We’re not the type of sisters who would ever raid each other’s wardrobes.

‘You do?’

‘I do.’

‘Wow, whatever happened to indecisive dater Rosie? So, what are you going with? That black dress? Oh no, I know, that dress you bought for—’

‘Nope.’

‘Tell!’

‘Well, I’ll give you one clue. It involves rubber!’

‘Rubber!’ She screeches.

I grin, put the phone down and go off in search of my very gorgeous Joules wellies which I haven’t had the chance to wear for ages.

Chapter 7

‘You must be Rosie! Ophelia, delighted to meet you, darling.’

I have opened my front door and I am pretty sure there’s an elegant tall woman with her hand stuck out, but I can’t take my eyes off the dog. ‘Oh, my golly gosh he’s big!’ I do not normally talk like this, but faced with a posh lady, who is talking in a posh voice, and is carrying Barbour accessories, I can’t seem to help myself. I also can’t help that my voice has the squeak of threatening hysteria. Big is the understatement of the century.

It is 9am on a bright and sunny Saturday morning, and I am suddenly hugely relieved that I am meeting Noah. I mean, I do realise that he’s there purely on a dating advisory basis, but surely, he can’t object to acting as a dog anchor at the same time?

I seriously hope he isn’t allergic to dogs or scared of them – although he didn’t object when I mentioned Hugo over the phone.

‘Big? Oh, good heavens no, dear.’ She laughs, rather heartily. ‘He’s quite small for his breed,’ she puts her hands over his big floppy ears, ‘a bit of a disappointment if I’m honest, after the amount of money we spent,’ she removes her hands and raises her voice, ‘but you’re such a darling, quiet as a mouse, aren’t you, Hugo? In you go, sweetie.’

Hugo steps inside what, up until now, I’ve thought of as a reasonably sized hallway, and flops down. He takes up the entire doormat and creates a pony size barrier between me and his mum. He is like a donkey, but without the sticky up ears.

‘You’ll hardly know he’s here!’

He shakes his head and I have to jump back to avoid a drool-shower. My suede boots, lined up neatly under the coat hooks, are never going to be the same again.

I bloody well think I will know he’s here.

On paper, Hugo was the man of my dreams. Well-bred, tall, aristocratic and two years old. In real life he’s a bit scary. As in scarily ginormous.

I might have made a mistake. I’d signed up for doggie borrowing on impulse, without thinking it through. It had been a bit alarming how quickly I’d had a response, and once I’d said yes, I couldn’t back out and say ‘well actually I’ve decided to stick with the man dates’, could I? So now I have a potentially disastrous double date. I might have to call Noah and warn him. Or then again that might be a mistake: he might back out.