hour away.’ He looked at Sandy again. ‘Cross your legs, old girl.’
When we reached the campsite, Jack grabbed Sandy’s blanket from the back of the passenger seat and chucked it to me.
‘Cover her. I don’t think we really want to explain to the site owner why we’ve got a dog having puppies in the back.’
I draped the blanket over Sandy. She gave a pathetic whine, looking up at me with eyes that begged me to make the pain stop. God, I hoped it’d be quick for her.
Luckily she was quiet while we checked in. Jack drove us round to our pitch and parked up, then sorted out the power hookup so we could have a bit of light. When he’d done that he came to join me.
Sandy looked at her dad and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Another shiver ran along her belly.
‘Not too long.’ He patted her. ‘Doing well, Sand. You’re very brave.’
She wagged her tail with a few limp thumps.
‘Let’s get her into her bed,’ Jack said. ‘Lift her head.’
I did as he asked, and with an effort we eased a lightly whimpering Sandy into the dog bed.
‘For your own good, girl,’ Jack said, looking guilty at the discomfort he was causing. ‘I want you and the babies to be comfortable, that’s all.’
‘What do we do, Jack?’ I asked in a whisper when Sandy was curled awkwardly in her little bed, panting. ‘You sure we shouldn’t take her to a vet?’
‘It’s fine. I grew up on a farm, I’ve done this hundreds of times.’ He went over to the tall cupboard next to the kitchenette and took out a cardboard box. ‘Just need my puppy delivery kit.’
‘What’s in it?’ I asked when he’d knelt back down.
‘Take a look.’
I peered into the box. Inside was a shoebox, pair of scissors, post-it note and a one-litre bottle of vodka.
I frowned. ‘What’s all this stuff? I thought we needed hot towels and lukewarm water or something.’
‘That’s for babies,’ he said. ‘I mean, human babies. Dogs tend to sort themselves out. We won’t need to interfere unless there’s complications.’
I took out the shoebox and shook it.
‘It’s empty.’
‘Yeah. Hopefully it’ll stay that way.’
‘Oh. I see.’ I put it back and looked at the post-it note stuck to the bottom of the box. There was a phone number scrawled on it. ‘What’s that?’
‘Twenty-four-hour helpline if she gets into difficulties. They can talk us through it, or put us in touch with an out-of-hours vet if it has to come to that. And sterilised scissors, in case we have to cut any out of their sacks.’
‘And what’s the vodka for? Antiseptic?’
‘No.’ He unscrewed the lid, took a drink and passed it to me. ‘For us. It’s going to be a long night.’
I shot the vodka bottle a wary glance. ‘My friend’s expecting me though.’
‘Sorry. Act of God,’ he said, looking at Sandy. ‘You can stay one more night, can’t you? Then we’ll get you a taxi to the station tomorrow so you can go the rest of the way. I won’t be able to move Sand for a fortnight or so after the babies come.’
I felt a wave of relief at having an excuse to stay another night. Much as I knew it needed to happen, I’d been feeling increasingly anxious about the impending separation all through our drive.
‘Okay, I’ll text Surinder. Couldn’t leave you to bring the pups on your own.’ I took a swig of vodka and passed it back. It felt like we were sealing a pact, somehow.
After he’d drunk some, he put down the bottle and curled his arm around me. ‘Thanks, Kit. Feel like I need you tonight.’
I turned my attention to Sandy. Her face was full of resigned pain. When I placed my hand against her hot belly, it felt like the puppies were dancing the tarantella in there.
‘Poor little girl,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to get her sterilised, Jack. She can’t keep having litters, it’s not healthy.’
‘Yeah, I know. Just bad luck this time. She was only a pup when I got her. I wanted to wait till she was a bit older before I took her to the vet, then the first time a boy got near her…’ He shook his head. ‘Too late.’
‘What is it with you and rescuing things anyway?’ I said, smiling. ‘If it’s not mistreated dogs, it’s destitute women.’
He smiled back. ‘Suppose I am building a bit of a reputation in that area. Hey, you know where there’s any aquariums round here? Always wanted a pet turtle, maybe there’s one’ll want rescuing.’
I laughed. ‘No, sorry. So did you really live on a farm?’
‘Just a little one. My parents had a few acres over in County Wicklow, where I grew up. Then they moved to Scotland.’
‘Do you still have family in Ireland?’
‘Mikey, my big brother – he took the farm on after Mam and Dad retired. Grandparents. Few aunts and uncles.’
‘Go back much?’
‘When I can,’ he said. ‘It’s a beautiful place, not far from the sea. You been to Ireland?’
‘No. I worked on a city guide to Dublin once.’
He smiled. ‘All right, where have you been? Anywhere other than Alicante?’
‘Blackpool?’
‘Wow. Exotic.’
Sandy let out a long, low whine. A small black bag had started to emerge behind her.
‘There’s the first one,’ Jack said in a hushed tone. He took another swig of vodka and passed it to me.
When Sandy had shaken herself free of the puppy, it lay by her feet in a little wriggling sack. Its mum blinked at it, looking puzzled.
‘What do we do?’ I asked Jack in a panicked whisper. ‘Do we need the scissors?’
‘Give it a second, let instinct kick in,’ he whispered back.
After a couple more seconds, Sandy bit the bag open and her first tiny baby spilled out in a mess of goo and life. She chewed off the umbilical cord then gave the little chap a vigorous clean with her tongue, and we watched as he squirmed his way blindly to her flank, attached himself to one teat and suckled noisily. Sandy shivered again as another contraction rippled through her, but she didn’t make a sound.
‘It should get easier for her now,’ Jack said.
I looked at the little puppy. He wasn’t yellow like Sandy but black, with a piping of white running around his collar.
‘What colour’s the dad?’ I asked Jack.
He laughed. ‘Brown, or I thought he was. Starting to wonder if Sand’s been putting it about.’
I tickled Sandy between the ears. ‘Slutty girl.’
‘Definitely Jack Russell stock though,’ he said, examining the pup. ‘That’s good. If they’ve got the ratter gene, I should have a home for them.’
‘How can you tell?’ I asked. ‘He looks a bit rat-like himself at the moment.’
‘Shape of the muzzle. Long and thin.’
I squinted at the puppy, sucking against Sandy’s belly as she regarded him with a comical mixture of pride, affection and surprise.
‘He’s very tiny, isn’t he?’ I said. ‘I mean, even for a baby. They seemed