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‘Who told you that? Oh, don't tell me. Emily. She was in hysterics when I talked to her about it.'

‘Well, it is quite funny. There can't be many dogs that get expelled from class. What did Frosty do, or not do, as the case may be?'

‘I'm not sure whether it was me or the dog, actually, but Frosty kept distracting the other dogs and growling at them, and she wouldn't listen to any instructions, and then she grabbed the Chihuahua, the tiniest dog in the class: I assume it was because she didn't like its tutu.'

‘I'm sorry, you've got me there.' Lewis scratches his head.

‘The people at dog training are completely barking, so to speak. This dog was dressed in a pink tutu, can you believe it?'

‘I don't understand it. I like my dogs to be dogs, if you know what I mean. My ex-girlfriend put a ribbon around Mick's neck once. Fie hated it. He was so embarrassed, he slunk away and hid under the bed.'

I find I don't like to think of Lewis, an ex-girlfriend and a bed in the same image. He's warm and disarmingly friendly, making me feel as if I could tell him everything – I correct myself, almost anything.

‘A couple of days after, Wendy came into the shop and offered us a place on their remedial course, but the trainer is a right perv who kept staring at my . . .' My voice trails off, my face on fire.

‘I can kind of understand where he's coming from,' Lewis says, amused. ‘Not that I'm a pervert.'

‘Anyway, Frosty didn't like him either, and he seems to be a bit of a bully.'

Lewis is scathing. ‘It sounds like he practises the old-school style of dog training. Why don't you let me have a go?'

‘I'm not sure that it's good for her – she gets stressed out. Why do I need to train her anyway? She's young yet.'

Lewis nods. ‘She needs to be sociable and walk nicely on a lead, come to call, sit and stay. Mind you, I wonder if she's really capable of even that when she's pretty average, and definitely less able than the collies.'

‘Are you saying she's thick?' I feel hurt on Frosty's behalf. Am I the only person in the world who has any faith in her?

‘She is a little lacking in the IQ department, but that's not to say . . .' Lewis stops abruptly. ‘I apologise. Being cutting about someone's dog is worse than being rude about their child. She'll have other qualities,' he goes on, trying to make amends. ‘I'm sorry to have offended you. You'll never speak to me again,' he says glumly. ‘Can I make it up to you?'

‘It's Frosty you'll have to make it up to,' I say sharply. ‘How can you judge her like that?'

‘I'm trying to help.'

‘I know. I'm sorry too.' I sit back with a sigh. ‘It isn't just her behaviour out and about. It's how she is at home as well. She's so much like Poppy, out of control. She's wrecking Gran's flat. This morning, I had to hide a pair of her shoes because Frosty had chewed on the soles. Oh, it's okay, she has quite a few others, so she won't miss them in a hurry.'

‘You should have come and found me before,' Lewis says softly. ‘Look, it isn't raining as hard now. Why don't we take her out and see what we can do?'

We work with Frosty in the field while the collies watch from the back of the pick-up.

‘If you are a nervous dog,' Lewis says, as I walk her up and down on the lead, ‘every other dog you meet must feel like a threat, so you have to lunge and get your bark in first.'

‘It's such a shame. Why do you think she's like this?'

‘Because she had a bad start as a puppy. She had the wrong sort of discipline when she was young, if she had any at all. She isn't nasty.' Lewis holds out his hand. Frosty sniffs it, cowers, and wees on his boots. Chuckling, he takes the lead from me, our fingers touching and sending a shock of electricity through my arm. This is going to be interesting, I tell myself.

‘It's no use scolding her because that will make her even more fearful.' Lewis walks along, and Frosty looks up at him. ‘Good girl. Sit.' He pushes her bottom
down gently and gives her a treat before walking on once more. Miley doesn't like it. She starts barking, but Frosty ignores her.

‘I'm not trying to find excuses for Frosty's behaviour, but I wonder if she might be deaf.' Lewis stops alongside me. ‘She watches me, but she really doesn't listen.'

‘Deaf?' I hadn't thought of that, but it makes sense. ‘How can we test that theory?'

‘We'll have to go somewhere quiet,' Lewis says, and I look away quickly, a flush of heat creeping up my neck and face. I wouldn't mind going somewhere quiet with Lewis, but he doesn't mean it in that way – at least I don't think so.

We walk back to the covert and in amongst the trees.

I smile. Alone in the wood with a gorgeous young shepherd? Who knows what could happen next? I picture him taking me in his arms and pulling me close.

‘Right,' he says matter-of-factly. ‘You take Frosty over to that tree, stand on the other side, let her on a long lead and I'll make some noise. We'll see what she does.'

At first Frosty doesn't want to stand behind the tree, preferring to follow the scent trail of a rabbit or squirrel, perhaps. Eventually I manage to wind her back in on the lead and perch on a damp log to wait, wanting to laugh because this is one of the most bizarre things I've ever done: a hearing test for a dog.

‘Ready!' calls Lewis.

‘Ready,' I call back.

First, Lewis calls Frosty by name, but she takes no notice.

‘Nothing!' I shout back. When I thought she was answering to me calling her name, she must have been responding to other cues like my body language.

Lewis whistles as he does to his dogs, but Frosty takes no notice of that either.

Finally he rustles a plastic bag, the one I keep the liver treats in. If Frosty was going to hear something, she'd definitely hear that.

‘Anything?' Lewis calls.

‘No, nothing at all.' I straighten and walk back to join him, with Frosty tagging along behind. ‘I'm sure you're right. She can't hear a thing.'

‘Don't be upset,' Lewis says. ‘It doesn't change anything. Frosty's still the same . . . person.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘You'll have to change your expectations for her, and the way you approach her training.' Lewis smiles and reaches out for my hand, taking it gently in his, giving it a gentle squeeze and letting it go again, a gesture that is both distracting and tantalising. ‘I don't think it'll affect your relationship with her one bit. Let me know how the appointment with the vet goes.' He continues hesitantly, ‘Perhaps I could help you out with the dog training another time?'

‘Yes, I'd love that, thanks,' I say.

Lewis walks me back to the car and waits while I persuade Frosty to jump up onto the towel I've put
across the back seat for her muddy paws, and clip her into her travel harness before I drive back to Talyton, hardly able to concentrate on the road. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't get Lewis out of my head.

I make an appointment at Otter House vets where Maz, relying on a test very much like the one Lewis and I carried out, confirms that Frosty is deaf and that it isn't the end of the world. She has another client with a deaf dog, a white Boxer, and the owners have trained her to follow hand signals. There's nothing that can be done, no canine cochlear implants or hearing aids, so I just have to accept I have a dog with special needs. I can't let Frosty off the lead, although I can keep her on a long one, and Gran and I will have to put up with Frosty's fits of random barking because she probably can't hear herself. What's more, it doesn't matter which station we leave the radio on for her when she's home alone – it will make no difference to her level of anxiety because she can't hear it. And as for being a guard dog, she'll never make it.

A couple of days later, Lewis drops by the shop. ‘You didn't call me and you haven't been up to the farm,' he says.

‘I've been at work. I do have a job, you know.' I smile as he picks up a newspaper from the rack. ‘Since when did you start buying a paper?'

He grins. ‘I thought I'd buy a lottery ticket too.'

‘You have to fill in a slip – they're over there.' I nod towards the Lotto stand. ‘Wait a minute – you'll need one of these, too.' I take a biro from the drawer under
the counter. ‘People are always nicking the pens.' I pass it over to him, my fingers brushing his, or is it his fingers that are brushing mine? My cheeks grow hot, but I don't think he notices because he's filling in his numbers.

‘You never know when you might get lucky.' Lewis hands me the slip and grins again, doubling my discomfort.

‘Do you want one week or eight?'

‘I'll have one week for now. I'd hope to get lucky before eight weeks are up.'

‘In that case, I'd recommend you look at the lonely hearts page in the
Chronicle
,' I say cheekily, deciding to give as good as I get.

‘I've already got my eye on someone.' He hands me the slip and I put it through the machine.

‘And have they got their eye on you?' I ask.

‘I'm not sure.'

The doorbell jangles – sometimes I hate that sound, and this is one of those occasions . . .

‘Good morning, Zara.'

‘Hello, Paul,' I say flatly.

‘I'll catch you later,' Lewis says. ‘Remember to call me to arrange a dog-training session. You will, won't you?'

‘That would be great.' I notice how Paul hovers near the counter. ‘How about we fix a time now? I'm free on Saturday afternoon.'

‘I reckon Murray will be able to spare me for a couple of hours.'

‘We'll say two o'clock then.'

‘Aren't you going to introduce me?' Paul says, muscling in.

‘This is Lewis, the shepherd who's working for Murray and Emily up at the farm.' I turn back to Lewis. ‘This is Paul, my ex-husband, the one I told you about,' I go on, making it perfectly clear to both men that I have nothing to hide.

‘How many husbands have you had? Only I was under the impression I was the only one,' Paul chuckles.

‘Yes, and one was more than enough,' I say with mock weariness.

‘Zara, could you do me a favour later?' Paul asks.

‘That depends on what it is.' I wish he hadn't made that request in front of Lewis. It makes me feel awkward.

‘My car's in the garage until tomorrow. I wondered if you could run me down to Talymouth later, any time, if you're going that way.'

‘I wasn't, but I can.'

‘That's great, thanks. I owe you.'

‘Um, I'll see you at the weekend,' Lewis says. ‘Bye. Good to meet you, Paul.'

‘Is that your new bloke?' Paul asks as I watch Lewis go, driving away in the pick-up.

‘No.' I bite my lip.

‘But you'd like him to be,' Paul goes on. ‘There's no need to be bashful about it. He seems nice enough, a bit of a country lad like Murray.'

‘He isn't anything like Murray,' I say hotly.

‘All right, keep your hair on.' Paul pays for a bottle
of water and bar of milk chocolate. ‘I'll be back in an hour for that lift.'

On the Thursday evening, I go for my weigh-in with Claire. Mum and Dad take Gran up to the farm to see Emily and the children, so Frosty is home alone, apart from Norris – although he's so doddery, I'm not sure he counts.

At the leisure centre, I stand on the scales in front of Dorien, keeping my eyes closed.

‘What is it? Don't spare me. I can take it.'

‘It's good news.'

I wish she didn't sound quite so surprised, but then I haven't exactly been one of her star slimmers. ‘You have lost –' there is a prolonged pause – ‘five pounds since your last weigh-in.'

‘Five pounds? Surely there's some mistake?'

‘There's no mistake.'

I open my eyes and check the reading on the scales. It's true. I've lost weight! I can't believe it. Stepping off, I give Dorien a hug. ‘Oh, thank you.'

‘I knew it would work in the end. You just had to believe in yourself.'

I feel a bit of a fraud, though, because it had nothing to do with self-belief or counting carbs; it was all down to walking Frosty and the distraction of obsessing about one gorgeously fit shepherd. I can hardly stop thinking about him. The blood surges through my body as I picture him strolling through the fields with his dogs. I might as well have been dead or sleeping for the past few months. Meeting Lewis has brought me back to life.

‘I think that makes you our Slimmer of the Month, which means you get a certificate of achievement,' Dorien says, bringing me back to earth. ‘Well done.'

Claire isn't quite so enthusiastic about my mahussive weight loss. She was running late, held up at the practice, where a patient had to be sent by ambulance to hospital.

‘You've done well, but don't lose too much more before the wedding – you can't afford to drop more than a dress size or we'll have to find you another bridesmaid's outfit.'

‘I can't imagine I'm going to lose that much more,' I reassure her. ‘Claire, you know your wedding, list?'

‘Which one?' she interrupts. ‘I have at least six lists running at the moment, colour-coded and in duplicate. I've persuaded Kev to put them onto spreadsheets, but he doesn't have time to keep them updated. If anyone had told me in advance what planning a wedding was like, I'd never have got engaged. It's all so stressful.'

She doesn't mean it – she's desperate to get married.

‘I'm talking about the list of presents. Is there anything you'd like, because I want to get you something really special?'

‘That is one list I don't have. Kev and I have everything we need.'

‘How about some contribution to the wedding?'