Page 1 of The Fallback

Prologue

THEN

Rosie nervously patted the pockets in her black cargo pants, confirming once more that she had her phone in one of them and her Oyster card in the other. She wondered how long it would take her to get used to carrying a train ticket with her at all times. Probably about as long as it would take to get served a drink in this pub by the looks of it. She adjusted the strap on her rucksack, easing the weight a little between her shoulders, and looked meaningfully along the length of the bar, which was sticky and littered with damp beer towels. It was hardly a bustling pub, but the barman looked like he had all the time in the world and didn’t mean to spend it serving anyone a drink.

Rosie took out her phone and checked it, hoping she hadn’t got the wrong pub. He had said 4pm, hadn’t he? She looked up at the clock on the wall above the bar to double check; it was yellowed with age and cigarette smoke, and she couldn’t be sure it was accurate, but it agreed with her phone and therefore he was already six minutes late.

Six minutes wasn’t long, but it was long enough when you didn’t know the city, were wondering if you were even in the right pubandyou were waiting to meet a potential flatmate. Rosie tried once again to catch the barman’s eye but he either hadn’t noticed her yet or was now deliberately ignoring her. Rosie suspected the latter and decided there and then she needed to work on her drink-ordering skills if she was ever going to make London her home.

‘Are you Rosie?’ Rosie turned and looked up. She hadn’t noticed him walk up the stairs and into the pub, but she knew at once he must be Mitch – and not just because he knew her name. He just had such a ‘Mitch’ feel to him. If you’d asked Rosie five minutes before what that meant she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. But now she could. She looked up at him, at Mitch, and she already felt like she knew him.

‘Hi,’ Rosie replied, taking her hand out of her pocket and holding it out to shake his, noticing how tall he was. And then immediately she worried that this wasn’t the accepted form of greeting for a flatmate interview. This was her first time except for student living. But Mitch grinned and scratched his ear and then grabbed her hand, shaking it firmly.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, ‘I never leave enough time to get across town.’ Rosie said nothing because she was too busy looking at the slight dimple on his left cheek that his smile created.

‘You’re not late, don’t worry,’ she said, quickly realising she was staring, she looked at her watch as a means to look away, but Mitch caught her doing it and grimaced, obviously misinterpreting her look.

‘I am, and I’m sorry. My mum would kill me. She’d tell me it’s terrible manners to suggest a meeting place and time and then not be there at least five minutes early. I should have suggested somewhere near the flat, but this place is close to the lab and easy to find if you don’t know the area.’ If Rosie hadn’t already fallen for his smile and the dimple-crease thing he had going on, then she was definitely falling for his attention to manners and promptness. Maybe less keen on his devotion to his mum, but she would see how that one played out.

Mitch waved his hand at the barman and to Rosie’s astonishment the barman made his way over. She gaped. What magic power was this and how could she learn it? She made a note to ask him about this if she passed the flatmate interview.

‘What can I get you?’ Mitch smiled down at her. ‘Do you drink beer?’ Rosie nodded slightly non-committally – it wasn’t her drink of choice but she wasn’t convinced ordering a glass of wine in this pub would result in a positive experience.

‘London Pride is good if you like bitter, but actually the house lager is OK despite being one of the cheapest pints in town.’

‘Is that why you chose this place?’ Rosie joked and immediately wished she hadn’t when she saw the crestfallen look on his face. ‘Sorry,’ she said swiftly, ‘now I’m being rude.’

‘It’s fine,’ Mitch said, recovering quickly. ‘Although I confess I had hoped you would think I was a really generous flatmate when I offered to buy you a drink. But now I’ve told you how cheap this place is, you’re just going to think I’m a cheapskate.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘I’m such an idiot. Always saying the wrong thing.’

Rosie hoped he would carry on saying the wrong thing if it made him seem this sweet and endearing – and if it meant he would talk about them being flatmates again. Yes, hewascute and he did seemreallysweet, but she was also reallyreallyhoping he’d offer her his spare room because she was fast out of other options.

Mitch nodded in the direction of the barman who was starting to look like he might pour a pint of the cheap beer over the pair of them unless they ordered something smartish.

‘I’ll have a pint of the lager then,’ Rosie said quickly, not wanting to risk losing the attention of the barman or getting a beer tipped on her, ‘if you recommend it.’

Mitch put his hand on her arm, which sent a jolt of electricity up it – and not the good kind. ‘Sorry!’ he yelped, snatching his hand back. ‘Cheap carpets in these places, always give me an electric shock.’ And then seeing the stormy look on the barman’s face, he said quickly, ‘Two pints of lager please,’ pointing at the beer pump which Rosie noticed was lacking any kind of sign. Mitch pulled a face at Rosie as soon as the barman’s back was turned which made her want to laugh out loud.

Mitch picked up the two pints and ushered Rosie to a table in the far corner of the pub, where they could escape the evil glances of the barman.

‘Whoops,’ he said as he put one of the drinks carefully down in front of her and then pulled a beermat from the far side of the table to put under his. ‘I’m now worried I might not be able to come back in here. I’ve called both the beer and the carpet cheap and I’m fairly sure he’s not going to forgive me. Which is annoying because this is a good pub to have up your sleeve if you’re ever in Covent Garden and everywhere else is packed full of tourists.’

Rosie looked dubiously down at the ‘cheap’ carpet and back at her rucksack.

‘Here, let me take it,’ said Mitch, seeing the look of concern on her face. ‘I know, I definitely wouldn’t risk putting it on the floor either,’ he continued and then looked quickly over his shoulder to check that the already offended barman was out of earshot. He leaned over and lifted the rucksack out of Rosie’s arms and then put it down on a chair next to the table.

‘Wow,’ he exclaimed, ‘have you got everything you own in here?’ Rosie felt her face begin to go red.

She grimaced. ‘Not everything. But everything I need for a while,’ she conceded, looking down at the table to avoid looking at him. She picked up her pint of beer and took a big swig. Although she wasn’t an expert, Mitch was right, this wasn’t a bad pint.

She glanced up to see that Mitch was looking at her curiously. ‘When did you say you were supposed to start work?’

Rosie suspected that this was the moment Mitch was going to think she was totally bonkers, speedily finish his pint and hastily make an excuse to leave, before he even had to tell her that his spare room was taken.

‘Uh… Tomorrow,’ she admitted and slowly raised her eyes to look across the table at him. To her surprise his face broke into a grin.

‘That’s hilarious,’ he said.

‘It is?’ Rosie asked in confusion.

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