‘Children eat them like that.’

‘Kids know where it’s at. Way more fun to eat them off your fingers. Try,’ he said, offering her the packet.

‘No, thank you. Children are messy,’ said Ros, failing to stop her feelings showing on her face.

Cameron looked shocked. ‘You don’t like kids?’

‘Children can be lovely but they make so much mess.’ Ros tried to keep her expression neutral.

‘But that’s a minor thing. Do you not want to have kids?’

That was a serious question she’d not been expecting. ‘It’s not that I don’t want them. I just think you need to have a lot of other factors in place first. And they’re a huge responsibility. They’re a full-time thing. You can’t take time off or change your mind on a whim. Children are a long-term commitment.’ Something her mother didn’t seem to have grasped.

‘I agree and I’m well up for it,’ said Cameron.

‘But you’re a student.’

‘I won’t always be a student and with the right person I’d love to be a dad. I was playing mummies and daddies with Gina, at preschool. I always assumed I’d have kids.’

‘You seem very sure about that.’

‘I am. I had a happy home. I can’t imagine not building a family of my own. And anyway my mum would have something to say if I didn’t make her a grandma.’

‘Erm. We’ve gone off track. Where were we? Jobs. We’ve covered my job. Let’s agree on a job for you.’

Cameron smiled. ‘I’m a barman at the cocktail bar and I do some volunteering at a charity shop, which is great because I get first dibs on stuff.’ He pulled at his Scooby-Doo T-shirt. ‘One pound fifty. Let me know your size and I can look out for stuff for you.’

Ros couldn’t hide her alarm at the thought of childish T-shirts. ‘No, thank you. And what I meant by a job was what job we’re we going to tell my dad that you do.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I can hardly say you’re a mature student.’

‘Why not?’ Cameron made a big show of sucking a Hula Hoop off his little finger.

‘Because this has to be believable. I did cover that at the start. He needs to be convinced that we are in a relationship.’

Cameron scrunched up the empty crisp packet, leaned back and considered her. She felt a little vulnerable under his gaze. ‘And a student stroke part-time barman is below you?’

‘No. Not exactly. But usually I’d not . . . It’s just that I would normally be looking for someone who um . . .’ She was running out of steam.

‘It’s okay, I’m not offended. I’ve been in this exact position before with me and Gina. Couples need to be equally balanced. But as I’m working towards a good career I think that goes in my favour and keeping it simple is better.’

‘I’d be more comfortable if it was a role with a little more status. Is that all right? It’s only that I don’t want Dad to think I’m with someone who will sponge off me. Sorry, that sounded awful. No offence.’

‘None taken. I’m hopefully going to be working in computing so you could say that if you like. I can field any questions about computers.’

‘Great. Let’s go with software engineer. That sounds credible and Dad won’t ask any questions as he’s not great with technology.’ Ros merrily added this to the flip chart.

Cameron covered his mouth as he yawned. ‘I’m sorry – I’m knackered. Any chance we can finish this off another time?’

‘But I wanted to introduce you to Dad on Sunday.’ Ros was feeling panicked they’d only covered half of page two.

‘That’s still cool. I’m free tomorrow morning. Let’s catch up then, yeah?’

Ros could see he was tired as he stifled another yawn so she reluctantly agreed. ‘Okay. What sort of time? I can do early.’

He pulled a face. ‘How about eleven o’clock? We could grab a coffee at Costa on the High Street.’

‘I’m not sure about meeting in public,’ said Ros. ‘It feels a little premature.’

‘Is coffee more of a third date thing?’ he asked with a smile.

‘I’m not sure what you mean but I’ll meet you as arranged.’

Cameron got to his feet. ‘It’s been nice getting to know you, Ros.’

Could she say the same? It was merely a process she had to go through. ‘Thank you, Cameron. I do appreciate what you’re doing.’

‘And I really appreciate the cash. And thanks for the tea. Take care. See you in the morning.’ He stood in front of her as if waiting for something. ‘Should we hug or kiss when we say goodbye?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Ros, heat rising up her neck at the discomfort.

‘I meant when we’re in couple mode,’ he said.

‘I see.’ She was greatly relieved. ‘I’ll think about it and let you know.’

‘Cool,’ he said and he made for the door. ‘Night, Ros. Take care.’ As the door clicked shut Ros breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Chapter Seven

Darla was pleased to receive a phone call from the house-sitting agency and even happier to discover that they needed someone immediately. She was working at the cocktail bar that evening so wasn’t able to go and check out the place until she’d finished her shift. She’d sailed through her shift feeling the most relaxed she had done in ages. The constant moving had not been easy so she was looking forward to being in one place for a while.

When Darla finished work it was after eleven at night but she merrily headed off to Netley Marsh. It was a bit further out of the city than she would have liked but this job came with a huge bonus: it was for five months! Up until now her longest stint had been four weeks in an apartment looking after a parrot for a chap who had to go away for work. That had made Darla a temporary neighbour to Ros and an instant friend. Although that wasn’t how Ros had seen it. Ros had been standoffish at first but Darla was persistent, and in a strange city working as many jobs as she was physically able to, she was in need of some female company and Ros had fitted the bill.

Basically Darla had worn her down with invitations to watch TV, sip wine on the balcony, and to try out her famous brownies, which had been what had finally won Ros over. They had discovered that whilst they were quite different in personality they did share some common ground in that they both enjoyed musicals and bitching about incompetent colleagues. Ros reminded Darla of her friend back home in Oxford. Someone who was sadly no longer a friend. The longer she had stood by her con man boyfriend the more friends Darla had lost. Some of them had even put money into his stupid schemes. The shame had stopped her keeping in touch. She had found Ros at a key time and even though Darla had moved out of the swish apartment block they had stayed friends.

Darla couldn’t stop grinning. She’d only had details by voice message but it sounded amazing. A four-bedroomed country house that was awaiting probate and needed someone to tend to the garden and the stock. She wasn’t sure what the latter was but there were no incontinent whippets or trumping French bulldogs so things were definitely looking up. The agency offices weren’t local and usually any handover was done by the homeowner, which obviously wasn’t possible this time. But as Darla was an experienced and confident sitter she wasn’t fazed by an empty house.

The property was just outside the village and surrounded by fields. She pulled onto the gravel drive and got out of the car. It was hard to see the house in the dark but from what she could see it was double-fronted and looked huge. Above the door was a well-worn sign that read The Brambles.

‘Ahh, home for the next five months,’ said Darla through a happy sigh.

She found the key hidden under a plant pot and unlocked the door, heaved in her case and felt around for a light switch. She touched something that might have been a switch but felt more like a cold brass nipple and she flicked it down. Light flooded the long hallway. Darla was struck by the beautiful tiled flooring in blue and white terracotta. Her eyes travelled up to the brass chandelier and the high ceiling – this place was something special. Darla had a little look around to get a feel for the layout. Usually she liked that the houses she stayed in had their owners’ things scattered here and there. But as she knew the person who had lived here had died it felt a little strange being in their house without their permission.

A coat on the hall stand and wellies by the door reminded her this wasn’t hers forever. She flicked the switch in another room and discovered the kitchen but it wasn’t like any kitchen she’d seen before – or at least not like any she’d experienced in real life. It looked like something out of a history book. A chipped butler’s sink was flanked by what she assumed were cupboards, but where there would normally be doors there were grubby floral curtains hanging desperately from bent wire. A battered wooden table sat in the middle and on top she saw a newspaper, a pair of glasses and a mug creeping with mould. She’d sort this out in the morning.

The living room looked lived in and the old leather sofas were comfortable but the lack of a television was alarming. There was a stool with a radio on top where you would have expected to have seen a TV. A quick hoover round and that room would be perfectly liveable.