«Liza, do tell, how’s your internet fiancé? Met him yet?»
«Oh, we’ve strolled in the park a couple of times. He’s alright, interesting enough.»
«And what, he didn’t even take you to a proper restaurant?»
«He said right away he prefers walks in the open air.»
«Well, did he at least bring you flowers?»
«No. Called them ‘bourgeois nonsense’ and a waste of money.»
«Seems he’s not sure about you yet, doesn’t want to spend a penny. Well, keep me posted, love.»
Liza had been talking to Vincent for two months. Pleasant-looking, good chat, five years older. Divorced, no kids—just like her. Married once, then free. They’d met online by chance, him replying to her comment in a forum, and off it went. Shared interests, easy banter. Why not? Only snag—different cities. But these days, hardly a hurdle.
Vincent didn’t own a car. Saw no need. ‘Pricey to buy, worse to maintain,’ he’d say. Perfectly happy with the Tube. Liza, though? Couldn’t imagine life without her Mini.
After some online chatter, Liza suggested a phone call. Vincent asked her mobile provider. Not the same as his.
‘See, I’m on pay-as-you-go—calling cross-network’s dear. Let’s use the internet, free that way.’ His voice was smooth. They nattered about weather, work. Liza mentioned her cat, Marmalade.
‘Liza, how much does that fluffball cost you? Fancy tins aren’t cheap.’
‘Not the supermarket stuff—premium brand. Not pennies, but worth it. She’s family.’
‘Hardly the same. It’s just a cat. Never got the fuss over pets, throwing cash at them.’
Liza bristled but shrugged. Different strokes.
A week later, Vincent messaged—he could visit. Mate was driving to her town, free lift. Staying at his pal’s. Liza agreed.
They met in Hyde Park, walked, talked. Next day, same. Then he left. Nice enough, but something nagged.
A month on, Vincent invited her over. She didn’t fancy the drive, took the train instead. He met her at King’s Cross. No flowers. Well, his quirk. Liza mentioned hunger.
‘Let’s hit Tesco—big sale today. Grab bits, cook at mine. Café prices are daylight robbery.’
In the shop, Vincent hunted yellow stickers. Yoghurts, mince, bruised tomatoes.
‘Look—prices slashed near expiry. I always wait for sales. Saves loads.’
‘Oi, prosecco half off! Romantic night, eh? Fancy chocolates? Dirt cheap. What’s that you’ve got? That posh ham’s a rip-off. Got some at home, just as good.’
‘Truth is, I’m a catch. No booze, no fags, tight with money—all goes to family. Only vice? Browsing online. You’re the same.’
Liza stayed quiet. Unease prickled.
‘Bus stop’s here. Half-hour ride.’
‘Couldn’t we Uber? Rush hour’s hell.’
‘You mad? Waste money like that?’
‘My treat, don’t worry.’
Vincent’s flat was spotless. Furniture straight from the ’80s. Glass cabinet, photos of him everywhere. Lived with his mum till she passed six months back.
‘Bathroom’s there. Go easy on the water—bills are mad. My ex ran baths full, rows every time. Mum nearly fainted at the meter.’
‘Kitchen’s here. Fry up the mince, toss a salad. Bargain haul, eh? Crack on—I’ll nap. Wake me when it’s ready. Fancy a yoghurt meantime?’
Vincent vanished. Liza grabbed her bag, slipped out. Left the ham in his fridge—his little windfall.
Home, she ran a bath. Let the water roar. Laughed remembering Vincent. Fate’s little joke! So much hidden behind screens.
Texted him later: ‘Too extravagant for you, I reckon.’ He replied, ‘Then why’d I splash out on all that extra?’
‘Well, love, when’s the wedding?’
‘When there’s a sale on decent grooms—then maybe!’ Joke’s on him. ‘Economical’ suits him fine.
She’d live as she pleased. ‘Prime catches’ like Vincent? Let someone else bag him. More fool them.