‘It’s fine. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.’

‘I know and I really do appreciate that but I can’t pay you the going rate and that’s not fair.’

‘But we are friends. Which means you don’t need to pay at all,’ said Ros.

‘Thank you. It’s really kind of you but I also have my pride. I just don’t want to feel that I owe anyone else a thing. Does that make sense?’

‘I understand.’

‘And anyway I quite like stopping for the odd night here and there; it feels like a sleepover, minus the sugary treats.’

‘I have apples,’ offered Ros.

‘They’re not Jaffa cakes now, are they?’

Ros and Darla had missed each other the next morning as Darla left for work before Ros’s alarm went off. But even so Ros was a little surprised to get a phone call at work.

‘What do you mean, you’ve solved my problem?’ asked Ros, trying not to sound as harassed as she felt as she fired off another chaser email to a tardy colleague. If they worked for her, most of them would be on Performance Improvement plans.

‘Meet me at the cocktail bar at half seven and I’ll explain,’ said Darla.

‘Are you working?’

‘Nope.’

‘Cocktails? On a Monday?’ Ros was dumbfounded.

‘They do soft drinks too. Don’t question it. Trust me.’

‘Then why not meet at . . . Hello, Darla?’ But she had hung up.

Ros spent the day firing off chaser emails, fielding Alastair’s stupid comments and going over in her mind too many times what on earth Darla wanted to see her about that required her to go to the cocktail bar on a Monday. It wasn’t exactly convenient and why couldn’t they talk at the flat? Despite her irritation Ros was intrigued so after work she had a shower and a very quick stir-fry before putting on a jacket and walking the twenty minutes to the bar, even though it definitely wasn’t a night of the week she would usually be drinking. She liked to keep a healthy eye on her alcohol intake. The risks of liver damage were to be avoided.

Darla was already sitting on one of the tall bar stools chatting to the barman when Ros arrived. They hugged and Ros ordered a lime and soda water with crushed ice and a slice.

‘Are you okay, Darla? Because you weren’t making a lot of sense on the phone.’ Ros always felt it best to be honest.

‘Feels a bit weird to be on this side of the bar but I am fine and so are you going to be. Now I know you can sometimes be a bit negative—’ Ros wobbled her head but didn’t completely disagree; if she was one thing it was that she was pretty self-aware and knew her own limitations ‘—but I need you to listen right to the end of what I’m about to say before making any comments. Okay?’ Darla locked her with a serious gaze.

‘Yep.’

‘Right until the very end,’ emphasised Darla.

‘Yep. Got it,’ said Ros, wriggling in her seat, aware that the barman was watching her. Bar stools were one of the most uncomfortable forms of seating; she put them in the same box as Marmite and Alastair.

Darla held up her palms as if playing charades. ‘Your dad needs peace of mind. For that to happen he needs to see you with someone who is worthy of you, treats you well and doesn’t put a foot wrong. Sadly it’s literally only for a few weeks, a couple months tops.’ Ros found herself swallowing hard at the thought of it. ‘What you need is someone who will do a professional job for an agreed fee.’

Ros spat out her lime and soda, showering Darla. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said through splutters. ‘For a moment there, I thought you meant a gigolo.’ Ros laughed.

Darla was twisting her lips. ‘Not a gigolo, no. I’m thinking a professional arrangement, purely platonic, where they attend arranged meetings with your dad posing as your long-term boyfriend.’ When there was no response from Ros, Darla did a ta-dah with her hands.

Ros sucked in a deep breath. She loved Darla, she really did, but boy did she have some hare-brained ideas. Now, to let her down gently. ‘Whilst I really appreciate the time and thought that you’ve put into this, I’m afraid it most likely would be a complete fiasco, and also where on earth would I find someone to do that?’

‘Hi,’ said the barman, leaning on the bar.

‘Excuse me, we’re having a private conversation,’ said Ros. Darla was off her stool and heading for the door. ‘Hang on, Darla!’

‘My work here is done,’ called Darla. ‘Sort out the fine details between yourselves and thank me later. Love you!’

Panic rushed through Ros’s system. What sort of hell trap had Darla led her into? She was acutely aware that the barman was studying her. ‘I’m really sorry um . . . what was your name?’

Someone was tapping a pint glass on the other end of the bar. ‘Another pint in there, Ron. When you’re ready.’

‘Ron, is it?’ she asked.

The barman nodded. ‘Let me serve my mate and I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere or Darla will kill the pair of us.’

An excruciating few minutes past where Ros swung between being glued to her seat and wanting to sprint for the door. Her manners got the better of her and she waited for the barman to return. ‘Ros, I’m all yours,’ he said.

‘So it would appear,’ said Ros. ‘I’m afraid, Ron, I don’t know what Darla has said but—’

‘Pretty much what she just said to you. Your dad is sick. Really sorry about that by the way. Cancer sucks.’

‘Indeed it does,’ said Ros.

‘And you need someone to pretend to be your partner until . . .’ There was an awkward pause where the barman walked his fingers across the bar and then made wings and mimed them flying off over his shoulder. ‘I’m short of cash and Darla thinks I’d fit the bill as your fake boyfriend. What do you think?’

‘For a start . . .’ There was so much wrong with Darla’s suggestion she wasn’t sure where to start. ‘Ron? That wouldn’t work. Ros and Ron sounds ridiculous.’

‘I was thinking more Ron and Ros.’ He grinned at her.

‘I’m sorry. That’s simply not believable.’

‘Would you seriously not go out with someone because their name was too similar or didn’t match perfectly with yours?’

‘That’s irrelevant. In this situation everything would have to work perfectly. It would have to in order to be completely believable. I’m sorry but Ron isn’t going to work.’

The barman shrugged. ‘Okay. How about Cameron?’ he suggested.

Ros was amazed he had capitulated so quickly but she was grateful that he had. ‘If you really don’t mind, I think Cameron would be far better.’

‘Cool,’ he said, wiping down the bar top. The corners of his mouth were twitching.

Something was amiss. ‘Cameron,’ she said out loud. The barman instantly glanced up. ‘Darla’s friend from work.’ Things were starting to make a little more sense although not to the level that would make Ros comfortable.

‘Ahh rumbled,’ he said, putting down a new coaster for her glass.

Oh great, thought Ros, a comedian – that’s all I need. He leaned against the bar. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Ron is a nickname. One of the lads in halls misheard my name as Ron and it stuck. What happens next? Should we agree a price?’