‘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?’
‘Oh no. I mean I appreciate what you are offering to do but it’s completely bonkers.’
‘Why? If it gives your old man peace of mind surely that’s worth it.’ Something was rocking her sensible core values and it was unsettling. ‘I mean, is everything else all right with me? Anything else you want to change?’ He splayed out his arms.
Ros took a moment to study the man in front of her closely – bushy hair, warm eyes and a disarming smile. Where had she seen him before? ‘Do I know . . .’ And then it dawned on her. ‘You! You’re the custard-pie-wielding, tutu-wearing stu—’
‘Oh crap! That was you? I regret ducking that day. And to show how sorry I am, here’s another lime and soda on me.’ He filled the glass and lined it up next to her current drink on another new coaster. ‘I’m not usually like that. It was the birthday of one of the lads in my house share and they’d already bought me the tutu and it was quite hard to get one in my size apparently. I didn’t like to let them down. That’s what I’m like. I’m helpful and dependable and my student loans are spiralling out of control so I really need the cash. And I think you really want to put your dad’s mind at rest so we could help each other out here. What do you say? Do we have a deal?’
Chapter Five
Darla was very pleased with herself. It was a genius plan introducing Ros and Cameron even if she did say so herself. Cameron was a completely lovely person who needed some cash and Ros was in need of a credible boyfriend stand-in. She was ignoring the many calls to her mobile from Ros. She’d known her for a while and had learned it was best to let her run out of steam before engaging. Right now Ros would be thinking of the many reasons why this wouldn’t work. When she stopped to think, that was when Darla would step in and point out all the things that would work and how this solved everything perfectly.
Having sorted out Ros’s problem Darla felt she was on a roll and was keen to sort out her own accommodation issues. For one thing she wasn’t keen on staying the night at Ros’s because Ros definitely needed longer to get her head around Darla’s quite frankly genius fake boyfriend suggestion. She’d been calling the agency incessantly and nothing local enough was coming up. Her mum and dad had messaged and she had fobbed them off too many times so knew she would have to call them soon.
Darla went to the marina and strolled along the many rows of yachts. Some never left their moorings. People with more money than they knew what to do with, she supposed. As she walked past one with a large open section at the back she had an idea. Darla checked the coast was clear and climbed on board. She pulled out her phone and video-called her parents while also trying to remember where she had told them she was the last time she had spoken to them.
The kitchen ceiling in her parents’ house came into view. ‘Hello, Darla, let me find your father.’ And the phone was left on the kitchen table.
Hurry up, thought Darla, glancing nervously around. She mentally went through the countries she’d told her parents she’d visited. Was it Egypt or Turkey last time? Eventually her mother returned and two familiar faces loomed close on the screen. She adored her parents and her heart squeezed with guilt that she was deceiving them, but when she saw how happy they looked, how could she tell them the truth? Reality would only hurt them.
