Читать книгу Summer Season on the Seafront - Katie Ginger - Страница 9

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?’

‘Is it the worst date you’ve ever been on? Even worse than three-teeth Terry?’

‘That’s terrible.’ Sarah glanced up at Dean who was oblivious to her feigned distress and gave her a gummy smile. ‘Are you okay?’

Lottie giggled. ‘Are you going to pretend that I’ve broken my leg again?Because seriously, Sarah, people are going to cotton on sooner or later. According to you, I’ve broken my leg about twenty times this year.’

Sarah felt a slight pang at Lottie’s words but only because they were true. She had been on more bad dates than good ones. Why did people have to lie on their profiles? Life would be much easier if they didn’t. She let her mouth form a circle of surprise. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Oh, it’s terrible. Terrible! It hurts! I think it might need chopping off! To be fair though, it’s a pretty useless leg, what with it breaking all the time, so I probably wouldn’t miss it. Perhaps we could turn it into a prop. Does anyone in The Tempest get their leg chopped off? Either that or I could bash Sid over the head with it whenever he annoys me.’

Sarah heard a muffled ‘Oi!’ in the background and had to bite her lip to stop a smile from creeping out. Sid was Lottie’s boyfriend. Soulmate, really. And a nice guy. They were the cutest couple ever.

‘I’ll be there right away,’ Sarah said, her voice full of concern. Lottie giggled.

‘Okay. Byeeee!’

Sarah placed her mobile in her bag and looked at Dean who couldn’t have cared less if she was there or not. He was busy watching another video on his phone, guffawing and snorting with laughter. Sarah couldn’t see what it was but found the donkey noises quite disturbing.

‘You off then?’ he asked, looking up from the screen. She stood up and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair.

‘Dean, I’m so sorry, but my friend’s broken her … arm and she needs me to go and get her from the hospital.’

‘Christ, that’s bad luck. Hey, are you still gonna pay your half before you go?’ He picked up his beer but paused, putting it to his lips. ‘Hang on a minute. You can’t drive, you’ve had too much to drink.’ A flicker of suspicion passed over his eyes and was instantly replaced by a flash of hurt. ‘You’re not trying to make a run for it, are ya?’He was joking but his tone was uncertain and the way his expression changed made Sarah’s heart twinge with guilt. Poor Dean. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t her type. Sarah ardently believed there was someone out there for everyone, even first-date disasters like Dean. Someone, somewhere, was waiting for Dean to find them. Someone who hated black-and-white movies, dog walks on the beach, and from the smell of grease hitting her nostrils, nice food. But that person wasn’t her.

‘Don’t worry, I’m going to get a taxi,’ she added hastily. ‘I just can’t leave her there all on her own.’ The excuse seemed to work and he smiled.

‘Right you are then.’

Dean’s balding head glistened in the light and Sarah felt a wave of unutterable sadness. Was this really what her life had come down to? Escaping second-rate dates with men who had no real idea how to treat a woman? With an inward sigh, she laid some cash on the table. Sarah always carried cash for first dates just in case she needed to make a quick getaway. No one wanted to wait around for the waiter to bring a card machine and then faff about. She’d learned those lessons long ago. ‘Here you go. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.’

‘I’ll probably finish up here and nip along to The Bell for a swift one with the boys.’ He rested his hands on top of his belly. ‘Are we doing this again, then?’

A drop of Hoi Sin sauce had stained his chin. It was a round, fleshy chin, not like Dr MacDonald’s which was smoothly chiselled and sometimes scattered with blond stubble. He was the only thing that made working at the doctor’s surgery manageable. Stunned that Dean even thought a second date might be on the cards, Sarah was momentarily unable to speak. Then checking her phone again for dramatic effect, she said, ‘I’ll call you sometime,’ before darting out of the door just as Bewitched were cracking into ‘C’est La Vie’. Sarah rounded the corner and hurried on until she was away from the Szechuan Palace and its overpowering aroma of spicy fat.

A cool sea breeze blew on to her face and eased the heat from her cheeks. It was early July but the sun had been shining since the end of May. Temperatures were higher than she’d ever known and even at nine-thirty in the evening it was still warm. The sun set slowly behind the pier painting the sky in streaks of gold, and the few clouds that were dotted about were like patches of purple velvet. The waves lapped gently on the shingle beach and music carried on the air from the pubs that lined the promenade. As the relief subsided, Sarah’s heart became heavy. Once again, she’d have to trawl the dating sites and go through all the hassle of arranging another date. The nervous excitement she used to feel at the prospect of a date was now replaced by a bored drudgery. All the magazines said she had to get out there to find the one, but she was quite fed up of it now. And what did you do if the one you thought you were supposed to be with had no idea you existed? Sarah had been single for ages, until Vince, but that hadn’t ended well and she was still unable to think about it without a stabbing in her heart. Their relationship had been the best three months of her life, but she’d misjudged the cheating git completely. She’d learned her lesson then that whirlwind romances didn’t work out and there was no such thing as love at first sight. To cheer herself up, Sarah concentrated on the thought of taking her make-up off and getting into her pyjamas as soon as she was home.

A beep resonated from her pocket and she read the message from Lottie. ‘I’ve got half a bottle of wine with your name on it and Sid saved you a Cornetto if you want to come round?’ A grin lifted the corners of her mouth. She was so lucky to have Lottie, but wished she was as lucky as Lottie and Sid had been in finding each other. They were one of those couples who were just meant to be together. Sarah gave a heavy sigh and pushed her brown hair back. There was something decidedly miserable about being 31 and single in a town like Greenley-On-Sea. As much as she loved her sweet little home town by the sea, she was running out of men to date. It was another reason Dr MacDonald was just so perfect. He wasn’t from around here and was clever, funny and a great doctor. Everyone loved him.

Looking down at her phone, Sarah texted back, ‘See you in five minutes,’ and headed off towards Lottie’s house. At least she had rehearsals to look forward to tomorrow – though the Greenley Players’ rendition of The Tempest wasn’t going quite as smoothly as they would have liked. Even with four weeks to pull it together. And who knew, maybe Dr MacDonald would walk into work on Monday morning and suddenly see her for the first time, or bump into her on the street and realise he’d loved her all along. A girl could dream, after all.