She should have stuck to BBWCupid, but Janet in accounts had shown her a feature in Take A Break about Feeders. Instead Sandra went with Plenty Of Fish, uploaded a recent photo (one her sister had taken when they were in Lanzarote last Easter, Pina Colada in hand, oversized Elton John-esque sunglasses balanced on her head), entered her credit card details, and waited. The responses flooded in at first and Sandra scanned through them, amazed at the interest an overweight forty eight year old sales administrator could generate. One or two caught her eye, and within a fortnight she was chatting daily to William. Mid fifties, a paediatrician, never married (bit odd but not a deal breaker), and with more than a passing resemblance to George Clooney.

Six months later and Sandra stood waist deep in the shallow end of the local council swimming pool, tugging at the too tight strap of her tankini top (as it turns out, one size does not fit all). Adult swimming lessons were easily the second most humiliating thing she’d done in her adult life, but she gritted her teeth, pulled her flaps of her swimming cap down tighter over her ears, and with a determination fuelled by the promise of two weeks in Mauritius with Dr Clooney (William. Jesus, she had to start getting his name right), she plunged head first into the over chlorinated water.

Janet thought Sandra was crazy, going on holiday with a guy she had been chatting to online for six months but never met in real life. Sandra would normally have agreed, but she hadn’t had a shag in soooooo long, and he’d paid for the trip (beachfront five star hotel, business class flights), and anyway doing the sensible thing hadn’t exactly set her world on fire in the last forty eight years.

The snorkelling trip left early on the last morning. It was with a heavy heart that Sandra waited on the beach, kicking lightly at the sand with her bare feet. It turned out he was more George Osbourne than Clooney, and as the holiday progressed, Sandra could barely conceal her boredom in his company. Would she be single forever? She wasn’t getting any younger. Maybe George Osbourne was the best she was going to get. The boat pulled up, and two young dark skinned Mauritian men jumped out to pull it further to shore. The taller of the two she recognised as Vincent, the attentive pool bar attendant from the hotel. He reached and took Sandra’s hand and helped her step into the boat. He cast her a broad smile, straight white teeth gleaming in the early morning sun. ‘Welcome Miss Sandra. Your last day I believe?’ He mock punched his chest with his fist. ‘This makes me very sad.’ Sandra blushed as she caught William glare at Vincent.

The boat sped across Tamarin Bay before dropping anchor half a mile off shore. Sandra pulled the snorkel mask over her face and gingerly dropped into the warmth of the Indian Ocean. She had never snorkeled before, and couldn't believe the whole other world surrounding her. Slowly she swooped her arm in front of her, parting a shoal of bright blue and yellow butterfly fish. Yellow striped snapper and small neon fusiliers shimmered below her in the coral. Sandra thought of William. And Vincent. She smiled to herself as the sun beat down on her back. There really were plenty of fish in the sea.