The estate agent and Sarah fled the house, taking deep lungfuls of air and slamming the door behind them.
‘The next flat’s a little way out of town. Do you have a car, or would you like a lift?’
‘A lift would be helpful.’
*
As soon as she arrived home, Sarah headed straight for the shower, keen to wash away the dirt and grime she’d been exposed to. The third flat proved just as disgusting as the first two. Mould grew throughout the kitchen and bathroom, large black patches of damp covered the walls like wallpaper. Sarah had pinned all her hopes on the final flat, only to have them dashed before they’d stepped foot over the threshold. The estate agent had received a call to say the flat had already gone, taking all Sarah’s positivity with it.
Oh well, at least there’s tonight to look forward to, Sarah told herself, scrubbing her skin with twice the amount of soap as usual.
Adam sounded nice on his dating profile.Professional man in my thirties, looking for friendship with the hope it leads to something more. His profile picture showed a friendly face with good proportions. Just what Sarah was looking for.
Sarah arrived at the pub a fashionable ten minutes late. Scanning the room, she found no trace of the man she had met online. Sarah perched on a bar stool, ordering a gin and tonic and feeling a momentary pang of loss for comfortable Sunday afternoons in her parents’ home. She was halfway through her G and T when a man coughed beside her.
‘Hi, are you Sarah?’
Sarah turned to face the man. There was no way this was the same man she’d been speaking to online. ‘Yes, I’m Sarah. Who are you?’
‘Adam, of course. Don’t you recognise me?’
Sarah didn’t. White stubble covered his chin. The thick head of blond hair in his profile picture was thin and white in real life. There was no way the man in front of her was in his thirties. Even fifties would be a stretch.
‘Right, hello, nice to meet you,’ said Sarah, recovering from her first impressions.
‘I’ve grabbed us a table in the corner. More privacy,’ said Adam, winking and making Sarah’s flesh crawl. This man was older than her father.
Sarah followed Adam to the table. She could see why he’d picked it. The low lighting knocked ten years off him.
‘Shall we call the waiter over?’ said Sarah.
‘No need. I’ve already ordered.’
‘Yes, but I haven’t.’
Adam laughed. ‘No, silly, I’ve ordered for both of us.’
‘You ordered for me?’ asked Sarah, astounded at the cheek of the man.
‘Sure did.’
‘But how did you know what I like?’
‘Everyone likes seafood.’
‘I’m allergic to seafood.’ This was not true, although there had been one occasion when Sarah had suffered at the hands of a dodgy mussel.
‘Oh. I ordered bread as a side. You could eat that?’
‘Or I could just order for myself?’
‘Too late,’ said Adam, pointing to a waiter who walked through the bar carrying an enormous tray of seafood, its crowning glory a lobster on top.
‘Excuse me, do you think we could order a bowl of chips to go with this?’
‘Of course,’ said the waiter.
‘Chips?’ Adam laughed. ‘You look like a girl who enjoys her food.’
