Summer Season on the Seafront. Katie GingerЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 1

      Sarah scanned the plethora of Chinese food before her and tentatively picked up her fork to skewer a mini spring roll. When Dean, her date, had suggested he choose the restaurant she’d been excited at the prospect of a fancy meal. His profile on the dating site showed a nice guy with good taste. He liked walking his dog along the beach, old black-and-white movies, and fine dining. She therefore hadn’t expected to be sat in the Szechuan Palace All You Can Eat Buffet staring at unappetisingly grey egg fried rice and beef in black bean sauce (well, that was what the label said, but it more closely resembled bits of old innersole in tar).

      Like the meal, Dean also wasn’t exactly what it said on the tin. The black-and-white, extremely soft-focus photo had been cleverly taken to hide his receding hairline, and by using a headshot he’d kept the rather rotund and protruding beer belly well hidden from prospective mates. This could only have been in the hope that what his profile had called a ‘fun’ personality would win the day. It wouldn’t. At least, not in Sarah’s case. According to Dean, a fun personality meant constantly interrupting to talk over her, and making childish, full-on racist jokes about Chinese people, even though he was cheerfully tucking into his second plate of food and wearing bits of it on his shirt, presumably to save for later in case he got hungry on the walk home.

      Instead of the traditional Chinese music, the local radio was loudly playing cheesy Nineties’ pop. Sarah knocked back the remains of her second glass of cheap house white, grimacing slightly as acid with a hint of vinegar slid down her throat. Britney Spears decried, ‘Oops, I did it again’ over the noise of the other diners and Sarah watched Dean’s second chin wobble as he continued talking about himself, just as he had done all evening. So far, Sarah had heard about his ex-wife (a bit of a heifer since the divorce, apparently) and the latest goings-on in the Arsenal football team (a shambles according to Dean, the expert), and watched a video on Dean’s phone that was supposed to be ‘bloody hilarious’ but was actually just a bloke far too old to be on a skateboard, continually falling off as he tried to ride it down a handrail. When Sarah didn’t find it fall-off-your-chair-funny, Dean had helpfully suggested she cheer up.

      Thankful that, on seeing her date, she’d had the foresight to order a bottle, Sarah refilled her glass and took another gulp of wine. An image of Finn MacDonald’s strawberry blond curls appeared in her mind and Sarah admonished herself for not having left earlier. The trouble was she felt sorry for Dean. Everyone got nervous on first dates, especially if they’d been out of the game for a while. Maybe underneath it all he was a nice guy. When she’d started dating again, she’d felt constantly nervous and said stupid things so, as a generally kind-hearted soul, Sarah had given Dean a second chance. Plus, at that point they’d only been half an hour in and she was starving. But time had passed painfully slowly and the last hour had been verging on water-boarding levels of torture, zapping her appetite. No, there was no denying the date hadn’t got any better. However, as Dr MacDonald had so far failed to notice her existence on the reception desk, and the puddings looked quite nice, Sarah decided to make one last valiant effort to find some common ground.

      ‘So, Dean, your profile said you like old black-and-white movies. What’s your favourite? I love—’

      ‘Ah, yeah, bit of a cheeky one that, really. My mate Dave told me to put it in there. Said the girls like that sort of thing. I don’t really like that many.’ He shoved the final piece of chicken ball into his mouth and licked sweet and sour sauce off his pudgy fingers. Sarah worried she might throw up in her mouth and focused on one of the Chinese lanterns swaying to and fro above her head. ‘I only really like one and that’s Raging Bull.’

      ‘But wasn’t that made in the Seventies or something?’ she asked, confused.

      ‘Yeah, but it’s still black and white, innit?’ He gave her a wink, all the while chasing a piece of food that had evidently got caught somewhere in a back molar. Dean pointed to her still virtually full plate. ‘You going to finish that?’

      Sarah gave a resigned smile and pushed her plate towards him. ‘No, you can have it.’ That was it. There was only one thing left to do and that was to cut her losses and leave, but first she had to nip to the loo. ‘Excuse me, Dean. I won’t be a minute.’

      ‘Right you are.’ He leaned back and took a large glug of beer.

      She didn’t really need the loo. What she needed was space to text Lottie, her best friend. They’d only recently become besties, since meeting on the committee of Greenley Theatre. Lottie was the chairman – well, she’d been acting chairman back then, having been asked to take over the position by her nan, Elsie. Now, having made the theatre such a success, she was full chairman. Sarah was secretary on the committee and since she’d joined the local amateur dramatics group, the Greenley Players, they’d got to know each other even more. But it was Lottie’s determination, combined with her kind, gentle nature, that had ensured their friendship developed quickly. Sarah had been so lonely till she met Lottie, and the rest of the players.

      Once inside the cubicle, Sarah sent Lottie the SOS message. For her and Lottie, SOS meant Sort of Scared. Which she was, on several fronts. Dean’s capacity for consuming Chinese food verged on the terrifying, and knowing that if the date continued he may well expect a kiss at some point filled Sarah with the sort of fear she hadn’t experienced since watching Chucky as a kid. Lottie knew that after receiving the message she had to wait fifteen minutes then text or call pretending Sarah was urgently needed to do something vitally important elsewhere.

      After sitting on the toilet seat for as long as possible (any longer and the other diners would start to think she had a dodgy tummy) she headed back to the table. Sarah retook her seat and watched in wonderment as Dean continued to clear the remains of her dinner. ‘So,’ she said, trying to fill the awkward silence and cover the noise of Dean masticating like a cow. ‘What other things do you like, Dean?’

      He finished chewing and swallowed, his cheeks pink from the effort. ‘Well, I like football and you know …’ He shrugged. ‘Blokey things.’

      ‘Do you go for long walks along the beach? You said on your profile you take your dog.’ She loved strolling along the beach and wanted to know if and when Dean went so she could avoid him.

      ‘Nah, that was another cheeky fib. I normally take Ted to the dog park near my house. I like being near home in case he gets a bit humpy and I have to bring him back, sharpish. Last week he tried to hump a pug and I can tell you, that pug was not happy about it at all.’

      Knowing Ted was a huge Labrador, Sarah was tempted to enquire about the mechanics but thought better of it. Right on cue her phone rang. ‘Sorry, Dean. I won’t be a minute.’ But Dean was scraping his fork across his plate gathering up a stray noodle. ‘Hello?’

      ‘Not going very well then?’ asked Lottie. Sarah could hear the smile on her face.

      ‘Oh, no,’ she replied dramatically, with an exaggerated gasp. ‘You’re where? The hospital? What’s happened?’