‘I’ll send a cheque for the deposit,’ I say. ‘That’s great,’ the photographer says. ‘I’ll be in touch nearer the time to go through any special requests you might have. Bye, Maz.’ When she cuts the call, I want to cheer. Another job I can cross off the list. ‘Maz. Maz.’ Frances is in the staffroom right beside me, waving the practice phone. ‘It’s Saba.’ ‘I’ve heard everything now,’ I say drily. ‘A poodle that’s learned to talk.’ ‘You know what I mean,’ Frances says. ‘It’s Aurora about Saba. She’s fallen forty metres down a cliff. Tom, the coastguard, is there. Saba’s in a bad way, but not so bad that she’ll let him near her to rescue her. She isn’t keen on men.’ Frances hands me the phone and Aurora takes over, her voice laced with panic. ‘Maz, I don’t know what to do. I’d go down myself, but I’m afraid to move her. Can you come straight out? Saba needs you.’ ‘What about the RSPCA inspector? She’s more qualified to abseil down a cliff than I am.’ I’ve had a go once before, supposedly for fun, but my vertigo kicked in, and all I could do was close my eyes and hang on.
