Snap out of it!

‘What am I like, Bear?’ I say. His ears jerk up and he gets off the bed and comes trotting in my direction. He stops abruptly, his nose twitching, and his doggy brows get closer together, as though he’s trying to make sense of something. When I crouch down, he approaches me tentatively, as he would a stranger.

Do I smell different? Could Bear even be sensing changes that are too early to show up in a test? When I researched therapy dogs, there were stories about animals trained to detect seizures long before there were obvious signs, so could hormones show up too?

‘This is no good, is it, mate?’ I say. ‘I’ll know on Saturday. Until then I’ve simply got to wait.’

When I get to hospital school, Casey gives me a listless hello instead of her usual hug, and even Bear’s yelps of delight don’t make her smile. She keeps her distance as the other children fuss over the dog.

I walk over to the desk where she’s pretending to read a book.

‘Are you not well, sweetheart?’

‘Just tired,’ she says, but won’t meet my eye.

My skin prickles with anxiety. But her mood probably has nothing to do with her tumour. She’s almost a teenager, so maybe she’s been taken hostage by her hormones too. They have a lot to answer for.

As the clock ticks towards the end of my session, I keep checking through the pane of glass in the school door, hoping to catch the first glimpse of Dan.

‘What foods does Bear like?’ the brown-eyed boy asks.

‘He loves sausages and hamburgers and Cheddar cheese. But these are his favourite.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out a new packet of sushi treats that are his Kryptonite. ‘Would you like to give him one?’

As I tease open the foil, the fishy smell of the treats wafts out. Ugh! But Bear has already adopted his best sit-up-and-beg pose and all the kids are laughing now.

‘Hold out your hand. He won’t bite, but he will try to grab one. You must make him do a high five with his paw for each treat.’

I tip the pack and the smell gets stronger, as intense as an old-fashioned fishmonger’s. My hand’s trembling and the more I fight it, the more powerful the wave of nausea becomes, until—

‘Jed. Um, Mr Porter, can you keep an eye on Bear . . .’

I drop the packet, wrench open the door and run down the corridor towards the loos, pushing into a cubicle and making it just in time to throw up my lunch.

Afterwards I splash my face with water, trying to calm down. Don’t jump to conclusions. And yet, how can I not?

The blotches on my face won’t settle. Will Jed guess something’s up? He’s already been asking me questions, knows that I spent Saturday with Casey and her dad, and I don’t think he approves of my getting involved with a patient.