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“He always looks like that. And you can’t sit in the back,” Owen says.

“Why not?” I ask, still looking at Paul.

“Because you can’t. It looks bad on my part if I make you sit in the back.”

I regard him for a moment. “You haven’t made me sit in the back. Besides, I still don’t think he looks happy.” I glance down at Paul. “Maybe he wants me to sit with him?” I pick him up again and slide in with him, placing him carefully on my knee. “There we go. Is that better? Can you see out the window now?”

Paul sniffs at my hair and then waddles about on my knee, doing this strange circling manoeuvre with his tiny body before settling down, his chin resting on Owen’s hand, which is sitting on the gear stick.

“Oh my God, he misses you even though you’re right next to him,” I gush.

“He always misses me. Did you have a dog growing up?” Owen asks.

“God, no. My parents barely wanted me, let alone a pet.”

Owen sets off, his face scrunching up. “What do you mean, barely wanted you?”

I sigh before explaining. “They were late to the party having me, and even though they told me I was planned, I don’t think that’s true. They weren’t the nurturing type. They were both very career-driven, and I often felt like I was a bit of an inconvenience.”

I rub Paul’s ears, which he seems to like, and so do I, because they’re like little pieces of velvet.

“They’re the sort of people who shouldn’t have had a child at all yet felt compelled by expectations or their age… or whatever it is that compels people to have kids they don’t particularly want.” I glance at Owen, who looks mortified. “God, I’m making them sound awful. They weren’t bad parents. They’re lovely people. They just didn’t know what kids needed. They thought they could bring me up with their money.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Some kids grow up in far worse circumstances. At least I had a mum and a dad who loved me. We had great holidays, even if they were at swanky places other kids didn’t go to, and I never wanted for anything material-wise. They always provided for me, so I can’t complain.”

“No dog, though,” Owen points out.

“No, but I did do my high school work experience at a dog shelter,” I tell him.

“Wow, that must have been great.” His face lights up at this, but mine drops.

“No, it was the worst two weeks of my life.”

Owen’s brow wrinkles.

“I literally went home and cried every day because none of the dogs had homes, and I’d watch families and couples come to the shelter, day after day, and they’d choose the puppies or the cute dogs or the small dogs and never the old, scruffy dogs. It broke my heart. I asked my parents if I could bring them all home, and they said no. I found it so hard to go back every day, knowing no one loved these dogs and that they’d never have a home. How awful, to not belong anywhere, to not have a family.”

I stop before the tears come. I had truly hated those two weeks of my life. The reality of those unloved and unwanted dogs had been far too painful.

The car is silent, too silent, so I look at Paul, who’s perched himself quite nicely on my lap.

“But you’re okay, aren’t you, buddy? You have a nice dad who treats you like a king. I can tell.”

Owen chuckles knowingly. “He’s certainly the boss.”

“As it should be.” I scratch behind Paul’s ears as Owen glances at me with such contentedness that my heart swells.

25

Owen

The rest of the drive to Smithy’s is filled with Alice petting Paul and making up ridiculous names for him. I’d normally be appalled by “sausage face,” “pumpkin pie,” and “snuggly bunny,” but I’m just so relieved that she’s moved the conversation on from the dogs who didn’t have a family. She’d been so lost in the awful memories of her work experience that I hoped she hadn’t picked up on the drop in the atmosphere, as her words hit such a raw nerve that I thought I was going to crash the car.

“Why did you give him such a human name?” Alice asks, rescuing me from my dark thoughts.

“What do you mean?”