Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha Tonge

God. It was him, but an older version. His picture must have been heavily photoshopped. Stupid me. Wrinkles surrounded his hooded eyes and his hair was clearly dyed black. It was thin on the top and—Aarghhh! Combed over. And out of his open shirt poked grey hairs.

      I know. Listen to me. Shallow or what? OK, so he wasn’t what I expected, but I was heading towards thirty, a mature woman, I should be above writing off potential romantic partners for superficial reasons—not that I was on the lookout for love. I gazed more intently … he could be over fifty which meant he might be the same age as my dad. Noooo. On so many levels, this was wrong.

      Yet I was curious. The sweetest expression had crossed his face and he stood up until I sat down.

      ‘Kate,’ he said. ‘Er, cool to meet you.’ He winked. ‘Finally I get to meet my very own Demelza. Now I just need a horse to whisk you away.’ He ran a hand through his hair, but it didn’t seem like a natural movement. I couldn’t help smiling. Only a few seconds in and he was trying really hard. ‘So, what’ll it be?’ he said, in a bright voice. ‘Vodka shots or one of those trendy ciders?’

      ‘Just a Coke please. I’m driving. But I’ll get it.’

      ‘No. Let me,’ he said and darted up as quick as you like, as if I had a contagious disease.

      I watched him, at the bar, thinking back to my first date with Johnny, in a pub not unlike this. He’d seen me singing on one of my modern music nights, where I’d performed some Ed Sheeran, Joss Stone and James Blunt. He came up to me afterwards; said my voice had a unique quality he’d never heard before; wondered if I’d like to accompany him to a jazz pub the following evening as a friend had let him down. Not that we’d heard much of the bass and piano the following evening as we talked non-stop. And just before we parted, outside, he’d leant forward and kissed me oh so gently on the cheek, ever so close to my mouth, lingering for just a bit longer than expected, millimetres away from my top lip. I was hooked.

      I cleared my throat as Marcus returned to the table. He sat down, with two Cokes.

      ‘Thanks, Marcus. Um … nice to meet you.’

      ‘Wicked!’ he said.

      Cringe. What a painful attempt to appear younger. He’d realised it too. Marcus sighed and looked down at himself.

      ‘I don’t normally wear tops wide open like the Bee Gees, but thought I’d better make an effort—you know, for the sake of Poldark.’ He eyed me up and down and I squirmed in my seat, sensing my cheeks pink up.

      ‘So, obviously you’re a big fan of the series,’ I said.

      Now my eyes roved his frame. He must have been quite an eye-turner a decade or so before. In fact there was something about his face—the dark shadows under the eyes perhaps—that made me think he looked even older than his actual years. As we chatted about our love of the programme, my shoulders relaxed and I leant back in my chair. So did he. In fact, Marcus was good company. Funny, in an understated way. Polite. Witty. What a shame he wasn’t young enough to impress Saffron. Yet, I was pleased at not having to dupe him. What a lovely guy. It made me realise I’d have to be upfront with whoever I took to the wedding. Hurting people’s feelings wasn’t part of the plan.

      We both ordered the fish pie. Looked like I’d be logging on to the dating site again tonight, to find another candidate.

      ‘I watch the programme every week with my daughter,’ said Marcus. He studied me again. ‘Sorry,’ he blurted out. ‘I don’t mean to stare, it’s just … Please don’t take this the wrong way, Kate, but from your profile picture I thought you’d be older. Like my Ruth, you can’t even be into your thirties yet.’ He shot me a sheepish look. ‘And I expect my appearance was a bit of a surprise.’ He shook his head. ‘Bet you think I’m a right arse, trying to be younger than my years.’

      ‘Erm …’

      He grinned, chestnut eyes twinkling as he touched his hair. ‘I let Ruth dye this for that profile picture. Big mistake.’

      Aw bless. What a superstar. So he definitely wasn’t some creep lusting after women half his age. Although I’d already worked that out after the way he’d talked about how satisfying he found his job as a care worker. Clearly he had strong principles—so why did a man with such integrity and passion need the help of an online matchmaking service?

      ‘Ruth means well and also insisted on putting that photo through Instagram first so that I looked “my best”.’ He gave a deep chuckle. ‘Always a generous child, she’s been.’

      I smiled. ‘And I posted a photo, warts and all, with bad lighting. How old did you think I’d be?’ Marcus’s cheeks flushed a deep maroon and I burst out laughing. ‘Don’t worry. No need to answer. My classic black dress probably didn’t help.’

      ‘It’s what attracted me to your profile,’ he said. ‘My mum used to dress like that. What I mean is …’ He groaned and I couldn’t help giggling. ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘I am useless at all this stuff.’

      ‘I love all that movie-star glamour, with long cigarette holders and classic clothes. It is such a distinctive era. And you can pick up some great bargains from charity shops.’ Oxfam had been my lifesaver during the teenage years. A fifty-pence vintage top from there felt newer than any hand-me-down from my older sisters. ‘Guess we’ve paid the price for using a niche, smaller dating site. I imagine the bigger dating sites require you to enter your actual age.’

      The waiter delivered our pies and we ate in silence for a few moments. Mmm. Creamy subtle flavours washed over my tongue. I ordered us another couple of Cokes.

      Marcus stared at me. ‘Do you think it’s sad, Kate? A man of my age doing online dating?’

      ‘No. I think it’s hard for lots of people to meet that special someone in this mad, modern busy world.’

      He clasped his hands together. ‘That’s just it though. Ruth means well but I … I’m not ready to meet someone else yet. My wife … Sandra … She passed away two years ago and I still miss her.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Sorry, Kate. I shouldn’t bore you with—’

      My throat felt scratchy at the way his voice caught and those dark eyes glistened. ‘No, Marcus, honestly, it’s fine. Tell me about her. How did you meet?’

      ‘At university, during the Fresher’s Week fair. My new friends joined the cheese and wine club because lots of female students had signed up. But I really wanted to try potholing, and joined that club first. So did Sandra. A slow dance to Whitney Houston at a freshers’ disco sealed our attraction that went on to last for life.’

      They had two kids. And now four grandchildren. Then Sandra got early-onset dementia and died no longer knowing that Marcus was her soul mate. Marcus started to eat his pie again and shook his head. ‘Ruth would kill me for sitting here, on a date, talking about my wife—her mum.’ He looked up. ‘Devastating for her, it was, watching Sandra lose all the aspects of her character, one by one. We cried more at the diagnosis than the end which, by then, was a blessed relief.’ He shrugged. ‘I wish my daughter wouldn’t worry about me.’

      I patted his arm before glancing at my watch. ‘And talking of people worrying—’

      On cue, my phone rang. And so did Marcus’s! Five minutes later, each of us had hung up and we were laughing. Both Izzy and Ruth had rung bang on nine o’clock to give us get-outs from the date, if required.

      ‘Enough about me,’ said Marcus, as our ice creams arrived. ‘“Fess up”, Kate, as my grandson would say. What is an attractive, personable, intelligent young woman like you doing on Perfect Poldark Pairs?’

      I wasn’t going to mention Johnny. That subject matter was still so … raw. And I’d become unused to talking about him with people I didn’t know well. Plus my heartbreak had no relevance—I wasn’t on this date to find The One. Just a plus-one. I covered my face with my hands. ‘You’ll think me mad.’

      ‘Try