Page 9 of Sweet Dreams at the Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane (The Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane #2)

Jakob sighed again. ‘Biscuit is a bright boy, but I don’t think he understands that you want to adopt him.

Yes, he’ll form a bond with you, but it won’t be any different to the bond he has with me, or Maisie, or any of the other staff who care for him.

It’s you I’m concerned about. I don’t want you getting too attached to him . ’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Elijah said. ‘No need to worry about me.’

And the reason Jakob needn’t worry was that Elijah was going to do everything in his power to prove that he was the best dog parent for this particular dog.

Checking the RunMad app several times a day was something Elijah did out of habit, and because he was interested to see what the other Madders were up to.

It wasn’t just races that were posted: the vast majority of posts were training runs since not everyone entered races, and some people only ever did fun runs or park runs.

Elijah was just as interested in long distance runs for pure enjoyment as he was in competitions.

What he liked to see were times, distances, and elevation.

And route maps, because the app allowed people to post those, too.

Sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, Elijah scrolled through today’s posts, giving people “kudos” and writing encouraging comments.

On telling one of the guys who he followed regularly that he’d done a great job in running twenty-six miles this morning (it was actually yesterday for the guy, because he lived in New Zealand – RunMad was a global app), Elijah received an instant reply wanting to know when he was going to post his next run.

Elijah placed the phone on the cushion next to him and dropped his head back.

It was common to post details of injuries, usually accompanied by photos of braces or the athletic tape used to strap up and support joints and muscles, and he’d been no exception.

After he’d uploaded a photo of his boot, he’d had a slew of comments offering sympathy, commiseration and encouragement.

It was all part of the supportive RunMad community.

However, he suddenly realised he wasn’t part of that community anymore.

He had posted his final run although he hadn’t known it at the time, and sadness swept over him, accompanied by a feeling of loss.

It was doing him no good seeing the runs that others posted, seeing the camaraderie, the banter, the praise…

It was probably for the best if he deleted the app off his phone. He wouldn’t be missed by more than a handful of people, and even they would forget him after a while. If they hadn’t already.

However, old habits died hard, and he found himself reaching for his phone once again and searching for his son’s profile.

Cameron had posted a fifteen-mile run this morning captioned “short stretch of the legs”, and Elijah felt a surge of pride.

The emotion was bittersweet, since it was also accompanied by sorrow that he would never again be able to go out for a run with his son.

There was no point in thinking that maybe a short run wouldn’t hurt, because he didn’t do short runs.

To him, three miles wasn’t worth getting out of bed for.

And Cameron wouldn’t appreciate it, either.

Besides, Elijah was fully aware that if he broke into a jog, he’d end up doing thirteen miles until he was back to putting in the same mileage as before – and he’d keep going until he injured himself once more.

The consultant had been very clear about what would happen if he did.

Quietly, without fanfare, Elijah deleted the app.

And felt as though he’d deleted part of himself.

When Nora popped into the salon for the last hour or so before closing that afternoon, everything appeared to be under control.

‘Thanks for helping out, Paige,’ she said to the part-time stylist, who usually only covered Kendra’s day off and during really busy times like prom season or Christmas.

‘I’m happy to,’ Paige replied. ‘In fact, I’m looking for a few more hours, if there are any going. I want to take the kids to Disneyland at Christmas, so I’d better start saving now.’

‘Ooh, nice! They’ll love it!’ Kendra exclaimed. ‘I took mine a few years back, and when Daryl and I went to Paris for a long weekend, we went to Disneyland on our own.’

‘Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,’ Paige said, ‘but it isn’t going to be cheap.’

Nora was almost clapping her hands with glee: she’d been wondering how to wrangle a full appointment book with disappearing off to Muddypuddle Lane every afternoon for the next two weeks, and Paige was offering her the ideal solution.

‘So you found a dog you want but you don’t know whether you can have it, because the guy who owns the bakery wants it as well?’ Kendra summarised after Nora explained what had happened that afternoon. ‘How will they decide?’

‘I’m not totally sure, but I want to give it my best shot, so I’m going to spend as much time with Biscuit as I can, so if you—’she turned to Paige ‘—can do every afternoon for the next couple of weeks that’ll be a big help.’

‘Count me in.’ Paige beamed.

‘Does it have to be that particular dog?’ Kendra asked.

‘I mean, he’s not the only one there, is he?

And won’t a big dog like that need a lot of exercise?

I know you said you wanted to lose a couple of pounds, but I can’t see you traipsing around the streets on a cold winter evening after a day at work.

Have you really thought this through? Why don’t you try a slimming club?

At least you can stop going to a club if you get fed up. ’

Kendra wore a perplexed expression, and Nora realised it was time she confided in her.

The woman had worked with her for twelve years, so was more of a friend than an employee, but Nora didn’t want the others to know so she said, ‘Paige and Lori, you can get off. Kendra and I will finish up here.’ The last client of the day was done and dusted, and there was only a bit of tidying up left to do.

Nora felt Kendra’s eyes on her and knew she’d guessed something was up, but Kendra waited until the others had left before she said anything.

‘What’s going on, Nora?’

Nora steeled herself and said, ‘I’ve got diabetes.’

Kendra blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs.

‘I knew something was wrong. You’ve been acting all weird, and I didn’t think it was the menopause, either.

Aw, hon, it’ll be alright. Shall I pop the kettle on?

We can have a cuppa while you tell me all about it, and I think there’s those packet of chocolate digestives in the cupboard, to go with. ’

‘I can’t, I’ve got diabetes,’ Nora repeated.

‘Surely one won’t hurt? It’s not like you’re going to eat the whole packet, or they’ve even got that much sugar in them.’

But that was the problem. One would hurt because she wouldn’t be able to stop at one. Her biscuit eating days were over: Nora had an entirely different kind of Biscuit on her mind now.