The sun was warm, the ground beneath her was soft and there was a faint smell of grass and flowers in the air. She felt surprisingly calm. Especially given there was a hairy black dog panting away near her shoulder.

‘What are you thinking about right now?’ he asked.

‘Literally nothing. Except possibly what my head is lying on.’

‘Okay. Try not to think about that. We’re trying to find something we have in common so focus on that. What do you like?’

‘My job.’

‘Risk management. See, I remembered.’ He seemed to be thinking for a moment. ‘Probably nothing that we have in common there. What else do you like?’

There was an embarrassingly long pause while Ros tried to think of things that weren’t work that she liked and was struggling to find anything. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Shall I go through things I like and you can jump in when there’s something you can relate to? Anything, however small a connection.’

‘Okay.’ Ros nodded and closed her eyes so she could concentrate.

‘I’m into hiking and hill walking. I’ve only been a few times but I had a blast skiing and learning to snowboard. I love the outdoors in pretty much any weather. I like it when you’ve gotten really cold and wet and then you come inside to warm up.’

He left a little pause as if willing her to agree but she couldn’t. Skiing seemed very high risk and Ros didn’t take risks. She also loathed being cold or wet. Being cold and wet was the worst.

He continued. ‘I read a lot. I have to for uni so my novel reading time is reduced but I still enjoy a good thriller. Something twisty. I like watching those sorts of things on TV too.’

‘I only read non-fiction.’

‘Okay. Don’t worry, we’ll find something. What else? I enjoy comedy, stuff that makes me laugh. I’ve been to a few comedy club nights; they’re always fun. Um . . .’ She got the feeling he was running out of things. ‘Music!’ he said a bit louder as if discovering it lurking at the back of his mind.

‘Yes, I like music.’

‘Excellent,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘I like anything from Eighties pop to indie rock. Who do you like to listen to?’

‘Bach mainly,’ said Ros and she heard the gush of air as Cameron let out an exasperated sigh. ‘But I like classic musicals like The King and I. Do you like musicals?’ she asked.

‘Nah, I’m afraid I’m more into club classics,’ he said. He was quiet for a bit and she missed the sound of his voice. It had a lovely timbre to it.

They lay there in silence for a couple of minutes. Ros listened to the birds in the trees, the sound of nearby traffic and then footsteps as someone was walking the nearby path. They were listening to the radio and Ros almost tutted that they didn’t have headphones plugged in. She did not like those people. As they grew closer she could hear it was sports commentary and she tuned in.

‘Cricket!’ they both said at the same time.

Chapter Nine

Ros had been hoping to offload Gazza at her dad’s quite quickly but while she and Cameron had been chatting about cricket the dog had slunk over to a flowerbed and managed to dig a sizeable hole before they’d realised. Thankfully Cameron had tidied up the flowerbed but Gazza was caked in dirt and she couldn’t let him loose in her dad’s home in that state.

She scooped him up and carried him inside, the whole time keeping her head as far away from his tongue as possible because she was pretty sure she’d seen him eat a worm earlier. ‘Hi, Dad, we’re back,’ she called.

‘That was a long walk. Gazza will be your best friend for evermore.’

Ros briefly appeared in the living room with the wriggling canine under her arm. ‘He’s covered in dirt. I’m going to bathe him.’ Gazza’s tail immediately stopped wagging.

‘Shhh, we try not to use the B word.’

‘Dad, he’s not a toddler and he needs a . . .’ Her father pleaded with his eyes. ‘To be clean. I’ll sort him out and then I’ll be off. Okay?’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll give you a hand.’ Barry got to his feet and followed her.

‘You don’t need to and it does rather defeat the object,’ said Ros, trying to sound cheery as she took Gazza upstairs. She also wanted to avoid the Spanish Inquisition if she possibly could.

Ros put a forlorn-looking Gazza into the bath and got down the showerhead. ‘It’s no good going all pitiful – it’s your own fault.’ She switched on the shower and the dog flinched.

‘Ooh those stairs’ll be death of me,’ said Barry, puffing out a breath as he came into the bathroom.

‘Dad!’ She didn’t like it when he talked like that. It would have been fine a few months ago but now it was no joke. ‘Do you think we should get a stairlift?’ she asked, checking the water temperature as Gazza shuffled backwards away from the jet of water.

‘Don’t be daft. Waste of money.’

‘Not if it would be useful and save you getting tired.’

‘They cost thousands and for just a few . . . Nah, not worth it.’ Ros’s heart clenched. ‘Hey, Cabbage. Don’t look like that. It’s fine.’

‘But it’s not fine, Dad.’ She swallowed hard. It felt like nothing was ever going to be fine again. She was worried about him because he seemed to still be in denial.

Barry turned his attention to Gazza. ‘I’ll hold him; you dowse him. And then you can tell me all about this new fella of yours.’ At least for a few minutes that took her mind off her father’s health.

***

Ros had managed to sidestep the interrogation by saying that it was best if he waited and met Cameron tomorrow. She wasn’t ready to fly solo on the questions and answers just yet. Thankfully her dad didn’t push it and they had bathed the reluctant Gazza together in companionable silence. It gave her time to think about her morning with Cameron and the revelation that they both liked cricket. She was still thinking about it that evening.

If she was being honest Ros was surprised that she and Cameron had anything in common. She wasn’t being unkind, they were just vastly different people, as their long list of differences had shown. But at least they both liked cricket. Whilst Ros didn’t play, she had watched hundreds of matches and helped make the sandwiches on many occasions. Barry was and had always been into cricket and the fact that he’d had a daughter instead of a son did not stop him from sharing his love of the sport.

Now Ros thought about it, her dad had never restricted her to what might be termed girls’ activities; he’d always encouraged her to go for what she wanted in life. Thanks to him she’d never felt any of the limitations or desire to submit to the gender norms other women frequently were burdened by. He probably didn’t know it but Barry Foster was quite the feminist. Barry would still have been playing cricket for the Hampshire seniors over fifties had it not been for his diagnosis, but thanks to a friend he was still making it to watch some of the matches. At least there was one topic of conversation they could all join in with tomorrow.

Tomorrow! Ros hadn’t been so apprehensive about a Sunday lunch since her dad had had a go at making vegan Yorkshire puddings. Bugger. A thought struck her. What if Cameron was a vegan? That was something she’d not thought to ask. Then she remembered the pain au chocolat and hot milk he’d had with his coffee and relaxed. He wasn’t a vegan. But he could still be a vegetarian so she pulled out her phone and composed a message. While she was doing so she double-checked her list and added in a few last-minute questions. She was feeling ill-prepared and Cameron was slow to reply, which did not help her stress levels.

Ros tidied up her already neat apartment but at least it gave her something to do even if it only killed the best part of half an hour. Saturday nights were always a bit defunct but tonight she wished she had something to take her mind off Sunday. She had a strict rule of not working at weekends. She knew Darla thought she was a workaholic and it was true that she gave the company more hours than she was paid for during the week, but her dad had instilled in her that it was important to have weekends off. He saw them as time with his daughter but also as a chance to recharge his batteries and said he worked better in the week because he’d had a break.

For once in her life she wished she had hobbies, something to keep her busy. Quite a few of the women at work did crochet or knitting on their lunch break. Ros struggled to see the point of taking hours to produce something she could easily buy in a shop. She switched the television on and scrolled through the channels. There was no news on and everything else appeared pointless. She sat in silence, which gave her thinking time, which wasn’t helpful. Perhaps they were rushing into this. They hardly knew anything about each other. She’d never done anything like this in her life and it went against her sensible approach to everything. If Cameron didn’t reply soon she would have to seriously consider cancelling lunch.

He finally texted back:

Answers: Carnivore, size 11, bees, cuddles, sharks and ghosts tied. Stop worrying about tomorrow. Your dad’s gonna love me ☺

She wished she shared his confidence.

***

Darla slept surprisingly well. The mattress was remarkably comfortable and she felt the fact that she knew she was here for a while had aided her sleep. Usually she was automatically on countdown until she had to pack up again and move, but not here. Also there had been no restless pets to interrupt her slumber. Or so she thought.

She was dragged abruptly from a lovely dream about Tom Holland by the most awful sound. Like something crossed between screeching brakes and a rooster crowing. She sat up in bed. The noise went again: it was an actual cockerel doing his level best to say cock-a-doodle-doo. It was not the nicest wake-up alarm she’d ever had but she was now definitely living in the countryside. Hopefully whoever owned it would be able to switch it off or whatever you did to chickens to keep them quiet.