The man eyed them warily, closed his newspaper and then coughed, “Food? We haven't served a meal in twenty years. Best bet is down the by-pass, plenty of places to eat on the seafront.”
Sheila let out a sigh, she was beginning to feel rather hungry and time was getting on, but Jake was approaching the bar and deciding which of the real ales to order.
“What would you like?” he asked Sheila, oblivious to the exasperated look on her face.
“I'll have an orange juice please,” she mumbled, looking at her watch, “And a packet of beef and onion crisps.”
Jake took the hint and flushed, a pink tinge rising in his cheeks, “Some meal eh?”
“Well, we don't have time to go back into town to eat now,” Sheila sighed, “I have to be back by two.”
Her companion nodded, and carried their drinks to a smal
