Read Online The Puppy That Came for Christmas by Megan Rix - Free Book Online Page A

Emma showed Jack her latest toy.
    â€œHe shook his head like I was mad and said it was sometimes very hard for women like me to accept that they couldn’t get pregnant. And maybe he should refer me for counseling!”
    Jack and Carmel laughed. I didn’t know what to say.
    â€œBut I was pregnant—three months pregnant—and he was wrong! And then I was worried because if I’d known I was pregnant—really pregnant—I’d never have been drinking wine and I hadn’t been having the extra folic acid you’re supposed to . . .” She bit her lip, concerned. “The fibroids are still inside me, but when they did the scan they said the baby had somehow managed to find a place in between them and is growing fine . . .”
    â€œIt’s a miracle,” Jack said.
    â€œYes,” Carmel agreed.
    â€œI’m so pleased for you,” I said.
    â€œWhat fantastic news,” said Ian.
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    I lay in bed that night asking myself why I hadn’t opened up to them then about our anguish. Ian was fast asleep beside me, catching Zs before his early train, but I couldn’t let the day go. There had been ample opportunity for me to talk to Jack, and I’d seen Ian look across at me meaningfully, over the table crowded with mugs, cake and the teapot, but he’d kept mum, leaving it to me to broach the subject with my relatives. Perhaps I’d been too stunned, or I’d obscurely felt that to let the secret out would decrease the chances of the magic working. So I hadn’t said anything, although I knew that I should have. Why hadn’t I said something?
    Ian started to snore softly. I stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Downstairs in her crate Emma made a sound and I went to see her.
    â€œHello, little girl,” I said.
    She wagged her tail as I opened the door and trotted out into the garden after me.
    I couldn’t get Jack and Carmel out of my mind. It felt like an opportunity had passed to share our burden. I was genuinely pleased for them, and, after all, it offered up grounds for hope for Ian and me. If she could get pregnant with all her fertility problems, then surely I could.
    â€œPlease let it be our turn next,” I whispered. “Oh, please let it be our turn soon.”
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    We were doing everything we could. I’d been taking some herbs, agnus castus and black cohosh, which were recommended on the Internet, and had changed my diet to take in more foods rich in folic acid, like asparagus. I’d also contacted a charity called Baby Makers, who support people having difficulty getting pregnant, on the advice of a friend, Sam, who had finally conceived with their help. Sam had taken a lot of advice from what they called their Preconception Program on food and supplements, and had undergone hair analysis to see if she had the right nutrients to enhance her fertility and promote the growth of a baby. It also showed if there was too much of a mineral or metal that would harm her chances. Sam also enjoyed their newsletter, which featured many people who’d successfully had babies against the odds.
    I rang them up and spoke to a lovely lady called Sarah, and finally decided to have the hair analysis myself. It was expensive—causing Ian to mutter that it was a waste of time—but I was willing to give anything a try, from acupuncture to consulting the zodiac, so I chopped a couple of inches off the edge of my thatch and sent it off in the post. How could it hurt? I reasoned. We needed all the help we could get; we’d even raised the end of the bed a few inches, to give gravity a boost.
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    Jamie was sweeping the doorstep as we drew into the Helper Dogs car park early the next day. It was a bright, cold February morning and, squinting against the low sun, he recognized my car, gave a wave and then creased up with laughter. I got out and, rather defensively, suspecting I had biro on my face or something, asked what the