Katie Ginger - Summer Season on the Seafront

KATIE GINGERlives in the South East of England, by the sea, and apart from holidays to very hot places where you can sit by a pool and drink cocktails as big your head, she wouldn’t really want to be anywhere else.

When she’s not writing, Katie spends her time drinking gin, or with her husband, trying to keep alive her two children: Ellie, who believes everything in life should be done as a musical number from a West End show; and Sam, who is basically a monkey with a boy’s face. And there’s also their adorable King Charles Spaniel, Wotsit (yes, he is named after the crisps!).

For more about Katie you can visit her website: www.keginger.com, find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/KatieGAuthor, or follow her on Twitter: @KatieGAuthor

‘A joy to read’

‘A funny fantastic love story’

‘Engaging characters that draw you in’

‘An absolute cracker of a book’

‘A fantastic read so worth more than the five stars’

‘Beautifully written with great characters in a delightful storyline’

‘This book is like a warm chocolate chip cookie, you feel better for eating it, get a bite of exciting chocolate now and again all while just enjoying the experience’

The Little Theatre on the Seafront

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Katie Ginger 2019

Katie Ginger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008339739

E-book Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008339722

Version: 2019-05-20

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for Katie Ginger

Also by Katie Ginger

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To my wonderful mum and dad for their continuous support.

To my brave mother-in-law, Eileen.

And in loving memory of Steve, who I never knew, but I love all the same.

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.