For some time, Rosie had suspected that she wasn’t the only person feeding the neighbourhood’s stray cat.
She’d seen him on several mornings over the past few weeks, and each time he seemed no less hungry than usual – but there was no doubt he’d got bigger during the summer. He now had the look of a greedy chancer, rather than the sad mien of a malnourished scrounger. He was less Oliver Twist, more Artful Dodger.
Rosie’s theory was confirmed when she walked up the alleyway to the rear of William Road. As she passed the fence that separated the alley from her garden, she stumbled across a shiny metal bowl, still half full of a strong-smelling, gelatinous mass that could only be cat food. Rosie didn’t much use this cut-through, but time was incredibly tight this morning.
Concerned that she hadn’t appeared before he left the flat for work – and aware she was due at the deli by nine – Aled had knocked on her door to discover she’d slept through her alarm. To his credit, he’d managed not to laugh as Rosie freaked out at the prospect of being late and bolted for the shower. When she emerged, he was gone – but she discovered that he’d made her a strong coffee in a travel cup and left it on the kitchen counter.
She smiled and sipped at the drink, then pulled her soft woolly scarf closer into her neck. Something in Aled had loosened, Rosie thought – and there were moments when she even thought she could see it in the easier set of his shoulders, the readiness with which his trademark tentative smile appeared. In turn, this had released some tension in her. It made the flat feel like home again, in a way it hadn’t for longer than she cared to admit.
In the months before James’s departure, she’d forgotten what it felt like to live with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her – and despite his shyness, Aled seemed to enjoy her company. Since their night of ‘rough pub karaoke’, something like friendship had begun unfurling between them. They’d graduated from making one another cups of tea to regularly sharing meals; it turned out Aled was a capable, creative cook, and his experience of cuisines from far-flung locations made for some interesting – and delicious – food.
They’d text one another if they were close to running out of milk or bread, and had fallen into the habit of sending occasional messages during the day. Aled would bring Rosie news of his students’ most audacious behaviour –
Preposterous excuse of the day goes to Umair Ansari in Year Eight, who claims his homework sheet was stolen by an owl 🦉 🚔 🙄
and in exchange, Rosie would report her day’s funniest or most heartening moments:
Good Looking Latte Drinker finally asked Sleek Haired Writer if he could buy her a coffee!!! 😅. Have been watching him try and work up the courage for weeks
Admittedly, this dynamic was nothing like the ‘strictly business’ set-up Rosie had described to Niamh when Aled moved in. She supposed her best friend was right; she’d become chummy with her flatmate-slash-landlord because she didn’t know how not to – and, as Niamh had predicted, his reserve was no match for her sunny effervescence.
When she got to work she was greeted by Rhianne, who had a pretty, very nervous young woman by her side. ‘Ah, Rosie! This is Tobi,’ Rhianne announced, gesturing to the girl with huge brown eyes, incredible skin and an abundance of natural afro curls, which she’d gathered into a high ponytail.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Rosie said warmly.
Tobi nodded shyly and shook the hand Rosie offered her.
‘Tobi’s joining us because Marcus’s Master’s course has started up again and he needs to drop some shifts,’ Rhianne explained. ‘Can I leave you to show her the ropes?’
‘Course you can,’ Rosie said, grinning. She’d been working at the deli for less than a month, but it felt like she’d been part of the team forever.
‘Great, I need to go and kick the arse of our greengrocer – he’s sent me turnips instead of parsnips, as if I can use them interchangeably. Whoever heard of spicy turnip soup? And who wants a maple-glazed turnip and bulgur wheat salad? It’s utterly fucked up tomorrow’s menus.’
Rosie made a clenched-jaw face and said, ‘Eek,’ in agreement with Rhianne, but also in sympathy with the greengrocer. By the time Rhianne had finished with him, Terry – the man about to get the full-length album version of her root vegetable lecture – was surely going to wish he’d moved to Spain with his ex-wife.
Rhianne flounced off, leaving a cloud of Chanel No. 5 in her wake. Tobi stared after her, as if she’d just seen Marilyn Monroe waltz away from a Hollywood film set.
‘You get used to her,’ Rosie said, smiling. ‘Shall we get started?’
‘OK,’ Tobi agreed, still a little hesitant.
‘I was new myself a few weeks ago,’ Rosie told her. ‘I promise you’ll feel like part of the family in no time.’
Within a few hours, Rosie had taught Tobi most of the things Marcus, Yaz and Becky had explained to her on her first day. She’d also discovered Tobi was bright and articulate once she warmed up, but had recently missed out on a place at her chosen university.
She hadn’t achieved the required A grade in history, so was unable to pursue the BA Philosophy course she’d set her heart on. It didn’t take Rosie long to intuit that Tobi had been crushed by this disappointment – and that her family’s lack of support for her desire to study had made matters worse.
Instead of picking herself up and trying to find an alternative course through clearing, Tobi had floundered. Now, as her parents piled on the pressure for her to do something productive, she’d taken this job at the deli.
‘I bumped into Rhianne one day last week,’ Tobi explained. ‘Like, physically – I bashed into her so she spilled hot coffee all over her coat. I was so emotional and embarrassed I burst into tears, and when she asked why I was upset I ended up telling her about the whole uni mess. By the time she’d wiped the milk froth off her collar, she’d offered me a job.’
‘Sounds like Rhianne,’ Rosie said fondly. ‘She’s a lot, but she’s incredibly kind. You’ll love working here, I think.’
The afternoon rush saw them scurrying around delivering orders, wiping down tables and making endless espresso shots. As their crowd of customers began to thin out, Rosie caught Tobi in a quiet moment and told her, with full honesty, ‘You’ve done brilliantly for day one. I think I’d have freaked out if I’d had to deal with queues that size when I first started here.’
‘Thanks,’ Tobi said, beaming at her.
Rosie poured out two glasses of iced water and handed one to Tobi. ‘You’ve got a lot to offer, you know,’ she said, unsure why her mouth had begun to deliver an inspirational speech her brain hadn’t proofread. ‘Don’t let anyone make you feel like you can’t do the things you want to do, the things that you feel are meant for you.’
Tobi looked at the floor. ‘Thanks,’ she said again. ‘I just can’t help feeling a bit … flat. Does that make sense? I had it all planned out – I knew exactly how the next few years were going to go. And now … now I’m here.’ She smiled weakly and tried to look stoical.
‘Here is good,’ said Rosie. ‘Here is great, actually. But you don’t have to stay here. When you feel like your world’s blown up, it hurts – but afterwards, you don’t have to live in the place where you land.’
As she said it, she realised how true this was, for her too. Looking after and then losing her grandfather had left her bereft – but soon afterwards, she’d met James. Had she clung to him like a spar in the wake of a shipwreck? Had that felt easier than the other options, than pursuing what she felt truly passionate about?
‘What about you?’ Tobi asked.
‘What about me?’
‘Well, you seem like one of those “follow your dreams” sort of people. You remind me of one of my teachers. What do you want to do? Are you in training for something?’
Rosie coloured, embarrassed and a little angry with herself. Who was she to lecture a smart, ambitious eighteen-year-old on not giving up – on making the most of her life?
‘Not at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve … well, I’ve not had the easiest time lately. I split up with my partner of ten years, left a job I’d been in for a long time and now I’m sort of … working stuff out, I suppose.’
‘That sounds hard,’ Tobi said.
‘I’m lucky to have a few people on my side making it easier,’ Rosie reassured her.
‘Your family?’
‘Ha! No. I haven’t even told them what’s happened, to be honest,’ Rosie groaned. ‘They love me – at least my parents do – but it’d be a stretch to describe them as supportive.’ More than anything else, she realised, Rosie felt lonely inside her family. They didn’t not care about her, but they didn’t understand her – they saw what was lacking in her without recognising the qualities that her friends valued most.
‘Sounds familiar,’ Tobi said. ‘My dad says I should go and get a job in an office. Work my way up. The idea of borrowing money to go to university was always crazy to him and my mum.’
‘My parents said the same.’
‘So did you not go, then? Do you regret it?’ Tobi’s dark eyes were wide, and Rosie saw that she had a strange sort of sway over this young woman. The Peter Parker principle popped into her mind, unbidden: with great power comes great responsibility.
Rosie knew she had lied to herself for years. At times, she had successfully convinced herself she had no regrets about abandoning university. But to lie to Tobi now felt somehow sacrilegious; it would be a shabby abuse of trust, and a poor foundation for the friendship she could already feel burgeoning between them.
‘I did go,’ Rosie admitted. ‘Then my grandad got ill and I moved back home so I could take care of him. I was supposed to restart my course – I always said I would. But I didn’t … And yes, I do regret that.’
She felt her eyes grow glossy and blinked the sudden wetness away. She’d never even told Niamh that, deep down, she wished she could go back and do things differently. Rosie had a strange sense of weightlessness – as if uttering the words aloud had lifted a burden she hadn’t even known she was carrying.
Tobi’s gaze was sympathetic. Rosie liked that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between them with cheerful platitudes; it reminded her of the measured, calm way Aled approached conversations.
‘Which is why,’ Rosie said, characteristically unable to resist speaking, ‘you should think long and hard before giving up on something you want. You can modify your plan, instead of chucking it in the bin. It isn’t too late.’
Tobi nodded, then tipped her head to one side as if deep in thought. ‘Is it too late for you? To go to uni, I mean? Are there reasons why you can’t?’
‘Maybe,’ Rosie said, ‘but I’m not sure how good they are at this moment.’ In truth, her standard objections to studying seemed flimsier and less convincing than ever. Marriage and babies were off the table for now, as was the notion that her career could take a back seat to her more successful partner’s.
‘So does that mean you’re thinking about it, then?’ Tobi asked, smiling gently at her new friend.
‘I could be,’ Rosie nodded, smiling back. ‘Anyway, we’d best get on. The dishwasher’s not going to empty itself.’
When Rosie arrived back at the flat that evening Aled was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by what she could only describe as a sea of A4 paper. He was bent over a printout of what she assumed was a student’s essay, his back to her, green pen in hand.
It was nice to see him there, using the space as though he had a right to. It had taken weeks, but he was finally behaving as though he lived in the flat – less like a troublesome house guest afraid to emerge from his room in case he irritated his host.
‘Hey,’ she said, gently breaking his concentration. She could tell he’d been so lost in whatever he was reading that he hadn’t heard her come in.
He turned to say hi, and Rosie felt like a brick had dropped through her stomach. Her mouth went dry and her heart seemed to pause for a moment, then resume beating at double time.
He was wearing glasses. Spectacles with black, heavy frames that had begun sliding down his nose. It was like he’d one-upped himself, embellishing his sexy professor look with a finishing touch that should have come with a health warning.
‘Secret glasses?’ Rosie stuttered, nonsensically. ‘Since when?’
He pushed at the bridge of the glasses with a forefinger, then made a confused smile-frown face. Rosie was increasingly convinced that he was woefully ignorant of his effect on women. And probably a decent proportion of men, too, come to think of it.
She added looks insanely hot in glasses to her internal catalogue of Theoretical Reasons Why Aled Is Inhumanly Attractive. The list was growing, but filing the information away in a drawer marked ‘Factual Observations’ felt safe; she could place it alongside gems such as ribbons of vegetable are no substitute for pasta and no one ever wants ‘just one bite’ of your dessert if they didn’t order their own.
Collecting the information felt protective. Self-preserving. If she kept an accurate record of his charms, they couldn’t take her by surprise. This, Rosie had decided, was important – as this afternoon’s revelation proved. The last thing she needed, especially so recently after being dumped, was a sudden attack of the hots for someone so wildly out of her league.
‘Since I was about twelve,’ Aled said, reclaiming her attention. ‘And not secret – just sporadic. They’re readers: I wear them when my eyes are tired, though I should probably put them on more often.’
‘Right,’ Rosie nodded. ‘Well. They’re … really nice. Lovely, in fact. Specs-y, you might say.’
Oh. Sweet. Jesus.
‘Thanks …?’ Aled was looking at her curiously, like he was concerned for her state of mind.
‘What are you up to?’ Rosie asked, realising the stupidity of the question only seconds after voicing it. It was quite clear he was marking students’ work.
‘Marking students’ work,’ he said, and she found herself wishing she could rewind time and live the last five minutes again, less idiotically.
‘Upper sixth’s timed essays on Dr Faustus,’ Aled went on, ‘some of which are making me wonder if their previous teacher even read the text with them.’
‘That bad?’
‘This one’s pretty good,’ he said, gesturing at the paper he’d set down on the coffee table. ‘Zuli Anan’s on course for an A for sure. However, Josh Holloway seems very confused about the doctor’s relationship with Helen of Troy.’ He pointed to another paper, handwritten in what looked like Sharpie ink. There was a coffee stain in one corner. ‘Josh’s essay refers to “the face that scoffed a thousand chips” – which suggests both a serious misreading of scene twelve and a deep-seated love of junk food.’
Rosie laughed, then reminded herself that low-key witty was already on her hot list. Before she could say anything else, a sudden movement in her peripheral vision made her jump.
‘Oh my god,’ she yelped, clutching her hands to her chest. A moment later, the shifting shape resolved into a form Rosie recognised.
It was the cat. Until he’d stood up to stretch, he’d been practically invisible – his silvery form blending perfectly with the throw blanket he’d been sitting on.
‘Ah. About him …’ Aled said, clearing his throat and looking sheepish. But Rosie had already crossed to the other side of the room, and was crouching down so she could pet the cat’s head.
As he began to purr, Rosie said, ‘Yes?’ and arched an eyebrow.
‘Well,’ Aled continued, ‘it was raining when I got home. And he was by the kitchen door. I didn’t have the heart to leave him out there, getting soaked.’
The cat was now lying on his back on the same seat it seemed he’d occupied all evening – shamelessly showing off his fluffy belly to Rosie, who was obliging him by tickling it.
She looked up at Aled, penny dropping. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’
‘What’s me?’
‘You’re the one who’s been feeding him all this time.’ Rosie grinned, sure that she was right.
‘I might have been filling in for you occasionally,’ he said, scrunching his nose to push his glasses up again. ‘He’s been turning up while you’ve been at work the past few weeks. I couldn’t let him starve, could I?’
‘I knew you saw me in the garden that day,’ Rosie said, feeling oddly triumphant.
‘The day I rescued your apples? Guilty as charged. I knew from then that you were taking care of him.’ Aled’s cheeks were growing pink, and Rosie made another mental note: blushes adorably.
‘Look at him,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s a chonk. Easily twice the size he was when he first started appearing in the back yard. So, here’s my theory: you’ve been giving him food since the day you moved in upstairs. The day of my major carrier bag malfunction was merely the moment you realised I’d been feeding him, too.’
Aled sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘All right, Miss Marple. Fine. You’ve got me.’
‘So why not just admit it?’ Rosie laughed.
‘I dunno,’ Aled said, his face fully flushed now. ‘I guess I didn’t want to undermine the Rosie–Springsteen dynamic by pointing out that my Whiskas Fish Favourites sachets were just as appealing as yours. I got the impression your relationship with him was … special to you.’
Rosie chose not to dwell on this astute thoughtfulness, and instead asked: ‘Springsteen?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. It felt fitting. The first time I saw him he was prancing along the top of the fence, spotlit by a street lamp. Dancing in the dark?’
‘It’s perfect,’ Rosie said, smiling. Then she remembered James’s dire warnings about the stray’s questionable hygiene. ‘You don’t think he’s got fleas, do you?’ She winced at the thought of having to fog the entire flat with pesticide.
‘I’m sure he hasn’t,’ Aled said, with suspicious certainty.
‘And you’re sure because …?’ Rosie teased.
‘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.