‘OK, because I bought some of that Spot On stuff from the pet shop and treated him with it. And also a wormer. He’s protected from vermin for the foreseeable future – as are your soft furnishings.’
‘Incredible.’ She laughed. The man was like a human advent calendar – it seemed that behind every door, there was a pleasant surprise patiently awaiting discovery.
‘Shall we keep him?’ they said together. The answer came in stereo, too, before the word ‘we’ could echo too loudly: ‘Yes.’
It was decided that they’d go to the pet shop tomorrow and purchase some essentials: a scratching post, a soft bed, some catnip toys and maybe even a cat flap for the back door. After picking him up for a quick cuddle, Rosie deposited Springsteen back on the chair that, already, he seemed to have designated Cat Territory.
She went through to the kitchen and made salmon teriyaki stir-fry for two while Aled marked the last of his upper sixth’s essays. Jenna Marshall got an easy A, he informed her, while gifted-but-lazy Dimitri Adamos scraped a C.
If Aled recognised, as Rosie did, that taking on joint responsibility for an animal was an odd decision for two people who didn’t intend to live together long, he chose not to mention it. Deciding to bask in this feeling of contentment for however long it lasted, Rosie didn’t either.
Chapter 15
The following Saturday, Rosie sat on a stool at Niamh’s vast, marble-topped kitchen island. Brendan had taken the babies for a walk in the park with one of the other neighbourhood dads, and conversation had rapidly turned to Rosie’s living situation.
This was the first time she’d seen Niamh alone since the weekend Aled moved in – and Rosie was determined not to give her any cause to cryI told you so.
‘He’s very neat,’ she informed her best friend over a cup of steaming hot tea. ‘And very considerate. He always cleans the cooker after he’s used it and never fails to replace the toilet roll when it’s run out … All of which is to say, he functions like a responsible adult and meets basic flatmate expectations.’
‘Wow,’ Niamh said, smirking over her own mug. ‘You’re doing a great job of pretending to be underwhelmed.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you can’t fool me. After living with James for so long, cohabiting with a man who’ll wipe hisownscrambled egg remnants off the hob must be bliss.’
‘Fine,’ Rosie conceded with a small smile. ‘It is. It’s made me realise how much time I used to spend sorting out messes that weren’t mine. He cleaned the bathroom the other day –properly, with bleach, and without being asked.’
‘I am so jealous,’ Niamh groaned. ‘Seriously – if you carry onI’mgoing to develop a crush on him. Men who don’t want to be mothered are like gold dust. I’m convinced that if I offered Brendan a grand to locate our mop and bucket, he wouldn’t be able to do it.’
‘Who said anything about a crush?’ Rosie squeaked.
‘You did. Well, yourfacedid anyway. You look all gooey every time he’s mentioned. Also, you’re zooming in on the fact he’s not a total slob to distract from the big picture – which is he’s gorgeous, and it’s clearly affecting you.’
‘Rubbish!’ Rosie protested.
Niamh rolled her eyes, signalling that this pathetic attempt at a rebuttal wasn’t worth a response. ‘You know,’ she said after a minute, arching an eyebrow and looking altogether too pleased with herself, ‘you get this faraway look in your eyes whenever you talk about him. I don’t have my contacts in but I’m ninety-nine per cent sure your pupils re-form into cute little hearts.’
‘Shutuuup,’ Rosie complained. ‘I do not.Theydo not.’
‘I thought you mightmeltwhen you told me about the cat,’ Niamh went on, enjoying herself. ‘So much forships that pass on the way in and out of the buildingandno relationship. He’s been in the spare room a month and you’ve already become co-pawrents.’
‘Co-pawrents?’ Rosie said, with a horrified laugh. ‘Wash your mouth out.’
‘I read it in a book,’ Niamh huffed. ‘An excellent love story about two people who share a dog and end up shagging. A tale that feels VERY PERTINENT to this situation.’
‘OK, all right, yes. We’ve become friends,’ Rosie interjected. ‘I said we wouldn’t, and we have. Happy?’
‘Not especially,’ Niamh said. ‘You’re still in denial, and still celibate – which seems an awful waste, what with you fancying him rotten.’
‘For god’s sake,’ Rosie moaned. ‘Did I hit my head and wake up in 2006? Are we back in Year Twelve?’
‘Nope, we’re in a brave new world. One where you are single, free to mingle and – rather conveniently – have an incredibly fit flatmate.’
‘A flatmate who, as mentioned, ismyfriend,’ Rosie said. ‘And a flatmate you told me was a really bad idea.’
‘That was when I thought him moving in was a ploy to get James back! You remember James? He’s the ex-boyfriend whose very existence has become a distant memory because you’re obsessed with a brooding Welshman.’
‘I amnotobsessed,’ Rosie insisted, feeling heat begin to creep up her neck.
