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breath, then turns her gaze to me, her dark eyes shimmering. ‘Ben and I – we don’t seem to be able to have children. I can’t get pregnant. I wanted to tell you, but Ben didn’t want me to say anything.’
    I can understand that. ‘It’s a man thing, I imagine, not wanting to have aspersions cast on your virility.’
    ‘It isn’t that.’ Emma frowns, perhaps a little hurt on Ben’s behalf, and I feel bad for thinking meanly of him. What do I know about it? I’ve never wanted children myself. How can I have any idea how it feels?
    ‘It’s just so stressful,’ Emma goes on. ‘Ever since we got married we’ve had everyone going on and on about when we’d hear the patter of tiny feet. And now everyone in Talyton’s congratulating me on something that never was and probably never will be.’ A tear rolls down her cheek. ‘I’m glad I’m going away. I can’t wait to get away from it all.’
    I’m trying to think of a way to tell her how sorry I am when she continues, ‘We’re going to see someone when we get back to talk about investigations and options for treatment, IVF, that sort of thing.’
    ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, but there are no guarantees, are there?’ she counters. ‘You know, the hardest thing to accept is that you have no control over it. You take the Pill for years, and then you stop and discover you aren’t in charge of your fertility at all.’
    She doesn’t have to say any more. I can see that her failure to fall pregnant is completely devastating. I watch her walk to the window and look out on the street below. She takes a swig of wine, then turns back towards me with her ‘vet-in-charge-of-her-destiny’ face on once more, and she doesn’t let her guard down again until she’s about to leave at the end of the day to rush through her last-minute packing, before driving to the airport with Ben.
    ‘This is it then,’ she says, hesitating in Reception. She grabs a tissue from the box Frances keeps handy on the desk, and blows her nose, and I’m afraid she’s going to cry again, but she regains her composure and attempts a smile. ‘I know I said I couldn’t wait to get away . . .’ She gazes around the waiting area. ‘It’s more difficult than I thought. In fact, I almost wish I was staying.’
    I know what she means. I wish she was staying too. It would have been fun to work together.
    ‘Don’t let the Fox-Giffords give you any hassle, Maz,’ Emma says.
    ‘Are they really that bad?’ I ask anxiously.
    ‘You’ll be fine,’ she says, ‘as long as you keep your head down.’
    Reassured, I watch her go, and lock the door behind her. I give her a wave through the window as she reverses her car out of the car park and drives off along the road. Miff whines at my feet, wanting to follow.
    ‘I’m sorry, Miff,’ I say, squatting down beside her and stroking her head, moving my fingertips from front to back, feeling for the contours of her skull, checking for lumps and bumps. Force of habit. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with me for the next six months.’ She doesn’t wag her tail. In fact, she looks like I feel, all hangdog and upset because Emma has gone. I’m wondering what I’m going to have to put up with too, what challenges Emma’s patients and the residents of Talyton St George are going to throw at me.
    And then I have to laugh at myself for being so silly. Emma wouldn’t have asked me to look after Otter House if she didn’t think I could cope.

Chapter Three
    Perishable Goods
    It’s my first day in charge. I should be logging on to the computer in the consulting room at Otter House, but instead I find myself down by the river looking for Miff. It’s such a beautiful morning, I thought she’d like a quick walk, but she’s slipped her collar and done a runner. I followed her into some bushes that I discovered too late were obscuring a ditch, into which I half slid, half fell, ending up thigh-deep in the stinking