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‘Surprise me then, if you must.'

‘You don't like surprises. You always have to be in control of everything.'

‘It's great if it's a good surprise.'

I have an idea. Do I risk it, though?

Claire looks at her watch ‘Shall we go to the pub?'

‘We could wander along the seafront and buy an ice cream. I feel like I deserve one.'

‘All right, but no ice cream,' Claire says. However, we have one each anyway, double scoops of strawberry that drip down the outside of the cones. I figure that having lost five pounds, I'd have to eat a whole vat of ice cream before I piled it all back on.

‘So, have you got any gossip?' Claire asks as we sit on the sea wall, protecting the last of the ice creams from attacks by the seagulls that circle just above our heads, dive-bombing us now and again in a vain attempt to threaten us into dropping the cones.

‘Not really. Lewis is going to help me train Frosty tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Oh, wow! A date! Zara, that's—'

‘It isn't a date,' I interrupt.

‘Did he ask you or did you ask him?'

‘I can't remember. He offered, I think, but it isn't a date,' I repeat.

‘Why are you blushing then?'

‘It's the light.' I nod towards the horizon, where the sun is falling through a pink sky.

‘What are you going to wear?' Claire asks. ‘You can't wear your dog-walking kit.'

‘For the last time, this isn't a date.' I glance down and pick a piece of stray fluff from my linen trousers. ‘I'm going to wear my new top, the one I ordered off the Internet last week.'

‘That's better,' Claire smiles. ‘What will you do with your hair?'

‘Leave it down, I think.'

‘This is so exciting. I can't wait to meet him.' She giggles. ‘All right, I know, but he might ask you out.'

‘Or I might ask him.'

The good feelings about our weight loss and Lewis don't last. When I return to the flat with Claire to continue the evening celebrating, Frosty is in the hall, wagging her tail.

‘What's been going on?' I ask her, as she seems overly delighted to see me. ‘Oh no, what's happened?' In the living room I find a vase of flowers strewn across the floor, the rug rumpled up and the floorboards scratched to bare wood and splinters. The sofa is completely wrecked, the upholstery torn and the stuffing eviscerated. ‘Was this down to you?' I say crossly, and Frosty looks at me, all hurt, as if to say: would I do something like that? ‘You can't pull the wool over my eyes, when there's all that fluffy stuff hanging out of your mouth.'

‘She can't hear you,' Claire says. ‘Why do you talk to her all the time?'

‘I can't help it,' I smile in spite of everything.

‘What are you going to do about the mess?'

‘Well, it's cover up or fess up.'

‘You didn't do it. The dog did.'

‘This is Gran's flat – she won't let Frosty stay if she wrecks the place, and if Frosty goes, then I'll have to go too.' I cover my eyes briefly. ‘Oh, this is a disaster. What is Gran going to say?'

Claire peeks around the corner of the curtain onto the street where a car is pulling up. ‘I reckon you're just about to find out.'

‘Quick, throw the rug over where she's scratched the floor.' I collect up the flowers and stick them back in the vase, which has a small crack through the rim. I grab the blanket which my grandmother uses to keep her knees warm and spread it across the sofa.

‘That isn't going to work, is it?' Claire giggles.

‘Gran, stay there,' I call, heading out to intercept her, but it's too late.

‘Who isn't going to work?' she enquires, sticking her head around the door. ‘Oh my goodness, we've been burgled.'

‘I'm sorry, it was the dog. I'll pay for the damage. I'll buy a new sofa.'

‘And what's to stop her doing it again?' Gran asks sternly. ‘I don't think I can come back to this every time I go out and about.'

‘I'll think of something. I'll stay in when you're out and vice versa.' I know as I say it that it's a mad idea, letting my life be run by a dog, but if that is what it takes to keep Frosty out of the Sanctuary, that is what I will do.

I notice how my grandmother's eyes twinkle with amusement.

‘Don't panic, dear,' she says. ‘I have no intention of sending Frosty away. In fact, I've been wanting a new sofa for a long time, but I haven't been able to afford one, so she's done me a favour, as long as you have the money. We can always go and look at something
second-hand. There's an ad on the board in the shop window. That might do.'

I glance over Gran's shoulder. Claire is grinning as she pretends to mop her brow.

CHAPTER TEN

The Company of Animals

On Saturday, I help out in the shop for the morning before taking Frosty up to the farm to meet Lewis for dog training.

‘Have a lovely time gallivanting with your young man,' Gran says with a twinkle in her eye.

‘What young man? You must know something I don't,' I say lightly, relieved that she appears to have either forgiven or forgotten Frosty's antics from when we left her home alone the other night. I've ordered a replacement sofa and polished the floorboards, and spoken to Maz at length about the possibility of Frosty seeing a doggy psychologist after we've tried a course of canine calming capsules for her neurosis.

‘Lewis. You're seeing quite a lot of him.' Less than I'd like, I muse as Gran continues, ‘I'd like to come with you to the farm sometime. Those great-granddaughters of mine are growing up so quickly.'

‘I'll take you up next time I go,' I say with a twinge of guilt. ‘You could close the shop one lunchtime when I'm on a day off.'

‘Oh no, I'm not sure I can do that. And anyway, I wouldn't want to be a gooseberry.'

‘You wouldn't be. We call it a third wheel nowadays.'

‘So you and Lewis are an item?'

‘He's training Frosty, that's all.'

I drive up to Greenwood Farm and park in the yard, where the four orphan lambs are grazing on the verge, nibbling the grass down short to save Murray having to mow it. They are twice the size they were when I last saw them and their fleeces much woollier. Lewis comes bounding over, very much like a dog, as I get out of the car.

‘Hello. Is Frosty ready for this?'

‘How do you train a deaf dog? Any ideas?' I ask, releasing her from her harness and clipping on her lead before letting her out.

She leaps up at Lewis, wagging her tail and barking as if he's a long-lost friend. ‘Where are Mick and Miley?'

‘They're indoors. I thought I wouldn't complicate matters by bringing them along today. Would you like a drink or anything first?'

‘No, thank you.' I'm definitely not hungry – seeing Lewis makes me lose my appetite completely. I'm afraid I'm becoming obsessed.

‘Frosty!' Poppy, dressed in a vest, shorts and nothing on her feet, comes running out of the farmhouse, with Emily, who's carrying Daisy, close behind.

‘I'm sorry.' She tries to grab Poppy's arm. ‘She escaped. Please come here.'

‘I want to give Frosty a hug,' Poppy wails.

‘It's no problem, Emily,' I say.

‘I don't want to hold you up.' Emily looks from me to Lewis and back again.

‘You can come along with us, if you want to,' Lewis says. ‘I don't mind.'

But I do, I think, and Emily knows it. ‘No, we're going to do some shopping. Come on, Poppy.'

‘I wanna stay at home,' Poppy complains.

‘Another time,' Lewis says.

‘Have fun,' Emily says. ‘Catch up later.'

‘I'm sure we will,' I say with a smile, knowing she'll interrogate me later.

Lewis and I take the dog along the side of the farmhouse, across the lawn and past the vegetable plot that's beginning to take shape for the summer. The rhubarb is spreading its leaves, encroaching on the bed of raspberry canes, and the deep red stalks of the ruby chard contrast with the runner bean seedlings that are beginning to curl around the frames that Emily has built from bamboo canes and baling twine.

‘I don't know how your sister manages to do the garden With those two little ones,' Lewis says.

‘She loves gardening. It's her escape. I expect she'll enter something for the show next month.'

‘How about you?'

‘Gardening?' I shake my head. ‘I'm allergic to soil.'

‘Are you really? I've never heard of that before.'

I giggle and then try to be serious again. I don't want him thinking I'm demented.

‘I'm joking. Paul used to do the garden – not that there was much to do, just the lawns and a couple of pots.' Why did I do that? Why did I have to go and mention Paul?

‘You seem very friendly with your ex-husband,' Lewis says tentatively.

‘We're still on good terms, nothing more than that, though,' I add quickly.

‘But you're happy to run him around when he asks?'

‘Well, yes. He put me on the spot. I couldn't really say no, could I? And I'd have done it for any one of my friends.' I hesitate, wondering why I feel I have to be so defensive when there's nothing going on between me and Paul. ‘Anyway, he has a girlfriend.'

‘So why couldn't she have picked him up?'

‘She was working.'

‘It seems a bit of a cheek for him to ask you.'

‘He did give me a bar of chocolate in return, and I wasn't busy,' I point out. ‘Look, I've come out the other side of my divorce, and I never thought I'd say this, but I'm ready to move on now and have a bit of fun for a change.'

‘Are you?' Lewis holds my gaze, a smile playing on his lips.

‘Oh, I don't mean . . . I'm not coming on to you. Really.' I'm shot through with embarrassment.

‘I wouldn't mind, an older woman and all that.'

‘No, it's all right,' I say quickly. ‘Let's just leave it at that. And, for the record, I'm not that old. Am I?' I hold
up my hand. ‘Let's not go there either.' I change the subject. ‘Are you a gardener?'

‘I'm not mad about it, but one day I'll rent a piece of land where I can keep sheep and grow a few plants.' Lewis smiles ruefully. ‘I'll have to find a permanent job first, though, or win the lottery.'

We continue through the rickety wooden gate at the end of the garden, into the remains of an old orchard where the grass is rough and tufty, and a pair of moss-covered apple trees with gnarled trunks and leafy branches stand like old men propped on their walking sticks. Beyond is an open field, and in the distance the main road – carrying motorhomes and caravans to the coast – curves through the green meadows.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of bruised grass, sheep and fresh air.

‘It's a great view, isn't it?'

‘It is from where I am,' Lewis says, standing at my shoulder.

I glance towards him. He's grinning. I grin back. He's definitely chatting me up, I think as he goes on, ‘I love Devon. I didn't realise it held so many attractions.'

‘I reckon we'd better make a start on this dog training,' I say archly.

‘I think so too.'

And I wonder if he can read my mind, and hope he can't, because it isn't just Frosty who's imagining behaving badly at this minute.

‘So, where do we start?' I ask.

‘At the beginning.' Lewis reaches out for my hand and then, as if thinking better of it, withdraws. ‘Let's
go and sit down,' I follow him towards the apple trees where there's a fallen log. ‘Will this do?'

I perch on the end. Lewis perches right next to me, so close that his thigh touches mine.

‘The other end looks damp,' he says in a pitiful attempt at an explanation. Frosty sits down at his feet as he continues, ‘I've been asking around about training a deaf dog, and it shouldn't be very different from training a hearing one. It's just a matter of communicating in an alternative language.'

‘An adapted version of “dog”, you mean? The problem is that I don't speak ‘dog'. Frosty and I don't just speak in a different tongue; we might as well be from different planets.'

‘That's why I have the pleasure of training both of you,' Lewis smiles. ‘I know I can train the dog, but I'm not sure I can train the owner – that might take me a whole lot longer.' He gazes into my eyes and it's lucky I'm sitting down because my legs seem to dissolve at the thought that he's almost close enough to kiss me . . .

‘Dogs learn through repetition and respond to different cues, mostly based on body language, so you have to decide which cues to use, either sign language or the signals people use for obedience training. As Frosty's going to be on the lead, you'll need signals you can do one-handed.'

‘That's going to take some doing. How am I going to handle a lead, poo bag and signal? That's going to cause some amusement down on the Green.'

Lewis moves a couple of feet away and sits down on the grass. Frosty joins him and I feel a twinge of
envy that my dog appears to prefer his company to mine, and that he is stroking her when he could be stroking me. I'd roll over and let him caress my belly any time.

‘What do you want to use as a “good dog” sign?' he asks, squinting in the sun.

‘Let me think. How about thumbs up? One thumb.'

‘Okay. What you need to do next is to get Frosty's attention.'

‘How can I do that when she only has eyes for you?'

‘You've got some treats with you?'

I nod.

‘Use those.'

‘What, you mean I should bribe her?'

‘No, you use them as a lure to bring her to you and then I'll show you how to use them as a reward.'

I take a couple of treats from the bag in my pocket and move round to show them to Frosty, not letting her have them until she's at my feet, when she gobbles them up as if she's never been fed before, nipping my fingers in the process.