Raincoats and Retrievers. Cressida McLaughlin

left in the pot?’

      Cat gave them the edited highlights of her evening, focusing on the grand venue and food, the view from the top of the hill, and trying to skirt around the conversation and her complicated feelings for Mark. Her parents seemed placated, mainly because her dad was a keen gardener and was appalled that he’d never visited one of the vineyards along the south coast, and her mum wanted to hear about every flavour and ingredient Cat had eaten.

      ‘Well,’ Delia said, when Cat’s words had dried up and Shed had disappeared out through the catflap. ‘We don’t want to keep you all. We’re in the bed and breakfast up the road. Lovely couple, both men, two dogs. Perfect little alternative family. The room is English cottage luxury, silver wallpaper – sounds awful, but it works.’

      ‘You’re staying?’ Cat said, only just managing to keep the squeak out of her voice.

      ‘Only for a couple of days, love,’ her dad confirmed. ‘Thought it would be easier than driving back. We’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow. Have a proper catch-up, hear all about the dogs and this Mark chap.’

      ‘And we want to meet some of your new doggy friends.’

      Cat led them to the door, let them take their turn to smother her in their hugs which, she had to admit, couldn’t be beaten by anyone, then waved them down the terrace until they climbed the steps to Boris and Charles’s.

      It was close to one in the morning, and while Cat was tired, Polly and Joe looked as though they’d had the life sucked out of them.

      ‘I am so, so sorry,’ Cat said, sinking onto the sofa. ‘What time did they arrive?’

      ‘About half an hour after you left,’ Polly said, grinning. Polly had met them on several occasions over the years, and so had prior warning of Cat’s overenthusiastic, eccentric parents, and the way they doted on their only child. Cat knew Polly liked them, though she wasn’t sure how welcome their surprise visit was mid-revision. It was Joe who looked shell-shocked.

      ‘So you’ve had them here all evening?’ Cat’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

      Joe nodded and ran a hand over his face. ‘To be fair they brought lemon drizzle cake. And home-made sausage rolls and cheese-and-onion pies. We didn’t have to cook, but I’m going to have to run a marathon to use up all the carbohydrate.’

      ‘My mum’s a great cook.’

      ‘Why don’t we get home-made sausage rolls?’

      ‘Because I’m a dabbler,’ Cat said. ‘I’m nowhere near as good as Mum is. I’ll have a go if you like, but not now. Now, I’m going to bed.’

      They all traipsed up to the first floor, and Joe headed on to his attic bedroom.

      ‘Why are they staying?’ Polly asked, pausing at the bathroom door. ‘Brighton’s not far.’

      ‘Because it is inconceivable that my parents could go out to dinner without consuming at least two bottles of wine. If they were going back to Brighton, then one of them would have to drive.’

      ‘So I shouldn’t expect you to be sober tomorrow night, then?’

      Cat closed her eyes. She felt utterly exhausted, and the thought of dinner with her parents which, while fun, would again be late and boozy, wasn’t an entirely happy one, especially after they’d waltzed in and interrupted her evening with Mark. If she hadn’t noticed their car, done the right thing and rescued her housemates, where would she be now? After a shaky start, the date had gone well. Cat felt she knew Mark a lot better, could start to see him as a real person instead of the glossy, overly confident persona he projected, and she wanted that to continue. With the image of his dark eyes, and his lips so close to hers, dancing in her mind, she said goodnight to Polly and, gratefully, climbed into bed.

      ‘So this is Alfie, and this is Effie.’ Delia pointed at the dogs in turn. ‘Alfie’s curlier, Effie straighter,’ she said, as she eyed the two boisterous retrievers.

      ‘That’s right,’ Cat said, sidestepping a pair of greyhounds coming the other way. She hadn’t banked on her parents wanting to actually join her on one of her walks – nobody else had to deal with ‘take your parents to work’ day, and her mum’s sandals were not ideal, especially not with the two retrievers who, Cat knew by now, wouldn’t slow down for anything.

      Her mum and dad bustled along behind her as she did a wide circuit of the park, warming the dogs up before she let them off the lead. As her Pooch Promenade client list had grown, she had tried out different ways of walking the dogs, and knew that Alfie and Effie were best walked on their own, as their larger size and energy meant that she’d struggle if she had Jessica’s Westies or Elsie’s mini schnauzers at the same time. And this was an impromptu walk, the one Juliette had asked for while Cat had been trying to kiss Mark on the doorstep.

      ‘So it’s going well, then?’ her dad huffed, almost jogging to keep up. ‘You seem very adept at it, I must say.’

      Cat laughed. ‘At walking? I’ve had lots of practice.’

      ‘You’re in charge of the dogs,’ Peter clarified. ‘I can see that they like and respect you.’

      ‘They’re gorgeous, friendly dogs,’ Cat said, bending to stroke Effie. There was something so sturdy and dependable about the retrievers; with their large, brown eyes and loping movements, they were completely different from the bounding, cheeky Westies.

      ‘And they belong to your neighbour?’ Delia asked, jumping as a football came sailing towards them. A small, blond-haired boy raced up to collect it, apologizing noisily.