We are in shock, thought Jed. We all need something sweet. Not tea. Mattie would not drink tea. She grabbed a carton of Leafsong’s strawberry ice cream from the freezer. She divided some into two bowls and gave one to Mattie and then the rest of the carton to Maxi, careless of any stains on the sofa. What was a sofa compared to your daughter and the dog who’d saved her life?

Maxi licked the ice cream slowly, appreciatively, then snuffled at the empty carton as Jed and Mattie finished their own. The old dog struggled off the sofa then, and padded through the house, checking every room, as if to make sure no sudden threatening flood was hiding there. At last she stumbled back, still panting. Jed had to help her up onto the sofa, for her hind legs trembled too much to jump. Maxi’s head was resting on Mattie’s leg, almost asleep, when the phone rang.

‘Hello? Sam, yes, it’s fine, the flood didn’t reach the house.’ And all the other houses near here were even further up from the river than Dribble. Matilda would never have given her a house that might be caught in a flood. Dribble would be well above the highest flood line. She didn’t tell Sam about Mattie, would not tell him till he came home that night — assuming the road was passable, the bridge not washed out — and could see that they were all all right.

Nor could she even bear to speak of it yet: what had been; what might have been; her own betrayal of a dog who gave everything to those she loved.

She walked back to the sofa. Maxi was snoring gently, her ears up, listening despite her sleep for any danger to the puppy. Jed grabbed a couple of pillows and lay down next to them both. And somehow, her heartbeat finally slowing, she slept.

‘Jed? Where are you? Darling, are you okay?’

‘We’re in here,’ said Jed, slowly waking. Shock was exhausting. Sam turned on the light. He stared at her. Jed realised she had never changed Mattie’s clothes. Her daughter had slept in damp clothes with a wet dog, wet hair. She herself was wet from them both.

‘Mummy?’ Mattie sat next to her, holding Maxi in her arms. ‘Maxi won’t wake up.’

‘Maxi,’ whispered Jed. She took the dog gently from her daughter, a flood of tears rushing, tears for loss and tears of love and tears for all she’d had, and all she would have, tears still for the old woman who had given her this house and this dog, for the man who had given her this precious child, this life. Mostly, she realised, tears of gratitude and love. ‘Maxi can’t wake up now, darling.’

‘Is she in heaven?’