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I'm beginning to feel the pressure. I recall standing in this very hall in a white T-shirt and red shorts, and never being picked for the netball or rounders teams, because I was a ‘big girl' even back then. I was always last, even though Emily, the skinny twin, did her best to persuade the captain to choose me next.

‘I don't want to be in a team, Wendy,' I say, speaking out. ‘All I want is to be able to walk down the street with Frosty on the lead without her lunging and barking at everyone. I don't want her to do doggie dancing – what if she has two left feet?' I look down and smile. ‘She does have two left feet. How on earth can dogs dance? It's unnatural.'

Phil raises one eyebrow, making me feel as if I'm lacking ambition and inadequate.

‘Let's wait and see if she has any aptitude,' Wendy says. ‘It would be a shame to see talent go to waste.'

‘Well said,' Phil agrees. ‘Right, I'm going to watch you put these guys through their paces.'

‘Let's make our introductions first,' Wendy says, and we have to say a little bit about ourselves and our dogs.

There's Baby, Candy, Craig and Alan – they're the dogs.

‘I'm Zara and this is Frosty. I don't know exactly how old she is, about eight or ten months old, maybe. I found her tied to a tree.' I can't help it – the tears are back as I go on, ‘I rescued her.'

Soon, we are walking in a circle with Wendy, Phil and Taser in the centre.

‘Keep your dogs on a loose lead. Best foot forward. Make it loopy, Zara,' Wendy adds, as Frosty tows me around, intent on sniffing the bum of the Labrador in front.

‘How can I?' I say, breathless. ‘She just runs further and further ahead.'

‘The more you pull, the more she pulls against you. Go loose, that's it.' Wendy smiles wryly. ‘It's the owner who needs training, not the dog. That's always the way.'

I let the lead go slack and Frosty runs ahead and sticks her nose under the Labrador's tail. The Labrador promptly sits down, causing a traffic jam. It looks round at Frosty, a hurt expression on its face, but Frosty is glaring at Baby the Chihuahua, who's trotted into her and is tangling its lead around her back legs.

‘Frosty, no,' I say, but it's too late. She pulls back, slips her collar and, to my horror, pounces on the Chihuahua and grabs her around the head.

‘No!'

Phil dives in, extracting the little dog from Frosty's jaws and handing her to Wendy.

‘I'm so sorry.' I want to cry, as Phil takes the collar from me and puts it around Frosty's neck, fastening it tightly with no thought for her wound.

‘It's all right, no harm done,' Wendy says in a high-pitched tone, as she checks the little dog over, readjusts the tutu and hands her back to her owner, who is clearly trying, but struggling to be understanding.

‘I don't like to condemn any dog,' the owner says, ‘but is Frosty really ready for class?' Baby snuggles to her breast. ‘It isn't fair that she. should be allowed to bully the others.'

‘I'm sorry,' I repeat.

‘Let's give Frosty one more chance,' Wendy says. ‘We gave Baby a chance when she pierced Candy's ear and she hasn't done it since. In fact, I think she has a good chance of winning this term's prize for the most improved.' Wendy tweaks Baby's tutu. ‘Oh, you're such a little cutie, aren't you, darling?'

That seems to pacify Baby's owner for now.

‘Wendy, you continue with the class,' Phil says. ‘I'll take Zara and Frosty aside for some “one-on-one”.'

‘Oh, I don't think that's necessary,' Wendy says. ‘I don't want to put you out at all.'

‘I'm here.' He shrugs. ‘I might as well make myself useful.'

‘All right.' Wendy turns her attention to me. ‘Zara, you can try the training techniques on your husband when you get home: reward the good behaviour and ignore the bad.'

‘I haven't got a husband,' I say quietly. I thought Wendy would have known, being one of Gran's
regulars, but she doesn't appear to be listening and I end up in the corner of the hall with Phil.

‘We'll try “Sit”,' he suggests.

‘Frosty, sit,' I say, but she isn't listening, her gaze fixed on the Chihuahua across the room. I give a small tug on the lead to distract her. ‘Sit.'

‘I can't hear you.' Phil cups one ear. ‘Listen up. Say Sssit, as an order not a question.'

I try again and Frosty jumps up, grinning as if to say, it's far too exciting here to sit down. I try to push her away.

‘Look away from her,' Phil barks, and I wonder if I've put my child in the right school. Frosty is like a child, my baby. ‘Come on, you stand like you've given in. Shoulders up, head back.'

To my shock, I feel his hand on my shoulder and slipping down to the small of my back, prodding me to straighten me up.

‘Excuse me,' I say quietly to his moustache, which is like a bottlebrush perilously close to my face. ‘Don't touch me.'

‘Oh come on, it's all in a good cause.' His hand slides further down, and the next thing I know he's squeezing my buttock.

‘Get off!' I squeal. ‘I said, don't touch me!'

Silence falls. The rest of the class looks on, dogs and all.

‘Is there a problem?' Wendy hastens over as Frosty growls and Phil steps back.

‘No problem,' he says. ‘Everything's cool. It's just a silly misunderstanding.'

‘Yes, there is,' I contradict at the same time. ‘Your expert can't keep his hands to himself.'

‘I think you'd better leave, Zara,' Wendy says.

‘Aren't you going to do something?'

Wendy glances towards Phil, a strange expression on her face, before turning back to me. ‘I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the class. Frosty is untrainable.'

I'm confused. ‘I thought you said you could train any dog.'

‘Not this one.' She shakes her head. ‘She's a hopeless case.'

‘So you're excluding her.'

‘That's right. She's expelled.' I don't argue as Wendy sees Frosty and me off the premises. ‘One thing,' she adds as we reach the school gates, ‘you have to remember that men are very much like dogs. They aren't always in control of their natural urges.'

‘You are hopelessly deluded,' I counter.

‘Some people who come to dog training are grateful for some male attention.'

‘You are! I can see that, but I'm not coming here to listen to you insult my beautiful dog and be groped by a dirty old perv. Goodnight.'

Back at home, Gran consoles us with tea and biscuits.

‘It's funny how Frosty can sit now,' I say ruefully. ‘She won't listen to a word I say when we're out and about.'

‘She's a funny little thing,' Gran says. ‘She doesn't bark when there's someone at the door, yet she barks at nothing in between times.'

It's beginning to sink in as the rain starts to pour down outside and the wind rattles at the windows that, by taking Frosty on, I may well have bitten off more than I can chew.

CHAPTER NINE

Being More Dog . . .

Our experience at dog training makes me wonder about hanging up the lead for good, but when I sit down and flick through the television channels looking for something to watch on a Saturday morning (I'm off today), I become aware of a cold wet nose nudging at my hand.

‘Oh, do we have to?' I say with a deep sigh. ‘I'm not sure I can stand the stress.'

Frosty nudges me again and whines and I can see I'll have no peace until I've taken her somewhere. The question is, where? We're no longer welcome on the Green and, even if I did decide to brazen it out, I think I'd be too embarrassed because everyone knows she's been expelled from dog training. I wonder about taking her to the beach, but there'll be lots of other dogs there, and then it occurs to me that I could take the car to the farm, park at the bottom of the lane and
walk Frosty through the fields. Emily said it was all right with her and Murray, as long as I kept her on the lead because of the sheep – and, who knows, I might run into Lewis.

I feel a little awkward asking him for advice about training a delinquent dog, having turned down his offer of help before, thinking I could do it either by myself or with the assistance of Talyton's dog-training club.

I grab Frosty's extending lead, a couple of bags and a few liver treats to put in my pocket, slip into my wellies and go, leaving Gran gossiping happily in the shop.

‘I'll see you later,' I call.

‘You'll need your coat. It's mizzling out there.' She gives me half a wave before returning to her conversation.

It's the beginning of April and the skies are overcast, the mist and drizzle drifting across the hills, but there is a hint of sunshine trying to break through. Frosty is car-sick on the way to the farm, but she soon cheers up when we get going. We skirt the hedgerow of the first field, where the sheep are huddled together with their lambs, and drop down the hill into the covert of beech and hazel via a stile where I get into a bit of a tangle with some thorny brambles.

As I untangle Frosty's lead from the embrace of the triffids, I hear a whistle through the trees. Is it Murray or Lewis? My heart skips a beat as I catch sight of a pair of collies following a very modern shepherd across the field, with the sun's rays catching his hair,
a crook in his hand and speaking on his mobile. The collies trot side by side with their heads lowered, their tongues out and the fur on their chests like rats' tails, dripping with mud. They are heading towards us, but I don't panic as I step out from the shade of the trees onto the grass. I let my lead go loopy as Wendy suggested at dog training and start to sing very quietly to help me relax so Frosty doesn't get wound up.

She's fine.

Until she spots the other dogs.

A growl builds in her throat, but the collies' keep coming, and when Mick's a few feet away, Frosty lunges at him with a ferocious bark, at which Miley comes flying in and pounces on her, bowling her over and standing above her with her jaws around Frosty's neck.

Lewis lowers his mobile and whistles. Miley hesitates. He whistles again and Miley and Mick race across to him, turning and walking back towards us at his heels. I'm shaking and so is poor Frosty, but she doesn't give up. As Lewis reaches us, she lunges again, and I have to drag her back, hauling on the lead. She's strong and I haven't got a lot of grip on the wet grass, and I end up sitting right on my bottom, with Frosty between my legs, as the rain starts to fall once more.

Mick and Miley stare at us, Mick with his head tipped to one side as if he's finding the situation as funny as his owner is, and Miley looking down her nose. Lewis is almost bent double, laughing.

‘It isn't that funny,' I say, taking his outstretched hand.

‘I'm sorry, but it isn't often I have women falling at my feet. You know that's the second time you've landed on your backside – anyone would think you were throwing yourself at me,' he chuckles as he pulls me up and steadies me on the slope, grasping my arm at the same time.

‘What if I am?' I say, taking advantage of the fact that he's maintaining his grip on me, and responding to his raised eyebrow with, ‘Throwing myself at you, I mean?'

‘Are you?' he says, with mock surprise, which suggests he knows very well how I feel about him.

‘Maybe.'

‘I thought you of all people would know their own mind. I mean, you're clever, confident and very attractive – the complete package, in fact.'

‘That's very kind of you to say so,' I say lightly.

‘Are you and Frosty all right?'

‘We're okay, thanks.' I'm not sure which is more bruised, my pride or my bottom. ‘I thought dog walking was supposed to be good for you.'

‘It wasn't all Frosty's fault. Miley shouldn't have gone in to her like that. I don't know what got into her. She knows better.'

‘Frosty wasn't exactly being friendly,' I say, feeling defeated.

‘What are you doing up this way, anyway?! wasn't expecting to meet anyone.' Lewis holds my gaze and I can't help blushing. Does he realise that I came up
here half hoping I'd see him? Does he see me as some crazy stalker? As I stand there, I become aware of the poo bag swinging from my fingers. It isn't a good look!

‘I thought I'd go somewhere quiet. There are always too many dogs on the Green and down by the river.' I bite my lip. It's time I fessed up because I can't go on like this. ‘Actually, this isn't working out between me and Frosty.'

I've heard a few stories.'

‘I can't manage her. I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I thought watching a couple of episodes of
It's Me or the Dog
would be enough, but she's too much for me. She's too energetic and naughty, and she just won't listen.' I start to cry because the idea of letting Frosty down, having gained her trust, is devastating. In fact, I can't help thinking it's worse breaking up with a dog than it is with a husband. ‘I love her to pieces, but I can't keep her.'

‘Hey, please don't cry.' Lewis reaches out and touches my face, wiping the tear from my cheek with a trailing finger. ‘That's better. Why don't we go and sit in the pick-up? I have a flask of coffee.'

‘What about the dogs?'

‘The collies can mooch about. Frosty can sit in the cab with us.'

‘She's muddy.'

Lewis grins. ‘What's a little bit of mud between friends? Come on.'

A couple of minutes later and we're sitting in the front of the pick-up with the rain pouring down the
windscreen. Frosty perches on an old coat on the seat between us. Lewis hands me a cup of coffee from a flask. I sip at it. It tastes metallic, but it's hot and vaguely comforting.

‘I heard the dog training didn't go too well,' Lewis begins.