Must Be Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

many years for this child.
    ‘I just wanted to be sure,’ Emma goes on. ‘I’m sorry – you must feel like this is the longest pregnancy ever.’
    ‘It’s worse for you. You’re the one with the heartburn and puffy ankles.’
    ‘Yeah, I can’t believe I still have more than four months to go.’
    ‘Why don’t you go home and put your feet up?’ I offer. ‘I can hold the fort.’
    ‘Maz, you and Ben are as bad as each other. I can just as easily put my feet up here.’ Emma takes a bite from her doughnut. ‘This is so civilised. Imagine, instead of being tucked up here in the warm, we could have ended up as farm vets. Do you remember wrestling with those piglets?’
    She means when we were at vet school together.
    ‘It was more like playing rugby,’ I point out, recalling how the only way to catch one was to tackle it from above, scoop it up all covered in slurry and hug it, squealing and wriggling, tight to your chest, while your partner injected it with an iron-containing preparation to prevent it becoming anaemic.
    ‘It was pretty disgusting, and freezing cold.’
    ‘It was more fun than doing meat inspection …’
    ‘The abattoir.’ Emma wrinkles her nose.
    ‘Where I didn’t realise that when the supervisor chap invited me into the cold store to look at a carcase, he meant his own.’ I chuckle at the memory. ‘You upheld my honour, turning up when you did.’
    ‘I knew exactly what he was up to,’ Emma says. ‘He had the hots for you as soon as he clapped eyes on you – in spite of the white overalls and the rubber boots. Still, I think we can safely say that the trials we had to undergo as vet students have made us what we are today.’
    ‘That’s true. And after that experience it’s no wonder I’m a vegetarian.’
    ‘Yes, I’ll never forget you trying to cook lentils for the first time. That stew – it was like eating gravel.’
    It took some practice, changing my eating habits. I could list the dietary requirements for a cat with kidney failure, but I hadn’t a clue what I needed. In fact, by the end of the following term, I could have done with an iron injection myself. It was Emma who put me straight, buying me a veggie cookbook for my birthday that year, so I could take my turn cooking in the student house we shared.
    Emma reaches for an A4 file from the shelf behind her, opens it up and pulls out a handwritten letter and a printed CV.
    ‘Shannon is Gillian’s daughter. You know Gillian, don’t you – she’s the florist.’
    ‘At Petals? The one who owns the bulldog?’
    ‘That’s right. Shannon says here that she loves animals.’ Emma scans the paperwork. ‘She’s got some good passes in her exams.’
    I check on my watch, catching sight of the scar that stands proud of my skin like a strip of chewed gum just above the strap. It’s a memento of the fire at Buttercross Cottage last summer, a souvenir of what some might call bravery, others foolishness, when I risked my own life and Alex’s in a vain attempt to rescue one of my clients from her burning house. I try to suppress the images that flash into my brain, and the sensation of panic that shimmies up my spine. The flames. The smoke. The memory of Alex’s hands on my waist, pushing me to safety. Of Alex disappearing beneath an avalanche of beams and masonry.
    I wander over to the sofa and stroke the ginger cat’s head. He mews softly, then breaks into a deep, rumbling purr, butting my hand in ecstasy. I notice how thin he is, and make a mental note to run a fresh blood test after the holiday.
    ‘What time did you ask Shannon to get here?’ I ask.
    ‘Ten minutes ago, but it’s gone quiet in Reception so there’s no great hurry.’ Emma stands up and walks over to the worktop, where she takes another doughnut from the plate. I take one too. It’s a bad habit. Since Emma started eating for two, I’ve been doing the same.
    ‘How long shall we give her?’ Flicking crumbs off my paw-print top, I take