She puts her arm round me as we get off the school bus. ‘Maybe the rescue will find good homes for them,’ she says. I stare at her. ‘What’s that got to do with it? It’s me that wants them. Queenie’s my friend!’ ‘I know,’ says Jan, ‘are you sure your dad means to get rid of them?’ ‘Certain,’ I reply. There’s a big lump in my throat and I wonder how I’m going to bear a whole day at school. ‘We’ll think of a plan,’ says Jan. ‘Maybe your dad won’t take them for a few days and we can sort something out.’ Jan doesn’t usually look on the bright side so I know she’s just trying to cheer me up. ‘OK,’ I say, to make her feel better. But I have no real hope. As if things weren’t bad enough, Mrs Wilson, our class teacher, nabs me on the way in. ‘Ellie! Did you learn the spellings I gave you?’ She takes me into one of the small rooms off the corridor and tells me to sit down. How can she think about spellings when even now Dad might be dumping Queenie and her puppies out on the pavement?
