The Perfect Date

By Lauren Algeo

Tired of being single at thirty, journalist Kate Anderson is persuaded to join a dating site by her three best friends. After some disastrous dates she’s contacted by Damien, a man who seems too good to be true. Before she can find out if he is, her whole life is turned upside down and she's thrown into a world where no one is who they should be. Can she keep her head without losing her heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren Algeo
• Release date: Jun 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301932580

Lauren Algeo

Lauren Algeo (1985 - ) was born in England and currently lives in Kent with her husband. She graduated from Greenwich University with a First-class honours degree in Graphic Design and works for a design agency in west London.Lauren is the best-selling author of The Hikers Trilogy – a horror/sci-fi series about one man's struggle to defeat a family of mind-controlling assassins, and the people he meets along the way. Hikers Part One: Power was published in 2013, followed by Part Two: Passion in 2014 and Part Three: Politics in 2015. There are also two accompanying novels to the Hikers Trilogy - Brewer's Journal (published in 2014) and Georgie's Story (2015). Lauren has a collection of short horror stories, Survive The Night (2014), a standalone romance thriller, The Perfect Date (2013), and a story in charity anthology, Eye of Fear (2016).Lauren is obsessed with books and films, particularly anything horror-related. Her favourite author is Stephen King and she loves watching TV shows like American Horror Story and The Walking Dead. She has an Alaskan Shepherd, called Opie, who she blogs about at opieandus.wordpress.com.Join the 'Lauren Algeo Author' Facebook page for more information: www.facebook.com/HikersTrilogy or follow her on Twitter: @laurenalgeo (https://twitter.com/LaurenAlgeo)

Book preview

Chapter 1

It all started as a bit of fun really.

What’s the worst that could happen? I’d thought naively to myself.

‘Really, what’s the worst that can happen?’ Tina echoed my thoughts.

We were three cocktails in and standing round a small, circular table in a bar in Covent Garden. It was Friday night and the place was heaving with people drinking away the working week.

‘Come on, Kate. It’ll be fun!’ Li chipped in, shouting over the loud music.

There was that word again. Fun. I sipped my cocktail and pretended to think it over. Admittedly I was pretty tipsy by then and all I was really thinking was that I should have eaten some dinner before I’d rushed to get the train into town after work.

Luckily Jess chose that moment to return with another round of cocktails and the conversation was temporarily forgotten.

‘Cheers!’ I said loudly, raising a fresh strawberry daiquiri to my best friends.

They all clinked my glass and drank. We’d agreed a little while ago to have a regular monthly outing with just the four of us. I’ve known Li and Tina since school and been friends with Jess for a few years now. The older we get, the harder it is to set a date in the diary that we can all make.

Not that we’re particularly old, mind. I turned thirty a few months ago, a week after Li and a couple of months before Tina. Jess is the baby of the group at twenty-eight. The big 3-0. I still can’t get used to saying it. Still, it’s a damn sight easier to answer than the question that often hangs around your date of birth on forms. Marital status. My most hated of all questions. All those boxes but only one that I’ve ever ticked. Single. I’m sure that small, square box is there just to mock me. There’s never any room to right a detailed account of why.

I know what you’re thinking. Thirty and single, what’s wrong with her? I get that a lot. Trust me. The worst is that look that can only come from a family member when they ask you how your love life is going. You know the one. A mixture of pity and curiosity. Why’s Kate still single at thirty? Why isn’t she married with kids? I get a lot of those looks.

They usually sigh and pat my arm sympathetically. ‘Don’t worry dear, he’s out there somewhere.’ Or ‘You’ll find him when you’re not looking.’ Or my favourite response; ‘The right man’s just waiting for you.’ Because that’s a load of rubbish. I can’t imagine there’s a man out there, just sitting in an empty flat somewhere, waiting for me. If anything I’m waiting for him and he should get off his arse and come find me. I’m like that other famous Catherine. Waity-Katie, you can call me. Only she was waiting for a prince for God’s sake. I’m just waiting for anyone.

Sorry, I’m whining. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships before, but for no particular reason they just didn’t work out. I’ve been single for a year now, after a brief disastrous fling, and had no dates of note for several months. It’s not like there’s anything not ‘girlfriend material’ about me. I’ve got a stable job, my own flat and I’m not bad looking. Admittedly I’m not the best looking either but there’s nothing too hideous about me. I’m pretty tall, 5ft 8, and have shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes. Hazel always sounds nicer than brown doesn’t it? Less like the colour of mud. Granted I’m probably carrying a little extra weight, a size twelve on a good day, but what can I say I like to eat. Plus I’ve got the height to hold it better so at least I could never be referred to as dumpy.

To be honest, I’m perfectly happy being single most of the time. I like my own space. Just sometimes it would be nice to go home to someone. To curl up next to a warm, strong body…

I’ve gone off track. Back at the bar and another cocktail later, I sighed and looked around.

‘There are no decent men here.’

That was a lie. There were plenty of attractive men in the place but so far none of them had returned my not-so-subtle, bordering-on-pervy, glances.

‘That’s why it’s such a good idea!’ Jess was a little drunk now too and waved her arms around to illustrate her point like she was conducting an orchestra.

‘What is?’ I pretended to play dumb.

Tina rolled her eyes. ‘Duh, online dating!’

I feigned disinterest and shrugged my shoulders. ‘Maybe. I don’t really see the point though. Isn’t it a bit sad?’

‘Come on Kate, everyone does it these days.’ Li joined the onslaught too. ‘There are loads of sites out there now. Lots of men just waiting.’

Yeah, those lazy men again. Waiting for me to put the effort in.

‘A girl at my work met her boyfriend online and they’ve been together for a year now.’ Tina added.

It was all right for them. They were all settled down and happy. I’d been a bridesmaid at Li’s wedding to Feng last year, Tina got engaged to Jim recently and they’re planning a wedding for next September and Jess has been with Jason for six months. All happy couples and me as the odd one out. I was fairly used to that in our group though. Even now, standing round the table, I stuck out with my giant frame. The heels I was wearing pushed me up to 5ft 11 and I towered over the girls who were a good four inches shorter even with their heels on.

And they’re all gorgeous. Li is Japanese, with raven-black hair and beautiful almond eyes. Her delicate features and tiny body are almost doll-like. Tina has got that all-American look, with short, naturally blonde hair, big blue eyes and a size eight body. Even though she’s originally from Hackney. Then there’s Jess. Her curly, brown hair is a similar shade to mine but somehow hers looks so much bouncier, plus she’s got striking green eyes to top it off. Out of the four us, men approach her the most. I don’t think I need to confirm who gets chatted up the least.

The girls are always boosting my confidence with their ‘I wish I had legs as long as yours’ and ‘I’d kill for your perfect skin’ comments but deep down I never quite accept the compliments. Being the tallest girl in my year at school, even taller than some of the boys, knocked my self-esteem somewhat. I do know how to make the best of what I’ve got though. Jeans and a low-cut, floaty top like I was wearing that night usually do the trick. I’m proud to say that little bit of excess weight does give me the biggest boobs. Just a shame they come with matching muffin tops.

I’ve accepted my body now, let’s face it I’ve had years too. Even so, I don’t know if I’m ready to put myself out there and be rejected by strangers. The ones in person are bad enough, let alone people who haven’t even met me and are only judging from a couple of photos and a brief paragraph of my life.

‘With my luck, the only men I’ll attract are the weirdos or murderers!’ I pouted into another daiquiri.

I’ve seen enough episodes of Crimewatch about psychos hiding behind online, nice-guy profiles to be more than a little apprehensive about it.

‘It’s not like that anymore!’ Tina insisted. ‘There are loads of decent blokes online now.’

My snort of derision was lost under the booming music.

‘Please!’ Jess begged. ‘I’ll even help you set up your profile tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ I grumbled, but secretly I was warming to the idea. It really could be fun. ‘I guess we can get a laugh out of the men on there at least.’

There was loud shrieking of excitement from the girls and an awkward, drunken huddle over the table.

‘This calls for shots!’ Tina shouted, pumping her arm in the air. ‘To the bar!’

Chapter 2

I woke up the next morning fully clothed, with a half eaten kebab next to me on the bed. I stared at it through bleary eyes for several moments before my confused brain worked out what it was.

Nice, I thought and wiped a smear of artificial pink sauce from my forearm. What man wouldn’t want me?

I lay there on top of the bedcovers for a few minutes until the room stopped spinning enough for me to sit up. There was a thumping in my head that was almost as loud as the music had been last night.

Hazy memories of the rest of our evening bubbled to the surface. There had been shots. Quite a few. Then some dancing. Definitely not worthy of any self-respecting music channel. I had a vague recollection of climbing on a chair and announcing my intention to join a dating site to the packed bar while the girls danced around me chanting ‘Kate! Kate! Kate!’

We were getting too old for this. I closed the lid on the polystyrene container, cutting off the smell of old meat that was making me want to heave. I don’t even like kebabs.

I swung my legs over the bed and fumbled to pick up my discarded handbag from the floor. Thankfully my purse, phone and keys were still in it. My phone blinked with unread text messages.

I frowned in concentration to read them. The first was from Jess at 1.30am, it was blank. The second was from Tina five minutes later. ‘Hom ou y’ it read. I guess she had made it home in one piece, or turned French overnight. Li had followed with a slightly more eloquent message; ‘love ya bitches’. I hadn’t replied to any of them. Perhaps I was already snuggled up with my kebab by then.

I smiled to myself; it had been an awesome night. Reminded me of the good old days when we were young, free and single and out together every weekend. Although I’m still single, and free, so I suppose it’s just the young part I can get nostalgic about really.

I guess I should introduce myself properly, being the morning after and all that. My name is Kate Anderson, or Catherine Jean Anderson if we’re being formal. Which we’re not, so Kate is fine, or Katie, but never Cat. Just no.

Home is a one bedroom flat in Bexleyheath, not in the nicest part of town but in my budget. I bought it two years ago, just before the market was really bad so I didn’t need a crippling deposit. It’s not as nice as the two-bed place I used to rent with Tina, but she moved in with Jim so I had to find somewhere cheap for myself. The kitchen’s a little pokey but the living room and bedroom are a fairly decent size.

I decided to redecorate about a year ago after watching a couple of episodes of 60-minute makeover. Turns out I’m not very good at DIY and things take longer than sixty minutes unless you have a team of professionals, a huge budget and a little help from editing in the time department. The result is that I have a bedroom with two walls of old cream paper and two partially scraped clean. Trust me, stripping wallpaper gets tiring after several hours.

I also have an extremely mismatched living room. The walls are painted a neutral beige, apart from one, which has half a dozen streaks of varying shades from my venture in to colour testing. I still haven’t picked one yet and am not sure if B&Q even stock the ones I trialled any more. Or were they from Homebase? The floor is covered in a worn, caramel coloured carpet that I was intending to change when I bought the two, navy two-seater sofas that now sit on it. I never quite got round to that, or updating the burgundy curtains that hang over the window at the front of the room. There’s a nice light oak dining table at the back of the room but I haven’t actually hosted any of those dinner parties I told myself I’d have when I bought it. I think I’ve only used it once so far; it’s usually the dumping ground for my bag, coat and post when I get home.

The kitchen is the room I spend the least amount of time in. Let’s just say cooking is not my forte and my smoke alarm often lets me know how disappointed it is with my efforts. That’s the room I padded slowly towards now.

Give me water, my fuzzy tongue would have said if it wasn’t too dry to move.

I ran the tap and poured myself a glass then drank the cool liquid greedily. A few drops dribbled down my chin but I couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away. I got some paracetemol from the cupboard to try and quiet my thumping head then carried a refilled glass through the alcove to the living room. I collapsed on to the sofa and groped blindly down the sides for the TV remote.

Had I really agreed to join a dating site? I shuddered inwardly.

The girls would never let me back down now, I would have to go through with it. No doubt Jess would have trawled through Google today looking for the best ones before I came for lunch. There’s a thought, lunch. What time is it? I squinted at the TV and Sky kindly informed me that it was 11.32am. Plenty of time.

I managed to eat some toast then had a scalding hot shower to try and force my body into recovery. By 1pm I was feeling a lot better and looked a great deal more presentable.

I locked up the flat and went down to the garages at the back to fetch my little red Fiat. Jess lived a good fifteen minutes drive away on the other side of Sidcup. I drove slowly, wondering if I was still over the limit from last night. Who knew how much we had drunk in the end. Hopefully Jess would be feeling delicate too and slightly less energetic than usual.

‘Afternoon!’ She boomed when she opened the front door to me.

No such luck. She was bright and cheerful and the muddy trainers in the porch told me that she had even been for a run that morning. She was immaculately dressed in dark, skinny jeans and a cream, lace-detailed top.

‘Come in, come in!’ She stepped back in to the house and I followed her along the hallway. Even her curly hair was bouncing.

I paused halfway along to admire a canvas. The walls were lined with photographs but I hadn’t seen this one before. Jess is a photographer and has an amazing eye for detail. This one was a close up of a red ladybird on a green leaf, the colours were so vivid I wanted to reach out and touch it. It couldn’t have been more different to the moody, black and white beach print next to it but you could somehow tell the same person had taken them.

‘Fancy a glass of wine with lunch?’ Jess called from the back of the house.

My face paled at the thought. ‘God no!’ I shook my head as I joined her in the kitchen.

She was standing at the cooker and stirring something in a large pot. It smelt amazing.

‘I’ve made a mushroom risotto, is that ok?’

‘Perfect.’ I smiled.

Jess had far superior cooking skills to me, coming to hers for a meal was as good as going to a restaurant.

‘Have you heard from Jason yet then?’ I plonked myself on a stool at the breakfast bar at the end of the counter.

Jess rolled her eyes at me. ‘Yes he called drunk last night and again this morning. He sounded terrible but apparently the stag is in a much worse state. He mumbled something about a Disney princess costume!’

I sniggered. The groom of the stag do Jason was on was a burly, six-foot rugby player who did not have the legs for a little pink dress.

‘There’s only one night left so hopefully they don’t get in too much trouble. Thank god it’s just a weekend!’

Jess made us soft drinks and we reminisced about the night before over lunch. The risotto was fantastic. I was beginning to think she’d forgotten about my drunken agreement but then she pushed her empty plate aside and put a shiny, silver laptop on the table. I scowled at it as she pressed the power button.

‘Don’t give me that look, you promised!’ She waggled a finger accusingly at me. ‘Besides, I spent ages picking the best one for you to join.’

See, I told you.

‘Fine!’ I huffed ‘But if no one decent messages me after a week, I’m pulling the profile.’

Jess smiled, clearly enjoying herself. They all wanted to live their old single lives vicariously through me and I wasn’t quite fulfilling their expectations yet.

‘Now, there are loads of dating sites but a girl I know joined this new one that’s supposed to be really good. It’s called Perfect Date?’

I shrugged. I’d never heard of it. It must not have one of those annoyingly patronising adverts that make me want to throw things at the TV.

‘We just have to fill in a few details, upload a picture of you, then browse through the men!’

I had to admit that part would be fun. Even if it was just to mock them.

‘Ok, here we go.’ Her fingers clicked rapidly on the keyboard. ‘Name?’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you can answer some of these questions yourself.’

‘No, I mean do you want to be Kate or Catherine, or Katie?’

‘Catherine.’ I decided. Maybe I could attract a wealthier man with a more formal profile.

‘Ok. You’re female… thirty years old…’ Jess mumbled to herself as she filled in the spaces. ‘Occupation?’ She said louder to me.

‘Just put journalist.’

It sounds glamorous doesn’t it? Journalist. Like you imagine me rushing to cover breaking news stories and reporting important moments in history? In reality, I work for a small, local newspaper in Bexleyheath with a tiny team of staff and an even tinier budget. I write articles on traffic issues, council matters and the odd local crime. As the resources at the paper are so stretched, I also review new restaurants, films and books and look after the classifieds. It sounds a lot, and still a little too exciting. News is slow and there aren’t exactly a lot of new openings for me to attend. The paper is circulated once a week, on a Wednesday, and it’s pretty thin. The highlight of last week was my glowing report on a neighbours’ dispute over a new fence. Riveting stuff.

‘They want some basic appearance details.’ Jess told me. ‘Height, build, etc.’

‘Just put what you think.’ I replied.

This part was boring. I sipped my lemonade then carried our empty plates to the sink.

‘Ok, nearly done. There are a few questions to gauge your personality. Favourite food?’

I paused and leant back against the counter. Hmm, so many choices.

‘Pizza… no wait, curry… hang on.’ I wanted to attract a decent man here. Catherine would need to have fancier tastes.

‘Scallop linguine with truffle oil.’ I smiled proudly.

I’ve had it a couple of times in restaurants and it’s pretty tasty. Jess half turned and raised an eyebrow at me over her shoulder but typed it anyway.

‘Drink?’

‘Champagne.’

‘Film?’

I went and sat back down at the table. That was a trickier one. I enjoy most films, thrillers in particular, but what would make me more appealing. Something arty perhaps? An old black and white classic?

‘You’re supposed to answer these honestly you know.’ Jess sighed ‘Otherwise you’ll end up on a date with a man you have nothing in common with!’

That may be true, but most men might be put off by the fact that my favourite film is actually Reservoir Dogs and I prefer to watch it with a large meat feast pizza and a bottle of cider. I didn’t want to scare them off right away.

‘Ok, Forest Gump.’ I finally replied, nodding in approval at my own choice.

That was good. I do love that film and it has a bit of everything; drama, emotion, action. I would appear sensitive but with a bit of an edge.

‘Last one, hobbies?’

Ah. I racked my brain trying to think of one. Turns out I don’t actually have any hobbies of note. I don’t belong to any clubs and I’m not part of any teams. Is drinking a hobby? I guess I could say ‘socialising’ but that clearly meant alcoholic.

‘Right. Theatre, literature and long walks.’

‘Kate…’ Jess started, narrowing