‘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.’
