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‘The consultant wants me to have an elective C-section at 37 weeks. What do you think?' She shakes her head, her eyes gleaming. ‘It isn't what I'd hoped for . . .'

‘It's the best option for both you and the baby in this situation.'

‘I suppose so. I know it's less stressful for the baby than going through a natural birth, and the doctors can intervene quickly if he needs to go on life support straight away. If he makes it that far . . . They can see the hole in his heart on the scans and they think it's fifty-fifty whether or not he'll need surgery to close it, but there's still a chance there are other problems they can't see within the heart muscle.'

‘He's doing well at the moment,' I reassure her.

‘Is there any chance you could be there?' she begins.

‘I know it's a lot to ask because you work in the community, not at the hospital, but I'd really appreciate your support.'

‘What about Jack? What does he think?'

‘I'm not sure he'll be there. We've been rowing a lot when it's supposed to be a special time for us – well, it is special, but for all the wrong reasons.'

‘Is there anyone else you can ask?'

‘Dad's going to be there. He's in denial that there's anything wrong and can't wait to meet his grandchild.' Tessa smiles ruefully. ‘I just hope he doesn't have another heart attack, he's so excited.'

‘I'll do my very best to be there. When you get a date, let me know straight away and I'll put it in the diary.' I smile again. ‘I want to meet this baby too.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Red Sky in the Morning

Fortunately, Lewis suffers no lasting damage from his knock on the head and life goes on, but something has changed for me. Even though we haven't been together that long in the scheme of things, I love him more and more, but the image of Lewis carrying Poppy in his arms and the tenderness in his eyes as he handed her over to Murray sticks in my mind, bringing back the pain I felt when I discovered I couldn't have children. Seeing Kev's delight and pride in the idea of becoming a dad hasn't helped either, and even though Jack is finding impending fatherhood an understandably frightening prospect, whatever happens with the baby, he will always be a father, whereas if Lewis and I continue and take the next step eventually to move in together, he will never have that opportunity. I know he's said he doesn't mind, but is it really fair to let him give up his dream of having a family for me?

I decide to talk about my worries with my sister, the next time we're free to chat face to face without Murray or Poppy listening in. A couple of weeks after the wedding, I leave Frosty at the farm and Emily drives up to the Sanctuary with me.

‘I wonder if we were too hasty promising Poppy a pet,' she says. ‘I'm not sure I want the extra responsibility.'

‘You can't back out now. She'd never forgive you!' I exclaim.

‘I know.'

‘You haven't told me when you'd like me to have her for a day.'

‘Actually, it's hard for us to let her out of our sight at the moment, after what happened at Claire's wedding reception.'

‘The offer's open any time.'

‘Thank you, but it's going to take a while.'

‘I understand.'

‘How are you and Lewis?'

‘Fine,' I say quickly. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘You don't seem to have seen much of each other, that's all, so I wondered . . .' her voice fades. ‘Oh, tell me it's none of my business. I expect you've been at work.'

‘I've done some extra on-call. A member of one of the other teams has been off sick.'

‘What about Gran?'

‘What about her?'

‘Has she been giving you the run-around? You can be honest with me.'

‘I've been doing the odd shift in the shop,' I admit. ‘We're coping, though. It isn't a problem. Everything's cool. Really.'

‘You would tell me if there was something wrong?'

I stare out of the window. The trees are losing their leaves, their crowns, orange and yellow against a metallic grey sky.

‘Actually, there is, but it's me, not Gran or Lewis,' I say eventually. ‘It's the baby thing. I'm surrounded by couples having babies, men becoming dads, and I can't get my head round the idea that if Lewis and I stay together, he'll never be a father.'

‘Isn't that rather jumping ahead?' Emily says. ‘I thought you two were having fun, taking one day at a time and all that.'

‘It is and we are, but it is getting serious.'

‘I think it's lovely,' Emily sighs. ‘You two seem so good together. He's been great for you, really brought you out of your shell, while you're a steadying influence on him.' She turns up the lane to the Sanctuary.

‘He says he doesn't mind that I can't have children.'

‘There you go, then. Lewis is cool with it, so why are you worrying about it?'

‘He says he's fine with it now, but he's young and his feelings may well change.'

‘He knows his own mind.' Emily pulls into a space in the car park outside the bungalow at the rescue centre. ‘Zara, why don't you just go with the flow?'

‘It doesn't feel right, forcing him to choose between me and having a family. I feel like I'm being selfish.'

Emily stares at me, giving me one of the looks she usually reserves for Poppy.

‘Does Lewis love you?' she asks impatiently.

I nod.

‘And do you love him?'

‘Yes, more than anything.' I bite my lip.

‘So there's, no problem.' Emily reaches behind her and grabs her bag. ‘Let's go.'

I get out of the car, unconvinced by my sister's theory that love can conquer all obstacles. Isn't the fact I love him all the more reason for me to let him go?

‘Why didn't you bring Poppy with you?' I ask.

‘Because I don't want her falling in love with an unsuitable creature. I'd like her to have a pet much like Frosty, but on a smaller scale. Murray wants a proper dog, as he calls it, one at least the size of a Labrador; but, as I pointed out to him, she wouldn't be able to take it out for walks. She'd end up being towed about like Mrs Dyer.'

Emily and I meet Tessa at the Sanctuary. She waddles out from the bungalow, dressed in what looks like one of Jack's old coats and maternity jean?.

‘Hi,' she says. ‘Thanks for thinking of us. Let's hope we can match you with the dog of your dreams.'

‘It's Zara who dreams about dogs, not me,' Emily says, laughing. ‘A particular person's dogs.'

‘You mean the shepherd,' Tessa says, turning to me. ‘You're still going out with him? I'm a bit out of the loop at the moment.'

‘For obvious reasons,' Emily says. ‘How are you? You look enormous. I bet you can't wait.'

‘I'm dreading it actually,' she says. ‘I was on the computer just now, writing a blog for our website, and I was thinking how much easier it would be if birth was fully automated and you could just press a button to download. I'm booked in for a C-section tomorrow. Are you still free, Zara?'

‘I'll be there, don't you worry. Have you packed your bag?'

‘Ten times over. Jack says I'll have to pay a supplement for excess baggage.'

‘Have you got the big knickers?' Emily teases. ‘I had to go out and buy some specially.'

‘I had to get a couple of baggy nightshirts.' Tessa slips her hand inside her coat and strokes her bump. ‘I worry about missing out on a natural labour, but I'm also glad I have a set date. By this time in forty-eight hours, Sprogget – as I call him – will be here.' She changes the subject and I wonder how it feels when there is so much uncertainty about the baby's health. At least her mention of Jack suggests he's coming round to the idea of being present at the birth. ‘Let me show you the dogs we have up for rehoming.'

‘Are you sure you should be doing this?' Emily asks. ‘Shouldn't you be resting?'

‘This is my favourite part of the job. I warn you there's a litter of puppies that are exceptionally cute, but they won't be ready for another three weeks.'

‘I don't want a puppy,' Emily says. ‘I'd like something older – not too old, but preferably house-trained. I'll be responsible for it, but it's supposed to be a pet for Poppy.'

Entering the kennel block reminds me of the time I brought Frosty to the Sanctuary. I recall the little old sausage dog with sad eyes in the corner of the first pen, and how I felt then. Now I feel ten times worse, especially when I see that he or she is still here and I have to force myself to walk past to the next pen.

‘Oh, I want to take them all home,' I say, squatting down to stroke a black Labrador-type dog through the bars of the gate.

‘He's lovely, but he's too big,' Emily comments. ‘What about the Jack Russell?'

‘She isn't suitable for a home with small children,' Tessa explains. ‘She's too reactive.'

‘Does that mean she bites?' Emily says wryly.

‘As far as we know she hasn't ever bitten anyone, but she has the potential to be a bit snappy. She growled at Maz when we had her checked over at the vet's.'

‘She reminds me too much of Uncle Nobby's dog,' I observe, moving on to the next kennel where there are two lurchers, mum and daughter, who need to be rehomed together.

‘They've never been apart,' Tessa says. ‘It seems a shame to separate them.'

‘I can't take two,' Emily says. ‘Murray would kill me.'

We look at the puppies, four bundles of fluff, rolling around with each other while their mum, a scruffy cream dog with patches of fur clipped from her skin, looks on.

‘They are gorgeous,' Emily sighs, ‘but no . . .'

‘That's pretty well it then,' Tessa says.

‘What about the sausage dog?' I ask.

‘He's very sweet – all he wants is food and cuddles – but he's a little older.'

‘How old?'

‘He's nine. Of course, he could go on until he's thirteen or fourteen, but there are no guarantees.' Tessa returns to the first pen and opens the door. ‘Sherbet,' she calls softly. Immediately, the dog's expression changes and he's up on his paws, trotting over to us, wagging his whip-like tail so fast it's a blur. He has big brown eyes, a long pointed nose, and even longer body, short bow legs and a shiny tan coat that reminds me of the skin of a fried sausage. He sniffs at my knees.

‘He can smell Frosty,' I say. ‘How did he end up here?'

‘His elderly owner had to give him up because she was moving into a retirement home after her husband died – Sherbet couldn't go with her. It was heartbreaking.'

I bite my lip. I hate the thought of poor Sherbet being wrenched from his owner's arms, especially if they had a bond as strong as mine and Frosty's. I can hardly bear it.

Emily bends down to stroke him. ‘I think he's too old.'

‘You're being ageist. You wouldn't say that about a person,' I point out.

Emily looks up at me, grinning. ‘I can't believe how much you've changed.'

‘Can we take him for a walk?' I ask Tessa.

‘There's a circular stroll around the copse that takes
about twenty minutes. That will give you some idea if he's for you and you're for him.' She fastens a lead to his collar and, with a wink at me, hands the end to Emily. I smile. Tessa and I want the same thing. Let's hope that Emily can be persuaded that she does too.

My sister and I wander up through Longdogs Copse with Sherbet trotting along with us, stopping now and again to investigate a scent in the peaty leaf litter along the path, or to dive into the damp undergrowth and reappear a few seconds later, shaking water from his back.

‘Poppy's favourite food is sausages,' I say, thinking of all the reasons why Emily should pick Sherbet. ‘And his name – it reminds me of the flying saucers Gran sells in the shop. ‘

‘All right, I know what you're up to. I'm just worried about what Murray will say.'

‘Will say? You said “win” not “would”?'

‘I feel like Sherbet's chosen us. He's friendly and, with those little legs, he won't need hours and hours of exercise, will he? Do you think he'll get on with Frosty?'

‘Who knows? She gets on better with dogs than bitches.

The main question here is: will Poppy like him?'

And I know when Emily says that, that we're going to find out.

When we arrive at the farm, I have a shivering Sherbet in my arms.

‘Where are we?' I murmur, at which he pricks his ears and stares out of the window.

Murray is at home with the girls, waiting for us.
He greets us at the door with Daisy swamped in an enormous bib in one arm, and a bottle in the other. She holds out her hands and squeals with excitement at seeing Emily.

‘I reckon I'm feeling even more pleased to see your mummy than you are,' Murray tells her, handing her straight over to Emily, ‘She's been a complete widget since you left.' He runs his hands through his hair and Emily laughs.

‘Now you know how I feel sometimes, frazzled daddy. Where's Poppy? I thought she'd be here.'

‘I'm here, Mummy.' Poppy pushes past her father's legs and stops in front of me. ‘Oh, Auntie Zara,' she breathes, her eyes latching onto the dog.

‘This is Sherbet,' I say. ‘Come with me.' In the kitchen, I sit down with a wriggling sausage dog in my arms, and he's so long it's almost impossible to keep both his front and back end on my lap at the same time, so I let him gently onto the floor.

‘Kneel down, Poppy, then let him sniff your hand.'

Sherbet, under my supervision because I'd hate my niece to feel the same way about dogs as I did, licks her fingers, sending her into a fit of giggles.

‘That tickles.'

Sherbet wags his tail, again so fast you can hardly see it, and then he plonks his front paws on Poppy's knees and plants a soppy lick on her nose. She throws her arms around his neck