Follow Me Home by Cathy Woodman Page B

dog, and recognise a creature – a person, even – who needed my help.’
    â€˜Well, I’m – what’s the word?’
    â€˜Amazed?’ I suggest.
    â€˜No, gob, gob-stoppered.’
    â€˜I think you mean gobsmacked.’
    â€˜That too. Can I tell everyone?’
    â€˜I don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re going to tell everyone anyway,’ I smile. ‘I’m going to bed. Shouldn’t you be on your way too?’ I hesitate at the door. ‘You’re making me feel like I’m a lightweight.’
    â€˜A what?’
    â€˜Never mind.’
    â€˜Sometimes I think we speak different languages,’ she says. ‘You’re right, though. I should turn in, but I haven’t been sleeping too well since your mum and dad started talking about selling the shop and putting me in a home.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it. They can’t make you do anything. Oh, one more thing,’ I say, remembering. ‘We saw Paul at the leisure centre. Did you know he has a girlfriend?’
    â€˜I heard a rumour, but that’s all it was, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. Now perhaps you’ll see that there’s no going back.’
    â€˜I knew there wasn’t anyway.’ I remove my scarf from around my neck.
    â€˜But in spite of that, you’re still in love with the man.’
    â€˜Not “in love” as such.’
    â€˜I wish I could believe you.’
    â€˜And I wish you goodnight, Gran.’
    â€˜Goodnight.’
    Dismissing any thoughts of my ex-husband, I go to bed, but I don’t sleep for thinking about Frosty – what she must have gone through and whether or not she’ll be alive in the morning.

CHAPTER SIX
    Beyond the Call of Duty
    When I turn up at Otter House the next morning, Jack Miller is in reception, dressed in a navy showerproof jacket, cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black and one tan. His hair is dark blond with natural highlights, and his cheeks are clothed in stubble. He’s roughly the same age as me and married to one of mine and Emily’s friends, Tessa.
    Maz, who reminds me of how I look when I’ve been on my feet all night, invites us both through to the kennels to see the dog.
    â€˜So she’s made it so far,’ I say.
    â€˜More than that,’ Maz smiles. ‘She’s on her feet.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t that be on her paws?’ Jack says cheerfully.
    Frosty is bumping into the bars of her cage with a huge, lampshade-like Elizabethan collar around her neck.
    â€˜What’s she wearing that for?’ I ask, feeling moreupset than I thought I would be at seeing her confined.
    â€˜It’s for her own good,’ Maz says. ‘She chewed through her drip tubing during the night.’
    â€˜I’m glad my ladies don’t do that kind of thing.’ Amused, I lean down towards the cage, but not too close. ‘Hi, Frosty.’ It takes her a few seconds to respond to my presence, but when she does, she gives a squeak of delight, which cuts through my wary reserve and brings tears springing to my eyes. As she wags her tail, repeatedly bashing the stainless steel walls of the cage, I swallow hard. She likes me. In spite of the cruel treatment she’s received at somebody else’s hands, she’s prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt.
    â€˜She recognises you from last night,’ Maz says. ‘That’s sweet.’
    â€˜I think she’s trying to say ‘let me out of here’.’ Jack whistles through his teeth. ‘She’s one of the skinniest dogs I’ve ever seen.’
    â€˜She’s had two small meals so far and she hasn’t been sick. We’ll keep feeding her little and often throughout the day.’
    â€˜I’ll be looking for a prosecution under the Animal Welfare Act, but I’m not optimistic about the outcome,’