‘Try wearing one over my chest,’ said Sonia. ‘One size fits all? My arse,’ she added, trying to do it up under her ample bust.

‘Let me help,’ said Ros, adjusting the buckles at the side and fiddling with the fastening at the front.

‘Thanks,’ said Sonia. ‘I’m not keen on the water either. Got knocked over by a wave at Bognor Regis when I was a toddler.’

‘Same but on the Isle of Wight. I didn’t like the seaweed, pebbles, salty taste or the thought of crabs. Not a word, Alastair,’ said Ros, wagging a finger in his direction.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be a walk in the park,’ said Sonia with a smile.

‘More like Jurassic Park,’ said Ros, taking a deep breath and climbing aboard.

Ros had to admit, the experience wasn’t entirely awful. When she was below deck or when she was sitting down, it wasn’t too bad. She made a trip to the loo last as long as feasibly possible to avoid being on deck. Unfortunately poor Sonia discovered she suffered from seasickness so Ros had to vacate her safe place in the toilet. But she did keep going back down to check Sonia was okay.

Ros took hold of ropes when she was asked to but drew the line at dangling her legs over the side. Some of the men were finding it an adrenaline rush to stand on the bow of the boat and declare ‘I’m the king of the world!’

Ros focused on the blue sky. It was a glorious spring day so that was something to be thankful for. The added insult of bad weather would have been too much.

Ros had been allocated the task of tying the mooring rope around the cleat, a T-shaped piece of metal, on the pontoon. As she stood on the side of the yacht her hands were sweating with the stress and anticipation of getting the timing right and completing the only task solely allocated to her.

The vessel drew closer and closer as it came into the berth. ‘Jump!’ yelled someone and without checking Ros leapt off the boat. There was a moment where she landed with both feet on the wobbly pontoon but it was only for a second as her momentum propelled her across the narrow walkway and she flopped face first into the water on the other side. She wasn’t expecting the life jacket to explode but that’s exactly what happened. A load bang released the mechanism inside the jacket and as it instantly inflated she was unceremoniously tipped onto her back.

She bobbed there spitting water in all directions like an errant fountain, although she knew it wasn’t just sea water; she’d seen the pictures of what was pumped into the sea.

‘Man overboard,’ yelled someone.

‘Woman,’ snapped Ros from the murky water below.

‘Ros,’ called their captain, leaning over the side of the boat. ‘What happened?’

‘You shouted jump,’ she said with obvious frustration.

‘No, I didn’t.’

Sniggering from on deck answered some questions.

‘I’ve still got hold of the rope,’ said Ros, holding it up triumphantly. Surely that had to count for something.

‘Let it go and we’ll haul you out.’

Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, she saw something float towards her that was more alarming than seaweed or even Jaws – it was toilet paper!

Chapter Three

Darla juggled three jobs. It was the only way she could make enough money to keep to her plan of clearing the debts within a year. She had an early morning office cleaning job six mornings a week, and took a few evening shifts at a trendy cocktail bar. That left her the afternoons free to look after any pets in her care that invariably came as part of the house-sitting deal. In exchange for looking after the owner’s animals and giving them the reassurance that their property was occupied and therefore less of a prime target for burglars, she got to stay there rent free. She was very grateful that there were so many cats and dogs that didn’t fare well in kennels and catteries; without them she’d have been homeless for the last five months.

‘So you’re homeless again,’ said Cameron, her colleague at the cocktail bar, when she’d got to the end of her sorry tale.

‘Yep, but hopefully not for long. The agency are trying to sort me something out. Worst case I’ll be spending a few days with a flatulent Frenchie.’ Cameron gave her a look. ‘I’m not being racist. A Frenchie is a French bulldog. He’s a champion and cost thousands apparently, but he farts like there’s no tomorrow. I mean seriously bad. If they had a canary it would have carked it.’

‘I can’t imagine spending that much money on a pet. Even one that is a champion trumper,’ he said, checking the mixer stocks.

‘Is this the start of another penniless student story?’ she asked.

Cameron gave her a sideways glance. ‘Do I do that a lot?’

She nodded.

‘I don’t mean to moan,’ he said.

‘You’ll be minted next year when you graduate,’ said Darla, trying to sound encouraging. ‘Computer engineers, even the junior ones, get paid well.’

‘And that’s what I’m focusing on,’ said Cameron, being his usual upbeat self. Darla liked Cameron but they were just friends. He was beefy with wild hair and whilst he was very sweet sometimes you just knew that mates was all you would ever be.

‘Are you free tomorrow afternoon for a coffee? I want to pick your brains about some software I’ve seen on offer.’ She didn’t need to disclose that she was hoping it would enable her to make realistic-looking postcards from exotic locations. So far her parents had only received two postcards from people that Darla’d met in the bar and managed to persuade to post for her, from their holiday destinations. One had worked well, but the second one from Carla had confused her parents a bit until she’d explained she’d hurt her wrist skiing and someone had written it for her.

‘Not tomorrow, sorry,’ said Cameron, pulling an apologetic face. ‘Besides being skint, I’ve got course work to catch up on. I hardly did a thing yesterday because my housemates had an all-day party and the time I’d put aside this morning to study I had to spend tidying up.’

‘You’re not their dad. You should just leave it for those spoiled posh kids to sort out,’ she said, moving past him to update the specials board.

‘I can’t. It drives me potty. The odd unwashed cup and a few scattered things I can cope with but the place looked like we’d been burgled. I actually wondered if someone had turned the place over when I went downstairs for breakfast. If we were ever robbed, we’d never know.’

‘Then move out,’ said Darla.

‘I’m tied into the rental agreement until the end of July. I can’t afford to pay for somewhere else as well as my share of this place.’

‘Then you need a way of coping with them for the next four months. Earplugs?’ she suggested.

‘Are they expensive? Because I’m a—’

‘Poor student, yeah I know. You’ve mentioned it once or twice.’

***

Late on Sunday morning Ros let herself into her dad’s place on The Avenue. The double-fronted early Victorian property had been her home for her teenage years. Ros didn’t need to announce her arrival as Gazza was already on it and was barking wildly as he cannoned into the hallway and proceeded to pogo around her, threatening to destroy her tights.

‘Down,’ she said to no effect at all. Her dad, Barry, had done some training with Gazza, and the little black dog could present his paw on command, but Barry’d taught him nothing that appeared to be useful. Apparently, he was a purebred Patterdale terrier but that didn’t mean anything to Ros.

‘Hello?’ called out Ros, shutting the front door.

‘Cabbage! Gazza always knows when it’s you,’ said Barry. Ros very much doubted that this was the case. The little dog was barely in control of his bodily functions and didn’t seem to be able to think beyond the next smell.

Ros went into the living room where her father was sitting in his favourite chair, looking a little paler and thinner than he used to. ‘Hi, Dad.’ She gave him a hug. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fair to middling,’ he said with a wan smile. ‘Always tired after radiotherapy. But we’re nearly at the end of my sessions.’

Ros sat down and Gazza dutifully went to lie down at Barry’s feet. ‘What happens next?’ she asked, mentally crossing her fingers, toes and anything else crossable.

Barry wobbled his head. ‘From what they tell me, we wait for a bit. Keep taking the tablets. Do some more tests and see. There was talk of a trial, some experimental thing they’ve not tested on many people yet but—’