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‘I was asleep by nine. I'll speak to you tomorrow.' I cut the call. As I continue walking along the road, Mrs Dyer comes rushing up to me, towed along by her enormous dog. (Since I became a member of the dog-walking set, I've found out that he's called Nero and he's a Great Dane.)

‘How is Frosty?' she asks. She is red-faced, and panting almost as much as the dog.

‘She's in a bad way,' I say, and then I find I can't speak any more because I well up again.

‘I'm so sorry. We're all rooting for her, you know. Everyone's missing her antics out on the Green.'

‘Thank you,' I mutter. I'm missing her more than I ever imagined was possible.

The next day brings better news, though. Frosty has eaten scrambled egg for breakfast and, that evening, I am walking her home with her tugging on the lead, growling as she plays, trying to snatch it out of my hands. Apart from her war wounds, she's back to her normal self.

Gran greets her with a bowl of chicken stew.

‘There's enough left for you and Lewis,' she says.

I thank her and explain that I haven't invited him.

‘Well, you should. Poor man. He'll want to see you. You haven't seen him for a while. I'll make myself scarce this evening so you can . . . canoodle.'

‘Gran! You don't have to hide in another room.'

‘Your mum and dad are taking me out for a fish-and-chip supper and some sea air.'

‘You don't have to go out with them on my account.'

‘I know, but I rather fancy fish and chips, so I thought, why not? It's time we buried the hatchet.'

‘That's great.' Not only does she have some time away from the shop, it gives me and Lewis the perfect opportunity to meet without worrying about whether our dogs are going to kill each other.

Within a couple of hours, the chicken stew is gone and Lewis and I are cuddled up on the sofa with Frosty. It's cosy, and I'm waiting for Lewis to make a remark about how dogs shouldn't be allowed on the furniture.

‘You know,' he begins, ‘the last thing I want is you blaming me because Miley went for Frosty.'

‘I don't blame you. I blame myself.'

‘You haven't been in touch much the past few days.'

‘I'm sorry, but I keep seeing Miley with her jaws around Frosty's neck,' I say with a shudder. Lewis hugs me closer, his arm around my shoulder. I turn my head to face him.

‘You still like me, though?' He bites his lip, waiting for my answer. I notice a pulse throbbing in his neck
and let my eyes follow the angle of his jaw up to his cheekbone. It really wasn't his fault. He's kind and handsome, and I love every part of him.

‘Of course I still like you.' I fling my arms around his neck and we kiss.

‘That's better,' he says eventually.

‘Don't stop,' I smile.

‘I want to pay Frosty's vet's bill. At least let me do that.'

‘It's all right – I've sorted it and I don't mind. Having her back here beside me is worth every penny.'

‘I'll pay you back then. How much was it?'

‘I'm not telling you.' I gaze at him. ‘You have no money.'

‘I have money,' he says quickly, his body stiffening. ‘I've arranged a loan from my parents.'

‘Frosty's my responsibility, although I wish I'd insured her for vet's fees.'

‘You have to let me make some kind of contribution.'

‘And I'm telling you, no.' I tilt my head and kiss him again and the subject is closed for now, at least. I lose all sense of time and place until the sound of the doorbell jangling cuts through the rush of blood in my ears.

‘Yoo-hoo. I'm back.'

‘It's Gran . . .' I hiss, and Lewis pulls back with a growl of frustration.

‘Another time,' he whispers.

Once Lewis has gone, I ask Gran about her trip out with Mum and Dad. According to her, they had a stroll along the promenade and stopped for
refreshments at the Seaview tea rooms, but she didn't enjoy it.

‘That's a shame. Why was that?' I ask.

‘It reminded me of how your granddad and I used to go to the beach with Nobby to dig up rag-worms to bait their hooks for catching mackerel.'

‘Is there anything else? You seem . . . upset?'

‘I wish I knew where that little red bucket was. You haven't seen it, have you, Sarah?'

‘Sarah?' Gran isn't making sense. ‘I'm Zara.'

‘Oh yes,' she says slowly.

‘I think it's time for you to go to bed,' I say, forcing a smile. That's the first time she's become confused between me and my mother. ‘You must be tired after all that sea air.'

‘I should find that bucket first.'

‘Don't worry about that now. Let's leave it till morning.' Hopefully, she will have forgotten it by then.

The next day, she seems much better, up early to open up and serve customers, and I can breathe a sigh of relief, although I know the improvement in her condition will be temporary.

Mum drops by at ten for a quick chat, taking me out to the Copper Kettle for a coffee and cake.

‘We need to talk about Gran,' she says when we settle down in the corner of the tea room, at a table covered with a plastic mat in a blue and yellow gingham pattern which matches the curtains. We share the space with a couple of baby buggies and three tartan trollies.

‘It's like a rainforest in here,' I say, ducking one of the leaves of a giant cheese-plant.

‘Please don't try to change the subject.' Mum drops three lumps of sugar into her mug and stirs them into her coffee – white coffee, not a latte, because Cheryl sees no necessity to move with the times, and who can blame her when she's always busy? It's a gold mine. ‘Did Mother talk about her afternoon out?'

‘She didn't say much, only that you'd been to the Seaview tea rooms. Have they reopened? Only I thought they closed years ago.'

‘We took her to the café next to the lifeboat station. She can't have been to the other place since Dad . . .' Mum's voice cracks at the memory of her beloved father, before she continues. ‘Since before your granddad passed away.'

‘I expect she got a bit mixed up. I do too, after a double shift.'

‘It isn't just that, though. When we took her to the seaside, she was wearing her blouse inside out and she didn't have her purse with her. Please tell me what's going on. She's always been so sharp.'

‘Who doesn't have a wardrobe malfunction now and then?'

‘The purse? She always carries her purse.'

‘Does it matter? Were you expecting her to pay for the fish and chips?'

‘Of course not.' Mum frowns. ‘It was our treat.'

‘Trick or treat?'

‘I don't know what you mean. You're talking in riddles.' Mum sighs deeply. ‘Zara, you and your grandmother are one of a kind.'

‘What I mean is, was this trip a trick to persuade her
to look at retirement homes by any chance? She was quite upset when she came home – she didn't look as if she'd had a good time. Did you put pressure on her?'

‘We did not, although we might have mentioned selling the shop again,' Mum concedes. ‘And before you criticise, we are not being cruel or unreasonable. We all want the best for Gran. I'm afraid, though, that we have different ideas as to how to go about it.'

‘What's best for her is that she stays in her own home with me, where she can continue to gossip with her friends and customers.'

‘She clearly isn't coping.'

‘I'm here with her. I'll keep a closer eye on her in future and make sure she dresses properly.'

‘You have a demanding job, a career. You don't have time to look after an elderly lady who's losing her memory. Stop trying to tell me she's just tired. She's becoming extremely forgetful.'

‘It's better for her brain if she stays active and busy, than be stuck in a nursing home with no mental stimulation apart from the telly,' I counter. ‘I can't bear the thought of her being alone and unhappy.'

‘She wouldn't be alone,' Mum says.

‘What about poor Norris? No one else will want him.'

‘Oh for goodness' sake, he's only a cat.'

‘Gran loves him. She'd hate to be without him.'

‘She'd get used to it. The stress of running the shop can't be good for her brain either. Please think about this very carefully. You're young. You have your own life to lead. Don't let that bloody shop tie you down.'

‘Mum!'

‘Yes, I swore. So what? I'm that serious about it. That shop is bad news. It's always felt like a millstone around my neck.'

‘I didn't realise you felt like that,' I say, surprised. ‘It's supported the family for years.'

‘At what cost? I stayed at home for longer than I needed to, delivering papers and helping behind the counter; then after I got married I was obliged to continue to work there because it was the family business. If it had been successful, Dad would never have turned to drink. As it was, he and Mother were always bumping along, close to bankruptcy. When Dad passed away, your father and I propped it up with our savings so Gran could stay there.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't realise.' I feel guilty now. ‘I didn't know it had been such a struggle.'

‘Your dad still has to lug boxes back from the cash-and-carry. He has a bad back and he can't carry on with it much longer.' Mum pauses. ‘Zara, we're thinking of you, our daughter. We don't want to see you throw away your career for the sake of Gran and the shop. We want you to be happy. Do you understand?'

I nod. ‘I think so.'

‘So please, will you use some of your influence with your grandmother to see if you can make her see sense.'

‘Things aren't as bad as you're making out. We're managing.'

‘But you'll speak to her?'

I bite into my slice of carrot cake. It's one of those
occasions when it's easier to say ‘yes' and worry about it later.

The following Tuesday, a few days after I brought Frosty home from Otter House, I'm taking her for a walk down by the river. Baby the Chihuahua from dog training is out walking in what looks like a bikini top and hula skirt with her owner, coming towards us from the direction of the Talymill Inn, on the narrow path between the river itself and a curving channel alongside that is verging on becoming an oxbow lake. My immediate thought is to turn around and walk into the field to put some space between Frosty and the other dog, but it's too late and Baby is almost upon us. Trying to remain calm, I take a breath and give Frosty the hand signal to sit. To my amazement, she does as she's told and sits quietly as Baby's owner walks her hurriedly past. I notice how her eyes latch onto Frosty's wounds as if to say: she's got what she deserves, then.

I give Frosty not one, but three liver treats before walking on, only to have to stop again when I hear a voice behind me.

‘Is that you, Zara?'

I turn to find Wendy with five dogs mooching along with her – they seem quieter than normal, probably because of the heat.

‘That's never Frosty?' she says. ‘I can't believe it.'

‘I told you she was a good dog.'

‘What have you done to her? Put her on drugs?'

‘I had some help from a shepherd who has working collies.'

‘I see. He must have the magic touch.'

I try not to giggle. Lewis certainly does have a magic touch, and not just with Frosty.

‘How is Rosemary?' she asks. ‘I popped in to pick up my dog magazines.' She subscribes to at least five. ‘She got in a terrible muddle with my change.'

‘I expect she's tired. She hasn't been sleeping well.' And neither have I, but I don't mention that part of it, where Gran's had me up at three almost every night for the past two weeks, all upset because she can't find her way back to bed. ‘Don't worry. She'll be all right.'

‘I hope so. I know we've had our differences over the dog training, but I don't bear grudges and I'd like to help if you need anything. Let me know, won't you?'

‘Thank you, but we are managing perfectly well.' My mobile rings, rescuing me from Wendy's rather overwhelming concern for my grandmother's state of health. ‘I've got to answer this – it's work.'

Wendy walks past me with all five dogs and Frosty sits, barely moving a muscle. I wonder if it's the result of her being stuck at the vet's, sitting in a cage as other dogs go by and realising that they aren't going to hurt her. Whatever the cause of her change in behaviour, I'm one proud mum.

Frosty has her nose down a rabbit hole along the bank while I'm talking to Kelly on my mobile. One of our mums-to-be has gone into labour and she is with her.

‘How long do you think it will be before you need me? I'm free now if that helps.'

‘I shouldn't hurry, if I were you,' Kelly sighs. ‘She
told me she was ready to push so I dropped everything and came straight out,' She lowers her voice. ‘She's only three centimetres dilated. Everything's looking fine, but I have a weird feeling she's going to end up in hospital.'

‘Keep me in the loop then. Give me a call in an hour or so and let me know how she's getting on.'

‘Will do. See you later.'

I continue walking along the path where the July sunshine is turning the grass yellow. Kelly's weird feelings, as she calls them, tend to turn out to be accurate, not so much premonitions as a result of her years of experience, so I contact Lewis to warn him that I might have to cancel our date tonight. It's fine because he knows I'm on call.

‘What are you up to now?' he asks.

‘Guess . . .'

‘Walking the dog. What's new?' He chuckles. ‘You're obsessed.'

‘It's good for me,' I say, smiling. I feel so much better since I've been back to walking the dog every day. Frosty's looking so much better, too, where the hair on her neck and chest is beginning to hide the scars from her scrap with Miley. ‘I'll see you . . . when I see you.'