‘You’re late again!’ called through Kate from the kitchen as Becky shut the front door behind her.

‘Working,’ said Becky, going to join her mum.

‘Did you get the porridge oats?’

Becky pulled a packet out of her backpack. ‘Your text arrived just as I was passing the supermarket.’

‘Flipping heck! Organic? How much did that cost you?’

‘It’s better for you.’

‘Not for my purse.’

‘My treat,’ said Becky wryly. ‘It’s actually only thirteen pence more for the same-sized bag.’

‘Well, I hope they taste thirteen pence better.’ Kate put them in the cupboard and turned to her daughter. ‘So, you not gonna ask?’

Becky realized her mum had a big grin on her face. ‘What? You’ve won the lottery?’

‘If only.’

‘Pay rise?’

‘Guess again.’

‘I give up.’

‘I have . . .’ Kate paused and took a breath for dramatic effect, ‘. . . a date.’

Becky stopped still. ‘A date?’ she said, as though she’d never heard the word before. ‘With a . . . man?’

‘What else?’ Kate waited for a response, her nerves kicking in the longer Becky took to congratulate her. It had been a long time since she’d last been asked out – nearly two years – and that hadn’t gone well. In fact, she’d considered turning this one down as her history with dating wasn’t in the least bit successful, but something had made her throw caution to the wind and say ‘yes’. Then Becky engulfed her in a hug.

‘Whoo! Who is he?’

‘His name is Tim. I met him at work.’

‘Colleague or customer?’

‘Customer. New one. That is, I’d never seen him in the shop before. He asked me for my advice on fitting window flashings. Several times.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He came in on Monday and I talked him through it, gave him a leaflet. He ends the conversation by asking if I fancy a drink, but I told him I don’t date customers. So, he’s back in Tuesday saying he doesn’t understand the leaflet. I end up drawing him a diagram. He asks me out again. I still say no. Next thing, he’s back at the help desk this morning. With a bunch of flowers.’

It was at this point Becky noticed the yellow roses in a vase on the kitchen counter. ‘Blimey. He’s persistent.’

‘Yes. I’m not sure what made me change my mind.’ Kate’s eyes wandered to the blooms. ‘Hmm. Anyway, he wasn’t wearing a ring. Got all his own hair. And he seems nice. At the very least, we can talk DIY.’

‘How old is he?’

‘I didn’t ask for his birth certificate. Mid-thirties?’

‘And still single? Something wrong with him?’

‘Something wrong with me?’

Becky looked chastised. ‘Sorry. Course there’s not. You’re a catch.’

Kate raised an eyebrow.

‘So, when are you seeing him?’

‘Saturday. He’s taking me to dinner. That OK?’

‘Mum, of course it’s OK,’ said Becky. ‘I don’t need a babysitter anymore, you are free to live your life now that you are released of the burden of bringing me up.’