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‘This is Scrumpy,’ said Hannah quickly. ‘We picked him up on our travels, I hope you don’t mind dogs.’
‘Not at all,’ said Barnaby, fussing Scrumpy’s head and getting a barrage of licks in return. ‘He seems like a very good boy.’
Rob beamed, looking like a proud parent. ‘He’s had a vet check and a trip to the grooming parlour, and he’s house-trained.’
‘Well, in that case he’s very welcome,’ said Barnaby, as Scrumpy turned onto his back and offered up his white belly for scritches. ‘What happens to him when you two go back to the UK?’
‘Not entirely sure, we haven’t quite worked all the details out yet,’ said Rob. Hannah watched Scrumpy soaking up the attention, and silently prayed that he wouldn’t suddenly decide to sink his fangs into Barnaby’s arm or sick up the slice of watermelon he’d eaten earlier.
‘He’s a very lucky dog, aren’t you?’ Barnaby scratched behind Scrumpy’s ears as the dog’s eyes rolled back into his head with bliss. ‘I thought you were allergic to dogs, Graham? I’m sure Hannah told me that once.’
Oops, thought Hannah, taking a moment to inspect her fingernails.
‘I used to be, but it’s got better,’ said Rob, quickly rallying. ‘Still can’t do cats though. Or rabbits. Or llamas.’
‘Goodness,’ said Barnaby. ‘Llamas, eh?’
Rob went back to the car to get their bags, leaving Hannah to wonder if they were going to make it through the next three hours, never mind the next three days.
‘So, how long are you staying for?’ asked Barnaby. They were relaxing on the camping chairs on the paved terrace at the back of Barnaby’s house, with an open bottle of white wine and a few plates of tapas. The evening was warm and still, and Hannah could totally understand why people chose to give up the unpredictability of the British spring weather and live like this instead.
‘Until Thursday, if that’s OK with you,’ said Rob. Hannah watched him for a moment, the patio lights catching the flecks of blonde in his hair, then casting a glow across the brown skin of his strong thighs. Instinctively she held out her hand and he took it, not even looking at her. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, even though she couldn’t say what music he listened to, what his middle name was or whether he cried at soppy movies.
And yes, obviously this was just pretending for her dad’s benefit, but it didn’t feel like it. She wondered what Rob would do if she stroked her thumbnail along the palm of his hand; whether she’d see the goosebumps on his arms or hear his breath catch. She didn’t know any special moves to turn a man on, but she instinctively knew that Rob would respond. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he shifted in his seat and crossed his legs the other way, so she couldn’t see his groin. The idea that just holding his hand was enough was actually kind of thrilling.
‘Anything’s fine by me,’ said Barnaby. ‘I’m just happy you’re here. Shall we see if Joyce fancies some tennis tomorrow?’
‘Sounds great,’ said Hannah, giving Rob’s hand a consolatory squeeze. Scrumpy mooched over from napping on the cool grass and flumped down on Rob’s foot, like he was making sure his owner couldn’t run away.
‘Do you play, Graham?’ asked Barnaby. ‘I know Hannah said it wasn’t your thing, but I thought perhaps she’d changed your mind over the years.’
‘No,’ said Hannah quickly, trying not to crush his fingers.
‘Not really,’ said Rob, as Hannah whipped her head round to glare at him. ‘I mean, I HAVE played a few times. I can hold a racquet, but I’m not very good.’
‘Well, that’s definitely a good start,’ said Barnaby happily. ‘You and Hannah can take on me and Joyce, if you like. We’ll be gentle with you. And when we get back, maybe you can make dinner. I’m not much of a cook and Hannah told me you’re quite the chef.’
Hannah pressed her lips together as Rob smiled and nodded, busying himself with his glass of wine so he didn’t have to look at her.
‘Why would you do that?’ whispered Hannah. They were standing at the end of the bed in Barnaby’s spare room, Scrumpy already sprawled out on his back on Hannah’s pillow. She’d used the en-suite bathroom to change into her pyjamas, and was now violently rubbing moisturiser into her face like she was trying to sand the top layer off.
Rob smiled guiltily. ‘Are you actually angry, or just pretending?’
‘Of course I’m notangry,’ said Hannah, hanging her towel over a chair. ‘I just can’t work out why you’d put yourself in a position where you have to pretend to be bad at tennis, when you could have just not played at all.’
‘I don’t know,’ Rob shrugged. ‘I panicked.’ He opened his bag and pulled out some clean boxer shorts and a T-shirt, presumably to sleep in; Hannah was confident that Scrumpy would create a canine barrier between them in the bed, but she was still glad that Rob was planning to wear actual clothes.
‘No, you didn’t,’ she laughed. ‘You just couldn’t stand the thought of us playing without you.’
‘OK, fine.’ Rob grinned, turning his palms upwards. ‘I’ve got massive FOMO, and I’d rather pretend to be shit than not play at all.’
Hannah rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘What do you think of my dad?’ They could still hear him moving around in the kitchen, but she whispered anyway.
‘He seems great,’ said Rob. ‘It’s hard to imagine him being, like, a crazy preacher.’ He half-closed the bathroom door so he could get changed behind it, and Hannah resisted the urge to check out his reflection in the mirror above the sink opposite.
‘He was never crazy,’ Hannah said. ‘Just . . . devout. And it was a long time ago.’
‘What does he worship now?’ Rob asked.
