‘Seriously!’ she snapped as she blinked gloop out of her eyes.

A group of student types in varying states of drunkenness fell about laughing.

‘Here, let me help you,’ said a kind male voice.

Ros looked up and was surprised to see someone quite a bit older than the others, with rainbow chalk-sprayed bushy hair and wearing a bright orange tutu. In any other situation she may have found him good-looking. ‘Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough.’

‘It wasn’t me who threw it although it was meant for me and I did kind of duck out of the way. So, apologies.’

‘Fine,’ said Ros, scraping the worst of it off her face before realising it had all blobbed down her suit. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘It’s just shaving foam – it’ll wash out. I promise,’ he said with a smile.

‘Come on! Time for birthday shots!’ shouted one of the other tutu-wearing gang and the rest broke into a chant of ‘Shots! Shots! Shots!’

‘Hang on!’ he shouted at them before turning back to Ros. ‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asked.

‘Never better,’ she said, as she marched away trying to ignore the sniggers of the people she passed. Southampton city centre was student party central on a Friday night and Ros berated herself for not picking somewhere quieter to meet her friend. She was thankful that it wasn’t far to the little Italian restaurant and she was pleased to see Darla sitting at a table in the window, her highlighted hair in a ponytail and wearing her favourite ‘going out’ top. Ros went straight over, picked up the napkin and began wiping off the last of the mess.

‘Blimey! Foam parties. That takes me back,’ said Darla.

Ros gave her friend a long-suffering look. ‘Some idiots chucked a plate in my face.’

‘Shit. Sorry. Are you all right?’ Darla was checking her over.

‘A paper plate piled up with shaving foam,’ elaborated Ros. ‘Is there more on me anywhere?’ she asked, feeling that she’d done a good job of tidying herself up.

Darla pointed to her head. Ros whipped out her phone, put it on camera and an image of her with an Elvis-style foam quiff appeared. ‘Bloody students. They’re a menace.’

‘Shall I order you a white wine while you pop to the ladies?’

‘Yes, please. A large Pinot Grigio. But only if it’s been properly chilled,’ said Ros, dashing off.

Ros felt better for sorting herself out in the ladies, and the damage was really only some unfortunately located damp patches in the boobs area of her jacket, although her fringe was now sticking to her forehead in that unattractive way it did when she got caught in the rain. She brushed out the rest of her dark shoulder-length hair to make herself more presentable. She returned to the table to find a large glass of wine waiting for her. She sat down and finally felt some of the tension ease in her shoulders.

‘Bad day?’ asked Darla.

‘I don’t understand why someone else’s lack of planning instantly becomes my crisis.’

‘Because you’re good at sorting things out?’ suggested Darla.

She wasn’t wrong but Ros still found it incredibly frustrating and completely unfair that they called on her as the risk manager, expecting her to suddenly dive in to fix things and stop them contravening something they shouldn’t just because they hadn’t adhered to due process in a timely manner. She produced lengthy and meticulously detailed reports and yet they were rarely read by anyone other than herself. ‘But if people just thought ahead it would make life so much less—’

‘Fun, spontaneous, enjoyable?’ offered Darla.

‘I was going to say stressful.’

‘That too. Talking of stressful, I tried the cruise ships again but no luck. Apparently my skill set isn’t what they’re looking for.’

‘Sorry,’ said Ros. ‘But aren’t you sorted jobwise with the house-sitting, cleaning and bar work?’

‘Whilst I obviously love the glamour, I would ditch it all in a second for a chance to travel and get paid – a job on a cruise ship would be perfect. That’s why I came to Southampton in the first place after The Wanker did what he did.’

Ros realised she didn’t actually know the real name of Darla’s ex; he’d always been referred to as The Wanker. A fitting title given he had squandered money on get-rich-quick schemes – all of which had come to nothing – whilst incurring debts along the way. What Darla hadn’t fully comprehended until the bailiffs had turned up on her doorstep was that most of the debt was either in joint names or on her credit cards, and the minute he had disappeared she had become liable to repay it all. Her choice had been between finding a way to repay everything or declaring bankruptcy and forever having a terrible credit rating, but in either case she had to admit – to herself but certainly not to her parents – that they were right about her choice of boyfriend. She’d chosen the former and had planned to get a job on a cruise ship, which would pay her enough to make the monthly payments and eventually repay it all, only her plan hadn’t gone to plan so to speak, so now she had got herself into a situation where her parents thought she was away travelling when in fact she was working her bum off in low-paid jobs in Southampton.

‘I know,’ said Ros. ‘Maybe a job will come up soon.’

‘It would be a lot easier to show my parents all the fabulous places I’ve told them I’m travelling to if I was actually there,’ mused Darla.

‘I can see that,’ said Ros, trying to sound sympathetic. ‘Do you not think it would be easier if you told the truth?’ They had had this conversation before and Darla’s grimace told her so. ‘I know. I just think it would be easier.’

‘I can’t face the looks of disappointment on my parents’ faces. Plus the “I told you he was no good” lecture. Although, to be fair, I still got a bit of that when I said I’d dumped him. But it would be awful to admit I was a gullible idiot. Pretending I’m off travelling the world is far more palatable for everyone. And I’m doing okay on my own.’

‘Of course you are.’ Ros could relate because she was also single and happily so. There had been boyfriends in her teens and a few at university and a couple since – they had sort of tailed off the older she’d become. Ros wasn’t great at romantic relationships, mainly because she didn’t really see the point of them. She could do everything for herself, with the exception of handling power tools – they were lethal and should be left to experts. And the same went for decorating – it was messy and time consuming. Also compromise wasn’t one of her talents so going out with someone had always been a bit of a trial. To be able to please herself and keep her home neat and tidy far outweighed the few benefits of having a partner.

Darla waved a hand in front of Ros’s face to let her know she’d zoned out. ‘How’s your dad?’

Even though Ros knew it was coming, the question still hit her like the pie to the face had. Her dad had recently been diagnosed with cancer and to say things looked gloomy was very much an understatement. ‘I think he’s still in denial. He looks okay and he’s taking some tablets, having radiation therapy but . . .’

Darla reached across the table and squeezed Ros’s hand, which made her smile despite the constant weight she felt she carried. ‘You know I’m here. Any time, day or night.’

‘Thanks. That means a lot. It’s the feeling of helplessness I hate. There’s literally nothing I can do to fix this.’

‘You’re there for him and that’s all you can do.’

Ros knew Darla was right but watching the man who had single-handedly brought her up fade away was her worst nightmare. Her mum had left when Ros had been in primary school, so Barry had been both parents to Ros for most of her life. They had a strong bond and the thought of him dying was a pain like no other. ‘He won’t admit it,’ said Ros. ‘But even walking the dog is tiring him out. I offered to walk him but he wouldn’t let me.’

‘The dog has a name.’ Darla was smirking. Unlike Darla, Ros wasn’t a big fan of dogs. She had absolutely nothing against them and she had to admit her father’s one had kept him active and was great company for him. But to Ros they were dirty, made everything smelly and when they weren’t doing that, they were sniffing things they shouldn’t be sniffing and trying to lick you, and heaven only knew where that tongue had been. On top of that her dad had given his pet a silly name.

‘I know it has a name but I really think there were plenty of better ones Dad could have come up with.’

‘I think Gazza’s an epic name.’

‘This coming from someone who has named their car.’

Darla wagged a finger playfully at Ros. ‘Hey! Don’t diss Sunshine. She’s ace.’

Chapter Two

Darla’s day was going from bad to complete crap. She was moving again – the third time this month. It was an occupational hazard of being a house sitter. When she’d arrived in Southampton five months ago she’d been up to her ponytail in debt and desperate not to pile on any more. After one night in a hostel she’d desperately looked for an alternative and had seen an advert for a pet sitter. She’d got the gig, which meant she received free accommodation in exchange for looking after a yappy Pomeranian and fourteen rubber plants – sweet. Apart from a few nights at Ros’s when she couldn’t quite line things up, she had been living in other people’s homes ever since.

Usually it went well. She’d had the odd hiccup like when a heron ate half the koi carp she was looking after, and the time she was feeding a chameleon and all the locusts escaped. The less said about that the better – she still occasionally had nightmares about that one – but otherwise things had gone smoothly. She now had a lot of repeat business, having built a reputation for herself and leaving each home immaculately clean even if that wasn’t how she found them.

That morning Darla had packed her case and put the things in the car and was going back in the front door to do one last check and say goodbye to Spindle, the slightly incontinent whippet, when he shot out of the door. Darla went to grab the dog’s collar but he was too fast. He was off like a greyhound out of a trap.

‘Crap! Spindle!’ she yelled but she knew it was pointless. Spindle had zero recall so couldn’t be let off the lead, let alone set free in Southampton. Darla checked she had the house keys and dashed off in the same direction as the dog. She headed to the corner of Highfield Lane and as she approached she heard a car horn followed by a screech of brakes. Panic gripped her and she pelted around the corner already fearing what she would find. There was a Land Rover in the middle of the road and a man crouched in front of it. Darla scanned everywhere for any sign of Spindle as she dashed over.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, jogging up to the crouching man.