Meet Me at the Lighthouse: This summer’s best laugh-out-loud romantic comedy. Mary Baker Jayne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ guitar accompaniment, then jerked my face away before he saw me.

      “Oh my God!” I hissed at Jess, reaching across the table to grip her arm. “It’s only him!”

      “Him? Who him? Him who?”

      “Ross. That’s him on guitar. Look.”

      She examined the singer whispering into his microphone, eyes tight closed as the music carried him away.

      “Bloody hell, it is as well.” She blinked. “Hey, he’s changed a bit.”

      “Yeah, looks good, doesn’t he?”

      Jess narrowed her eyes. “Oi. Did you buy his uncle’s lighthouse just because he fluttered his pretty-boy eyelashes at you?”

      “Oh right, because I’m that shallow. Yeah, the whole thing was an elaborate chat-up effort actually. I was like ‘Is that a lighthouse on your coastline or are you just pleased to see me?’ and he was like ‘Yeah, you can polish my lamp up any time, darling’ –”

      “All right, no need to take the piss. So what’re you planning on doing with this lighthouse then? Please say selling it on.”

      I shrugged. “Dunno yet. Thought I’d look into how much it’d cost to do up. I mean, yeah, if it’s going to be more than I can afford I’ll sell it on; can’t go wrong on something that cost a quid, can you? But it’d be nice to do something with it, sort of a fun little project. It’s a shame it’s been left to get into that state.”

      “Well, be careful, that’s all. Try not to bankrupt us with your ‘fun little project’.” Jess glanced over my shoulder and groaned. “Oh God. Did you put your pulling pants on tonight?”

      “No, why?”

      “Because we’re about to get chatted up.” She jerked her head behind me and I looked round to see two beefy, ruddy-faced blokes in rugby shirts making their way to our table.

      “Ugh, not again. Really hoped we could just have a nice, quiet night.”

      “Bagsy your turn to wingman,” Jess said quickly.

      “Oh, right. Forcing me to wingman on my own birthday.”

      “It’s my birthday too.”

      I sighed. “Go on then.”

      I plastered on a fixed smile as the two men reached our table.

      “Evening, ladies. Looking good tonight,” said the dark-haired talkie one. In any group of lads on the pull, there had to be a talkie one: the one designated charming enough by the others to open negotiations.

      Jess threw me a sideways look to let me know this one was mine. Excellent. Just what I wanted to do on my birthday, be lumbered with the bloody talkie one.

      “Hi,” said the other lad, the quieter, better-looking one with the light curls. “Er, just thought we’d say hello.”

      “That was very friendly of you,” Jess said with a flirty head-toss. She was good at all that stuff.

      “You know, you two girls could be sisters,” Talkie said, looking at me as he cracked out his smoothie routine. Obviously no one had pointed out to him that line only worked for mother/daughter chat-ups.

      “We are sisters.”

      “Oh,” he said, on the back foot for a moment. “Well, you know… you look like you could be.”

      “We’re twins actually,” Jess said to Shy Boy.

      “Are you?” He sent a puzzled frown from Jess’s blonde pixie cut to my long, highlighted brunette job. “Sure you’re not winding us up? You don’t look that alike to me.”

      “Yeah, we’re the other kind,” Jess said. “Although if they ever remade The Shining I reckon we could be a shoo-in. You two want to join us?”

      “Thought you’d never ask,” Shy Boy said with a grin, pulling up a seat next to her. I groaned internally as his chatty friend took the chair next to me and not very subtly shuffled it closer.

      “What do they call you guys then?” I asked.

      “Oliver,” Talkie said. “This is Gareth. We were out on a rugby team social but the other lads abandoned us to go to the sports bar up the road.”

      Christ, not rugby players…

      “What about you?” Gareth asked, not taking his eyes off Jess.

      “Jess.” She nodded to me. “And Bobbie. It’s our birthday, you know.”

      “Well it is now we’ve turned up,” Oliver said, grinning.

      I made an effort to smile at him. “That line ever work for you?”

      “I’ll let you know later.”

      Ah, a joke, sort of. Maybe this talkie one wasn’t so bad. Maybe my birthday wouldn’t be a total write-off after all…

      ***

      I was wrong. Long after Jess had dragged her pull to the dancefloor for a snog, I was leaning on the bar with another wine, forced to listen to Oliver’s limitless supply of yawnarific stories about his job as a mobile phone salesman. I’d noticed the nickname “ET” on the back of his rugby shirt earlier and assumed it was because his eyes were a bit googly. Turned out that like his alien namesake, the man was literally obsessed with phones.

      “…yeah, so if you come on down the shop I can sort you out an upgrade, mates’ rates. Latest Samsung, all the extras –”

      “You’re all right, mate. Got a phone.”

      “What is it?”

      “Dunno.” I yanked it out of my pocket and pushed it over the bar to him. “Phone.”

      He tried not to curl his lip too obviously. “Oh. The 4680. This is well out of date.”

      “Well it works, which is as much as I ever expect of it.”

      “Nah, you need the 4880 with the Go Anywhere tariff…”

      Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. Was this it, the best Cragport could do for me? Was this my bloody life now: heading for 30 with no prospects for either shags or relationships but this tedious neckless wonder of a phone salesman?

      “Hiya, Bobbie. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

      Ross. Thank God.

      He’d finished his set and was standing at my elbow waiting to get served, his guitar case propped against the bar. I shot him a smile of gratitude for giving me an excuse to turn away from Oliver and his interminable tariff talk for five minutes.

      “Hi Ross. Loved your stuff tonight. You write some of those?”

      “Yeah, plus threw a couple of covers СКАЧАТЬ