But my girlfriend fancied going so I’m meeting her . . . What?’
Simon realised he must have been looking strangely at the man, so he smiled. ‘It’s just . . . you said “girlfriend”.’
‘Well, she’s not my wife. Not that I’m, you know . . .’ He gave Simon another nudge and a wink. ‘My wife passed away. Last year.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Wasn’t your fault.’ The man reached up to adjust his hat, then he turned and looked out of the window.
‘Even so.’
‘What can you do? We had a good time while it lasted. And life goes on.’
‘Does it?’
The man regarded him with wise old eyes, then he reached out and rested a hand on Simon’s arm. ‘It does. It may be a different life, and not the one you’d been expecting, but you’ve got to play the cards you’re dealt, haven’t you?’ He let out a short chuckle. ‘You married, are you?’
‘No, not . . .’ Simon stopped just short of saying ‘yet’. After Alice, and certainly after this weekend, he knew he couldn’t be sure of it ever happening. ‘Married,’ he said.
‘Looking for someone?’
Simon thought for a moment. ‘Yes. I suppose I am.’
‘Good for you. After all, as the song says, one is definitely the loneliest number.’
‘Right,’ said Simon. Though he didn’t know the song, the sentiment was a little too familiar.
The man suddenly caught sight of something out the window, then reached a hand up and stabbed at the bell. ‘Whoops! Almost missed my stop,’ he said, hauling himself out of his seat. ‘You make sure you don’t miss yours, now.’
‘I won’t,’ said Simon, though he couldn’t help but wonder if he already had.
He glanced out of the bus window and spotted the dramatic outline of the gallery, the clean white lines of the modern building a striking contrast to the churning blue-grey sea behind it. The memory of his time there yesterday came flooding back: the class with Lisa, the way they’d really looked at each other, how she’d captured his sadness yet still put a smile on his face, and suddenly Simon knew what he had to do. After all, he was tired of feeling sad.
With a whispered ‘Carpet diem’ followed by a barely contained laugh, he leapt to his feet, stabbed at the ‘Stop’ button and quickly descended the stairs.
Chapter 44
Lisa was exhausted. She’d been walking for the best part of twenty minutes, needed the toilet, her hangover had caught up with her with a vengeance, plus she’d had a late night . . . The cause of the last of those things made her smile, then she realised she shouldn’t be so pleased about it given how things had turned out.
Without looking where she was going, she stepped out into the road, only to hear an urgent beeping, accompanied by a loud screech of tyres. Her heart hammering, she turned and scowled at the driver, then rolled her eyes in disbelief.
‘You’re kidding me!’
Simon had wound his window down and he was glaring back at her. ‘Do you have a death wish or something?’
‘Me?’ Lisa marched up to the car. ‘More likely you’ve been cruising the streets looking out for me so you can run me over.’
‘The thought had occurred to me. Though, technically, most people are run under rather than over.’
‘What?’
‘When they’re, you know . . .’ Simon performed a little puppet show with his hands to demonstrate his point. ‘Then again, you’re so good at running out on me I doubt I’d be able to!’
Lisa stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘The only reason I – to use your delightful phrase – “ran out on you” is because you keep driving me away.’
Simon angrily put the car into gear. ‘Yes, well, now it’s my turn to do some driving away!’ he said, though he was showing no sign of wanting to go anywhere.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I came to find . . .’ He hesitated. ‘. . . my car.’
‘And my street was on your way home, was it?’
‘This isn’t your street.’
‘It’s the street that leads to it.’
‘Yes, well, it’s the way the car was pointed, so . . .’
‘You couldn’t have done a three-point turn?’
‘I . . . um . . . well . . .’
Lisa listened to him stammer, suspecting he was about to launch into a not-dissimilar manoeuvre.
A honking from the car behind made Simon look anxious, so Lisa waved a ‘sorry’ at them, then she marched round to the passenger side of his car and – before she really knew what she was doing – jumped in.
‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s the safest place. In fact, the only place where you can’t run me over.’
Simon widened his eyes, then he pulled the car over to the side of the road and started to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘This fate thing of yours. It’s doing its damnedest to keep us meeting.’
‘This isn’t fate!’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Coincidence.’
Simon side-eyed her. ‘Isn’t that sort of the same thing?’
‘Not at all. Maybe. I don’t know.’ Lisa ran both hands through her hair. Her house was just round the corner. A minute, maybe, if she walked quickly. Sixty seconds, and she’d never have to see Simon again. And yet the last thing she wanted to do was get out of the car. There was a warmth in here that . . . well, it was nothing to do with the heater being on.
‘All we do is argue,’ she said.
‘That’s not all we do.’ Simon smiled. ‘Besides, this isn’t an argument.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s a conversation.’
‘What’s
the difference?’
Simon nodded patiently. ‘An argument is two people trying to decide who is right. A conversation is when you’re trying to work out what is right.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Now that’s an argument. Just not a very good one.’
‘Besides, I’m not sure I know what is right. Who is right. Which is probably why I’m always the one who gets left . . .’ She forced a smile at her own joke. ‘Maybe fate’s just got it in for me. Perhaps I did something wrong in a past life, and karma is—’
‘Hey!’ The sharpness of Simon’s tone made her jump. ‘The way Chris treated you is nothing to do with you – and everything to do with him. He didn’t deserve you, and you certainly didn’t deserve him.’
‘Maybe,’ said Lisa, hesitantly.
‘Any man would be lucky to have you. I’d be lucky to have you.’
‘As a friend?’
Simon was staring out through the windscreen. ‘As more than a friend.’
‘I’m sorry – are you asking me out?’
He swivelled round to face her. ‘What would you say if I was?’
‘I don’t know, Simon . . .’
‘As in, you don’t know what you’d say? Or you don’t know if you’d go out with me?’
Lisa sighed. ‘We’re just so different. And we want different things.’
‘Which means we want each other, if you think about it!’
Lisa fought to keep the smile from her face. ‘I can sort of see how that makes sense. But . . .’
Simon puffed air out of his cheeks. ‘A “but” . . .’
‘It’s just . . .’ Lisa thought for a moment. ‘Yesterday, you didn’t know you were going on a date, weren’t even ready for a relationship, and now you are. What happened? What suddenly made all the difference?’
‘You’re right. I didn’t. Wasn’t. Then . . .’
‘Then?’
‘Then I met you,’ said Simon, quietly.
‘Well that’s . . . I mean . . .’ Lisa felt a lump forming in her throat. ‘Simon, I’m not . . .’
Simon made a face. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘What’s “uh-oh”?’
‘That didn’t sound that good. Especially after your earlier “but”.’
‘This time yesterday, I was wishing I’d never met you. And right now I feel exactly the same way, but for a different reason. Because you had to lose Alice for it to happen.’
‘But I have lost Alice,’ he said. ‘Though it was two years ago. And a wise person told me yesterday that you shouldn’t be a prisoner to those things in the past you can’t change.’
‘Which is true,’ said Lisa.
‘For both of us.’
‘I know. But you have to realise I’ll never be . . .’ She hesitated. ‘. . . her.’
‘I don’t expect you to be. And, what’s more, I don’t want you to be. In fact, I don’t want you to be anyone else. Except for you.’
‘Simon, I . . .’ Lisa was gripping the edge of her seat so hard her hands were hurting. ‘What reassurance do I have that you won’t make a run for it at the first sign of trouble?’
‘That’s rich, coming from Margate’s answer to Usain Bolt!’ He leaned across and nudged her playfully. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve already had several signs of trouble. And yet . . .’ He indicated ‘Here I am!’ with his hands, and Lisa couldn’t help but smile.
‘Even so. You don’t think something’s trying to tell us . . .’
‘That’s exactly what I think!’ Simon threw his hands up in the air in desperation. ‘This whole weekend, something’s been doing its best to get us together – and keep us together – whether it’s Will and Jess, or your ignorance of the Highway Code . . .’
‘You mean your driving!’
‘. . . or your mum inviting me to lunch, or the photographer being late, or me forgetting my car keys, or us having to do those stupid questions for the Gazette, or even your knob of an ex-boyfriend.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve always been the last person to believe in fate, and all that “it was meant to be” rubbish or “everything happens for a reason” nonsense, because then I’d have had to try to work out what the reason was for Alice being taken from me like that. But say it is true, and that there really wasn’t anything anyone could have done to prevent what happened.’ He reached down and fiddled nervously with the handbrake. ‘In a way, that’s actually comforting. And it’s made me think . . .’
He had gone quiet, so Lisa took his hand and held it tightly. ‘What?’
‘Well, that . . .’ Simon swallowed so hard Lisa could hear it. ‘. . . that you never know what’s coming.’
‘Like a silver Ford Focus, for example?’
‘Lisa, I’m giving you my best speech here!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Right.’ He took a moment, perhaps to calm himself. ‘So, as I was saying . . . because, you know, you never know what’s coming, when “it” comes . . .’ Not for the first time that weekend, the air quotes were out, though this time they took Lisa’s breath away. ‘You kind of have to . . .’
‘Just say it.’
‘Go with it.’
Lisa locked eyes with him for a moment – one that seemed to last forever – then she reached up over her shoulder, grabbed hold of her seat belt and fastened it with a loud click.
Simon smiled, then he slipped the car into gear, checked the rear-view mirror, flicked the indicator and pulled away from the kerb.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked, so Lisa shrugged.
‘Surprise me!’ she said.
After all, if she was leaving things to fate, then perhaps she ought to start trusting it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks:
To Sammia Hamer and the amazing (and too-many-to-mention-individually) Amazon Publishing team. Without you, I might have to get what my mother-in-law refers to as a ‘proper’ job.
To super-editor Sophie ‘harsh-but-fair’ Wilson, for turning my typing into something pretty much book-shaped.
To the fastidious (but not furious) Gemma Wain, for spoting all my misstakes.
To the lovely Zizi, for coming up with such a great title.
To the usual suspects (my lawyer advises me not to name names), for the continued supply of material/not suing me.
To the Board, for the regular, necessary sanity checks, and for being just the nicest, most supportive bunch evah.
To Tina, for everything else, and more.
And lastly (but by no means leastly), to everyone who’s ever read, recommended or (nicely) reviewed one of my books. I (and my newly acquired expensive mountain biking habit – thanks, Joan!) am – and will continue to be – eternally grateful.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014, Cassandra Nelson
British writer Matt Dunn is the author of thirteen (and counting) romantic comedy novels, including A Day at the Office and At the Wedding (both Kindle bestsellers), The Ex-Boyfriend’s Handbook (shortlisted for both the Romantic Novel of the Year Award and the Melissa Nathan Award for Comedy Romance) and 13 Dates (shortlisted for the Romantic Comedy of the Year Award). He’s also written about life, love and relationships for various publications including The Times, the Guardian, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Company, Elle and the Sun. Before becoming a full-time writer, Matt worked as a lifeguard, a fitness-equipment salesman and an IT headhunter.
