The Lonely Heart Attack Club - One of the funniest, feel-good books you'll read this year! You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll love it!

by J C Williams

  Standing on the highest point of the Island it felt like you were on top of the world. It was evident from this position how little the Island had been affected by development. There was not a house in sight, apart from the occasional disused stone farm building. It was a warm evening, but the wind was a little cooler at that altitude.

  Jack took Emma by the hand and escorted her towards the café, which catered for the frequent influx of tourists throughout the summer months. Apart from half a dozen people they were alone on the mountain and for a moment she felt like Maria in The Sound of Music, but she resisted the urge to burst into song.

  “Dinner awaits, my lady,” said Jack, reaching for the door handle. He gave it a gentle push, and then a slightly firmer one, but it remained closed. Emma pressed her nose against the glass. “There are no lights on, and I can’t see anyone in there. Jack, I hate to say this, but I think it’s closed.”

  Jack took a step back and in desperation walked to the rear of the building to see if there was an alternate entrance.

  “Aww, hell!” he said, sitting on the grass. “The bloody place is shut!”

  Emma could sense the disappointment and joined him on the grass. “It’s fine. I mean, look at that view! We can get something to eat when we get back.”

  “I know, but it’s just I really wanted everything to go to plan. When I phoned, they said they didn’t take reservations and just to turn up. Well, I’ve done that and they’re sodding well closed!”

  “Come on,” he said. “We may as well take a walk to the highest point. Hopefully I don’t get that wrong!”

  A narrow path directed them to the highest point, and they couldn’t help but admire the elderly couple who were now sat on a large tartan rug enjoying a flask of tea and a plate of sandwiches. “I should have taken some tips from them!” said Jack. “Think they’ll throw a sandwich our way?”

  Emma approached the crest of the hill, taking in a deliberate lungful of the fresh mountain air. “Isn’t it…” she began, but then paused. “Hang on, what the hell is that?” she said. She took a cautious step forward, squinting her eyes. “Jack, come here. Look at that!”

  With Jack’s hand in hers, she stepped forward with increased confidence. She looked at Jack with a heavily confused expression. “Does that look like a table?”

  “Don’t be daft!” he said.

  “It is!” she said, moving closer. In contrast to the green hills, there was a small table covered by an immaculate white cloth. A solitary candle flickered from a tall storm lamp positioned directly in the middle, and two chairs sat opposite each other.

  “Please,” said Jack, drawing one of the chairs back. “Your table is now ready!”

  Emma was stunned. She accepted the offer and sat at the top of a mountain on her own private dining table. It was deathly quiet; not even the sound of the traffic below would venture to this altitude.

  “What is all this?” asked Emma, with a huge smile.

  “I told you I was taking you out to dinner, so I am.” With that, he also took a seat and retrieved an ornate silver bell from beneath the table. With a gentle shake the noise echoed in the breeze and a moment later a man appeared from further down the hillside.

  “Pete,” she laughed. “Is that you?”

  “Pierre, this evening, madame,” he said, in an awful impersonation of a French accent. He was dressed in a white tuxedo with an overly flamboyant pink ruffle on the shirt and the most decadent leopard print shoes. “The menu this evening will be pear and endive salad for starters, a chicken, Roquefort, and walnut salad for mains, and then a lovely crumble aux pêches for dessert. Can I get you a glass of red wine?”

  Emma couldn’t stop laughing and was in a state of total shock. She looked for a bottle of wine but there was nothing. She playfully agreed and nodded her head. Pierre clapped his hands above his head and a further gentleman appeared from further down the hill. She stared in disbelief as the man had a silver serving dish with a bottle of wine and two glasses on it. As he moved closer Emma shook her head and placed both her hands on her cheeks. “Derek!” she called out. “What are you doing here?”

  Derek didn’t move as quickly as Pierre, but he eventually appeared with the expensive bottle of red wine. He cleared his throat and with an obviously rehearsed speech, he said in an equally awful French accent, “My name is Marcel, and I will be your wine waiter for this evening.”

  “You look wonderful, Der– I mean, Marcel!” said Emma, admiring the purple velvet jacket with matching velvet dickie bow.

  Emma was incredulous. “I honestly cannot believe this, Jack. How the hell have you done this?”

  Marcel and Pierre retreated before returning with two plates of food, perfectly prepared and impressively heated, despite any obvious means of cooking. Jack was quiet, just admiring the moment and the wonderfully warm smile on Emma’s face.

  “Madame!” said Pierre. “My apologies, I have forgotten the music.” Once again, he raised his hands above his head and clapped his hands. A third man appeared, and it took a moment, but the sound of a beautiful violin filled the mountain air. Emma was speechless as she looked in bewilderment at Jack. She composed herself. “Bloody hell, Ray, is that you? I didn’t know you could play the violin.”

  He halted his performance. “Ah, bonjour. My name is Antoine, madame,” he said, in possibly the worst French accent of the three. He also wore a jacket, but his was dark-green velvet, with matching dickie bow, and it was obvious they’d been to the same charity shop. Despite this, Antoine continued to play a most wonderful rendition of Bach’s “Ciaccona” to perfection.

  “You’ve raised the bar here, Mr Tate. I’ll expect you to top this at our next date.”

  “So there’ll be a next one?” asked Jack.

  “Well, maybe. I’ll have to see what the pudding is like before I commit. Aww, how adorable does Derek look and how happy!”

  “So you like this?”

  “Jack, it’s surreal. It’s like I’m in some sort of crazy dream — crazy, but nice! This is one of those dates you read about in Hello magazine, and when you read it, you’re thinking, yeah, okay, lying to impress your friends. But, here we are. How did you do it?”

  “Trade secrets. I could tell you, but… you know the rest.”

  A remarkable byproduct of being more selfless in life was that people wanted to help you without prompting or without payment. One of the Silver Sprinters owned a restaurant in Douglas, and they were delighted to get involved. Pete was in his element, once again, and loved anything that screamed dramatic effect. He stood with Ray and Derek and watched as the romantic couple enjoyed their meal. It was a wonderful location and he covertly took photographs to capture the moment.

  “What about you, Ray? Stunning!” said Emma.

  “It was beautiful,” said Derek, his voice breaking with emotion. “Truly wonderful. My late wife was very fond of the violin, and she’d have been absolutely captivated by that performance. You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you,” said Ray. “It’s been years since I played. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it and how much people enjoyed hearing it.”

  Pete pulled out a beret from his inside pocket as it was time for the final course. All that was missing from his repertoire was the string of onions around his neck. He very nearly broke character as he topped up the wine glasses, but he recovered with precision.

  The last tram of the evening had arrived, and the driver gave them the signal that he’d soon be leaving. The chef appeared from his temporary residence in the ‘closed’ café and was greeted by a standing ovation from Jack and Emma. Pete’s ears pricked up like an agitated cat; applause was like a magnet, and he was quick to accept the appreciation. After a brief encore, he stepped aside and introduced his fellow cast members. Emma was caught unexpected as a tear fell down her cheek. “Thank you. Thank you all. What a wonderful evening and it’s truly one I won’t forget.”

  The driver gave a further burst on the whistle to ind
icate his imminent departure and the dinner party rushed to collect all of their belongings.

  “Wait!” shouted Emma. “We need a photo before we go. Would you mind?” she said to the chef.

  Emma and Jack took their seats again as Pete stood behind the table, flanked on either side by Ray and Derek with the violin positioned in the centre of the table.

  “Cheese!” shouted the chef.

  “Fromage!” boomed the collective response.

  Hayley hung on every word. “My god, who’d have thought Jack could be so romantic?”

  Emma nodded as she reached for the painkillers under the counter. “I know. Honestly, it was magical, and you should have seen the rest of the boys all dressed up in their little tuxedos, it was adorable. Unfortunately, my head feels like there’s a boxing match going on inside. It was worth it, although I wish I hadn’t agreed to open up!”

  “So…?” asked Hayley.

  “So…” laughed Emma. “Look, Hayley, are you okay with me talking to you about all of this? I really value your friendship, but also want to be sensitive to… you know.”

  Hayley rubbed Emma’s arm. “Thank you! Honestly, it’s totally fine. I’m really pleased that things seem to be working out for you — I promise. So… did he kiss you?”

  Emma blushed and bowed her head. “Well, sort of…”

  “How do you sort of kiss someone?” asked Hayley.

  “Well, he dropped me off and like a gentleman escorted me up to the front door. He commented on how it had been a perfect evening and every other perfect evening he’d managed to muck up, somehow. He didn’t want to jinx anything, so he took my hand, kissed it, and returned to the taxi. As they pulled away, he rolled the window down and shouted something about how he didn’t cock anything up. So, not exactly a kiss, but romantic, I think?”

  “Absolutely,” answered Hayley. “That all sounds like the most perfect first date, astonishingly enough. Who’d have thought!” she said happily. “And have a guess at who else had a date this weekend!” she added, one eyebrow raised.

  “You??” asked Emma excitedly.

  “I wish, but, no,” replied Hayley. “No, it was my gran and Jack’s grandad!”

  Emma was shocked and placed her cup of coffee back on the counter. “No way! Hmm, I don’t think he said anything to Jack?”

  “No, it came as a bit of a surprise to me. Apparently he asked her when you had that speed dating event on. I think she actually had three people ask her out on a date.”

  “She is so pretty, though, Hayley. I’m not surprised. I bet she was a real heartbreaker when she was younger. Where did they go?”

  “Well, I think romance must run in the family. Apparently, he hired a horse and carriage and took them for a picnic in the country.”

  “Aww, that’s so sweet!” said Emma. “I’m actually gobsmacked that they can both come up with such romantic first dates.”

  “I know! Look, I can see you’re getting busy. I just wanted to see how the date went and tell you about gran. Oh, and the big flower order is due on Thursday, the wholesalers thought it was some sort of scam when I told them how much I wanted to order!”

  “Do you think we’ll have enough flowers?” asked Emma.

  “I think so. Pretty much every florist on the Island is involved, but we should have enough sponsorship money left to go to the garden centres if we run short. I can’t wait! Seeing a wall of flowers over two hundred feet long is going to be something special. And to get a world record… it’s so exciting! I looked at the forecast for the weekend and it looks likely for brilliant sunshine.”

  “Fingers crossed!” said Emma. “When does Kelvin come over?”

  “Friday night,” said Hayley, walking towards the exit. “But I’m leaving him to it. I think he’s bringing his agent with him, as well. Ah, Casanova!” said Hayley, crossing paths with Jack. “I’ve just been hearing all about your date!”

  Jack smiled and closed the door for her. “Do you think she’s jealous of me?” he asked of Emma once Hayley had exited.

  “No, I think you’re all good,” Emma laughed. “How’s the head?”

  “Fine, but Grandad has just been on to tell me he took her gran out on a date. She’s far too classy for him. Do you think I should tell her?”

  “Oh, she already knows!” said Emma, shaking her head.

  “Oh, shit. Was she okay? I mean if that was my gran and that old bugger came sniffing, I’m not sure I’d be overly chuffed.”

  “She seemed fine and she was well impressed with your romantic endeavours.”

  “Yeah, I am a bit of a catch. All those women who rejected me over the years must be really kicking themselves!”

  “I’ll lock the door when they all come knocking, now get your apron, you’ve got money to make so you can take me on an even bigger and more romantic date. Oh, Hayley said that the flowers are all on track as well.”

  “Great, we just need a venue now, the bloody town hall is still dragging their heels.”

  “I thought they’d issued a permit?” asked Emma.

  “No. Bloody red tape. We’ll just go with the original plan, it’s too late to change now.”

  The lack of a permit had caused a few sleepless nights. He was calm on the outside but was genuinely starting to panic. It was impossible to make alternate arrangements now and the joiners were due to start building the frame for the flower wall the next day. He didn’t want to worry Emma, but there was every chance that without the permit the whole event would come crashing down. Everything else was on track apart from this one bit of paper from the council.

  “Jack,” whispered Emma, as she juggled the controls on the coffee machine. “Thank you for a wonderful night. It was the best first date I’ve ever been on, and… hopefully the last first date I’ll ever go on!”

  It took Jack a moment to realise what she meant, but when he did all the concerns about the permit were quickly forgotten.

  “Are you… are you dancing?” asked Emma, much to the amusement of their waiting customers.

  “A little bit, yes!” he replied. He took Emma in his arms and waltzed her from the tight confines behind the counter, into the main shop. He leaned forward and placed his hands on her lower back and behind her neck as she fell slowly into a classic pose with one leg extended. As he pulled her back upright, he gave her a gentle but tender kiss, as several customers gave them a round of applause.

  “You’re crazy!” she said. “And unless you’ve got your phone in your pocket, I think you might have the same predicament as last time,” she whispered.

  “My phone is over there!” said Jack. “And, yes, you may need to walk in front to give me some cover. But, please, do take it as a compliment!”

  “At least Pete isn’t here this time,” teased Emma. “Unless you were thinking about him?”

  “Thanks for that thought! And here’s one for you, then— Hayley’s gran probably had the same effect on Grandad as you’ve just had on me!”

  “Aww, too much information, Jack!” shouted Emma, as she put a hot teaspoon on his arm. “Too much!”

  .

  Chapter Eleven

  S everal lever arch files were placed chaotically on a battered-looking desk. Papers had spilt onto the floor and covered the tired, well-worn floor tiles. More files were stacked on top of a broken cabinet in the corner of the room. It was clear that this office was not purpose-built, but a requisition from an old filing room, rather. No one would deliberately choose this as their creative space, as it was miserable and without natural light.

  A dirty grey phone, partially covered by a McDonald’s wrapper, rang several times. A stubby hand pushed the detritus to one side and with great effort lifted the handset. “This is Terry,” he croaked.

  The man sat with his phone pressed to his ear, listening intently. He was overweight and gave the impression of being an unhealthy specimen, sweating without reason. His hair was thinning which gave the impression of being older than he looked; his dated
suit perfectly matched his drab surroundings.

  “What do I want with that deadbeat?” he asked. “Kelvin Reed? What good is he to me now? His career is already down the pan. If you expect me to give you two hundred pounds for that pile of useless rubbish, you can bloody well think again!” he said, getting slightly more animated.

  He threw the phone back onto its cradle and collapsed back into his seat. He placed his hands on the back of his head and the faint outline of a sweat stain was visible under his arms. Terry Trimble was a veteran of Fleet Street and one of the most despised journalists in the industry. He was without a moral compass and garnered a reputation as being a ‘bottom feeder’ — one who would do anything to get a story, regardless of how stretched the truth, or how questionable the source of the information was. It was a miracle he’d survived the recent press scandals, as those in the know, knew he was the centre of anything unsavoury. He’d been at the Daily Times for three years and in terms of quality news outlets, it was repugnant. The paper and in particular, Terry, had destroyed more careers than any other. No one was considered off-limits; Terry would’ve planted cocaine in Mother Theresa’s car if it meant a front page. Unfortunately for Kelvin, it was Terry who broke the news of his alleged indiscretions and miraculously produced several ‘eyewitnesses’ to corroborate the claims. In addition, several grainy photographs were all that was required to destroy the career of one of the UK’s most loved celebrities.

  The door flew open, and a greasy-looking tall man stormed into the room. He looked around the room in disgust, and at Terry with even more contempt. “You were supposed to have something for page seven, three hours ago?”

  “I’m on it, boss. I’m just following up a couple of lines of enquiry,” he squirmed.