Chapter Two
Darla’s day was going from bad to complete crap. She was moving again – the third time this month. It was an occupational hazard of being a house sitter. When she’d arrived in Southampton five months ago she’d been up to her ponytail in debt and desperate not to pile on any more. After one night in a hostel she’d desperately looked for an alternative and had seen an advert for a pet sitter. She’d got the gig, which meant she received free accommodation in exchange for looking after a yappy Pomeranian and fourteen rubber plants – sweet. Apart from a few nights at Ros’s when she couldn’t quite line things up, she had been living in other people’s homes ever since.
Usually it went well. She’d had the odd hiccup like when a heron ate half the koi carp she was looking after, and the time she was feeding a chameleon and all the locusts escaped. The less said about that the better – she still occasionally had nightmares about that one – but otherwise things had gone smoothly. She now had a lot of repeat business, having built a reputation for herself and leaving each home immaculately clean even if that wasn’t how she found them.
That morning Darla had packed her case and put the things in the car and was going back in the front door to do one last check and say goodbye to Spindle, the slightly incontinent whippet, when he shot out of the door. Darla went to grab the dog’s collar but he was too fast. He was off like a greyhound out of a trap.
‘Crap! Spindle!’ she yelled but she knew it was pointless. Spindle had zero recall so couldn’t be let off the lead, let alone set free in Southampton. Darla checked she had the house keys and dashed off in the same direction as the dog. She headed to the corner of Highfield Lane and as she approached she heard a car horn followed by a screech of brakes. Panic gripped her and she pelted around the corner already fearing what she would find. There was a Land Rover in the middle of the road and a man crouched in front of it. Darla scanned everywhere for any sign of Spindle as she dashed over.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, jogging up to the crouching man.
He stood up and in his arms he held a shaking whippet. ‘Spindle!’ she said, overjoyed to see he wasn’t squished.
The man was about late twenties, with a shock of unruly fair hair, a Barbour jacket and handsome but cross features. ‘Is this your dog?’ he asked. His deep voice made him sound older than he looked.
‘Er no, but I’m looking after him.’
‘Then you’re not doing a very good job,’ said the man.
Darla didn’t take criticism well. ‘I do an excellent job. I have a five-star rating. This was a tiny blip. Is he hurt? Did you hit him?’
‘I could have done and it wouldn’t have been my fault if I had. When I beeped the horn he froze so I had to slam on my brakes. He should be on a lead.’
‘Well, obviously he should be on a lead. But he decided to go out without one so... I’ll take him.’
There was a moment where the man held on to the dog. ‘Are you going to take proper care of him?’ he asked.
‘Bloody hell, who are you? The RSPCA?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh crap, you’re not, are you?’
‘No, but I could have been,’ he said, handing Spindle over. ‘You’re lucky I don’t report you.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Darla, through a forced smile; she was always keen to kill people with kindness rather than dwell on negativity. The man harrumphed and marched back to his car as people queuing behind had started to sound their horns in irritation at the delay. ‘Bye, bye, now,’ said Darla, giving him a cheery wave while he scowled back at her.
She almost danced back to the property with the whippet in her arms. That had been a near disaster and a lesson learned. She’d thought Spindle was asleep in the kitchen and that she’d shut the kitchen door; she would always double-check in future. The pup looked sorry for himself. ‘It’s okay, Spindle. Your folk will be back at lunchtime and I’ve got a treat for you before I leave.’ The dog made a whimpering noise. She’d check him over when they were both safely inside, just in case he had injured himself. As they walked up the path Spindle gave her an odd look and then she felt it. A warmth that spread across her middle and down her legs as Spindle released the contents of his bladder. ‘Great, that’s all I need,’ she said.
***
‘You went to work smelling of wee?’ asked Ros, horrified. She put her mobile on speakerphone while she put her breakfast things in the dishwasher.
‘I didn’t have time to get my case out of the car and change. But I changed when I got to work.’
‘And you’re staying here tonight?’
‘If that’s okay.’
‘You know you can stay as long as you like.’ Ros had offered for Darla to move in but Darla had her pride and she wasn’t going to live there rent free but she also couldn’t afford the going rate for an apartment overlooking the marina.
‘Thanks but the agency has a job from Saturday and possibly something sooner if I’m lucky. I’ll call them later to confirm what’s happening. But either way I’ll be out of your hair by the weekend at the latest.’
‘It’s up to you,’ said Ros.
‘You’d better go; you don’t want to be late.’
‘Today being late would actually be a blessing,’ said Ros. ‘We have a team-building event and it’s in the marina.’
‘That’s handy. Just a hop, skip and a jump from your place.’
‘I’ll probably wish I’d jumped from the eighth floor rather than suffer whatever it is they have planned.’
‘You never know. You might enjoy it,’ said Darla. Her optimism was endless if somewhat misplaced.
‘If it’s anything like the team Monopoly they made us play last year I may throw myself in the path of the nearest yacht.’
Darla laughed. ‘Try not to be your usual cynical self. Gotta go. Bye.’
Ros knew Darla was right. She decided she would give the event and its organisers the benefit of the doubt and her best positive attitude. Well, as much as she could muster. She locked up and left.
Ros was personally impressed with how long her positive attitude lasted: all the way through the initial gathering where they got their name stickers, which was completely unnecessary as they had all worked together for at least a year, through the first coffee of the day and right up until they were put into teams and given the icebreaker question: What’s the best prank you’ve ever played on someone?
‘I haven’t,’ said Ros, turning to the person next to her to have their turn.
‘You must have pranked people when you were a kid or at university,’ said the short lady from marketing, who Ros had recently found out was called Sonia.
‘No. I was far too busy studying, both at school and at university. Especially at university.’ She’d been quite baffled why intelligent people had worked hard to achieve the grades to get into a top university only to spend most of their time partying. It made no logical sense at all.
‘Still. We all did pranks as kids, didn’t we?’ said someone else.
Ros shook her head.
‘Not even knocking on doors and running away?’ asked Sonia.
‘Not something I could really see any point in,’ said Ros.
‘Whoopee cushion?’ said Alastair, one of the legal assistants who was fast becoming her nemesis as he often talked over her in meetings and she was sure he was helping himself to her milk from the shared fridge. ‘You must have had fun with a whoopee cushion. I know I did.’
‘And that was only last Christmas,’ said Ros, remem-bering the secret Santa debacle only too well. ‘I’m afraid not, Alastair. But please tell us about your best prank.’
As Alastair’s favourite subject was Alastair, he was fairly easy to manipulate. ‘There are quite a few to choose from. Cling film on the loo was a favourite at uni.’ He laughed. Everyone else looked mildly alarmed. ‘And putting salt in with the sugar. That made someone throw up,’ he said proudly. ‘But my best gag was advertising a mate’s car on the uni noticeboard. He had so many phone calls. It was hilarious.’ Again only Alastair was laughing but at least things had moved on and the spotlight was no longer on Ros.
Ros decided there was a special circle of hell reserved for people who organised team awaydays. At least this year’s event had a bigger budget than the previous one of playing a giant version of Monopoly, where they’d dressed up as the game pieces, at a sad-looking hotel near Southampton airport. This year when they’d said there was a surprise regarding the awayday, she’d very much hoped they were going to reveal it had been cancelled.
After the team icebreaker session, they were all called back together and the CEO, Clive, got up on a podium to announce that they were spending the day crewing yachts and would be going out as a flotilla. This was an actual nightmare of Ros’s. Granted, this time it was unlikely that Jaws would be steering the boat but still she could feel panic rising. She reached for her metaphorical safety net that rarely let her down.
‘Can I ask a question?’
‘Of course, Ros, go ahead,’ said Clive although she could see a nerve twitching in his jaw.
‘Has someone completed a full risk assessment? This is a lot of employees to have on one boat. I’d be happy to take a look at—’
‘Thanks, Ros, but that won’t be necessary. All the required forms have been completed and we are split across a number of vessels, all with experienced skippers from a company that are fully insured and do this very successfully, without incident.’
‘Until now,’ said Alastair in a half-cough.
‘I can’t swim!’ blurted out Ros and someone spluttered a laugh. She suspected it was Alastair but she was too gripped by fear to admonish him.
‘That’s fine, everyone will have one of these,’ said a friendly-looking man holding up a bright red life jacket.
‘At least we’ll be able to find the body,’ said Alastair, laughing alone as usual.
The first fiasco was putting on the life jackets. They were all grouped on the pontoon next to their allocated yacht, individually trying to work out what went where. As one of the straps went between her legs, Ros was pleased she’d read the instructions and worn jeans, unlike Tiffany whose skirt was now bunched up around her backside. Life jackets were not the most comfortable garments. ‘These are ridiculous,’ said Ros to Sonia.
‘Try wearing one over my chest,’ said Sonia. ‘One size fits all? My arse,’ she added, trying to do it up under her ample bust.
‘Let me help,’ said Ros, adjusting the buckles at the side and fiddling with the fastening at the front.
‘Thanks,’ said Sonia. ‘I’m not keen on the water either. Got knocked over by a wave at Bognor Regis when I was a toddler.’
‘Same but on the Isle of Wight. I didn’t like the seaweed, pebbles, salty taste or the thought of crabs. Not a word, Alastair,’ said Ros, wagging a finger in his direction.
‘Don’t worry, it’ll be a walk in the park,’ said Sonia with a smile.
‘More like Jurassic Park,’ said Ros, taking a deep breath and climbing aboard.
Ros had to admit, the experience wasn’t entirely awful. When she was below deck or when she was sitting down, it wasn’t too bad. She made a trip to the loo last as long as feasibly possible to avoid being on deck. Unfortunately poor Sonia discovered she suffered from seasickness so Ros had to vacate her safe place in the toilet. But she did keep going back down to check Sonia was okay.
Ros took hold of ropes when she was asked to but drew the line at dangling her legs over the side. Some of the men were finding it an adrenaline rush to stand on the bow of the boat and declare ‘I’m the king of the world!’
Ros focused on the blue sky. It was a glorious spring day so that was something to be thankful for. The added insult of bad weather would have been too much.
Ros had been allocated the task of tying the mooring rope around the cleat, a T-shaped piece of metal, on the pontoon. As she stood on the side of the yacht her hands were sweating with the stress and anticipation of getting the timing right and completing the only task solely allocated to her.
The vessel drew closer and closer as it came into the berth. ‘Jump!’ yelled someone and without checking Ros leapt off the boat. There was a moment where she landed with both feet on the wobbly pontoon but it was only for a second as her momentum propelled her across the narrow walkway and she flopped face first into the water on the other side. She wasn’t expecting the life jacket to explode but that’s exactly what happened. A load bang released the mechanism inside the jacket and as it instantly inflated she was unceremoniously tipped onto her back.
She bobbed there spitting water in all directions like an errant fountain, although she knew it wasn’t just sea water; she’d seen the pictures of what was pumped into the sea.
‘Man overboard,’ yelled someone.
‘Woman,’ snapped Ros from the murky water below.
‘Ros,’ called their captain, leaning over the side of the boat. ‘What happened?’
‘You shouted jump,’ she said with obvious frustration.
‘No, I didn’t.’
Sniggering from on deck answered some questions.
‘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!