Where was the third suit? The one already in the wardrobe still had the dry-cleaner's little pink tag attached to its collar with a small safety pin, so the suit that was missing must be the one that Dr Hunter was wearing yesterday. There was no sign ofit anywhere. Had she driven all the way down to Yorkshire to see the mysterious sick aunt without getting changed? That seemed completely out of character for Dr Hunter who always got changed the minute she got home from work, kicking off her shoes, hanging up her suit and throwing on something casual, jeans usually. 'There, I'm me again,' she sometimes said, as if the suit was a disguise.

On the carpet, in front of the chest of drawers, were Dr Hunter's low-heeled black court shoes, one upright, one fallen over, looking as ifDr Hunter had just stepped out of them. Sadie sniffed anxiously at each of the shoes as ifshe was about to be sent off to follow a scent trail. Next to the shoes were Dr Hunter's discarded tights in a wrinkled heap on the floor, pale and empty, like an abandoned snake skin.

Looking at the contents of the closet gave Reggie a funny feeling, a bit like when she looked at Mum's clothes hanging in the wardrobe or Ms MacDonald's clothes in the skip. It seemed to have the same effect on Sadie who lay down on the floor next to the shoes and gave a mournful whine. Reggie wanted to hear Dr Hunter's voice, hear her say, 'I'll be back soon, Reggie, don't worry.' Reggie was sure that Dr Hunter wouldn't feel 'bothered' ifshe phoned her. She dialled Dr Hunter's mobile number again but just as the number began to ring she heard the sound of a car approaching. Sadie pricked up her ears and stood to attention. A glance out of the window confirmed it was the Range Rover. 'Sugar,' Reggie said to the dog.

For a mad moment she thought about diving into the bedroom closet but when people did that in horror films it never turned out well. They were either found and murdered or they witnessed something horrible from behind the slatted doors of their hiding place.

The thing was, when she dialled Dr Hunter's phone (my lifeline) she had heard the unmistakable sound ofits ringtone -Bach's 'Crab Canon' ('So called,' Dr Hunter explained, 'because the second voice plays exactly the same notes as the first, only backwards,' which Reggie didn't entirely understand but she smiled and nodded and said, 'Right, I get it.'). The phone was ringing from somewhere downstairs. Reggie was halfWay down the staircase on a hunt for the phone -the Bach sounded as if it was coming from the kitchen when Mr Hunter burst through the front door at his usual velocity and was brought up short at the sight of her.

'Still here, Reggie?'

'Just been to the 100,' Reggie said, feigning nonchalance. The phone had stopped ringing a beat after Mr Hunter entered the house.

'Don't you have a home to go to?' Mr Hunter said.

'Yep, sure do,' she said, marching past him and out of the front door. Sadie raced past her, hoovering up familiar smells in the border at the side of the drive. When Reggie reached the gate she whistled to Sadie, who came trotting up tail whirling round, the way it did when she was excited at retrieving treasure. She was carrying something in her mouth and when she reached Reggie she placed her find at her feet and sat obediently, waiting to be praised.

Reggie's heart nearly stopped when she saw what Sadie had dropped on the ground.

The baby's comforter, his square of moss-green blanket. It looked as ifit had been trampled in the mud and when Reggie picked it up and examined it she could see a stain on it, a stain that wasn't tomato sauce or red wine, a stain that was blood. Reggie knew blood now. She had seen more in the last twenty-four hours than she had seen in a previous lifetime.

Dr Hunter's surgery was in Liberton and Reggie started walking because she wasn't sure how Sadie, who had never been on a bus, would fare with all those trampling feet and shoving bodies. Reggie never fared well herself. She ate her Mars bar and would have given a heel of it to Sadie but Dr Hunter said chocolate was bad for dogs. She would have to buy dog treats, nothing with sugar, Dr Hunter didn't like Sadie to have sugar (,Got to look after the old girl's teeth.'). Reggie had bought a couple of tins of dog food from the Avenue Stores on Blackford Avenue but they were already weighing her bag down. She had to keep swapping it with the Topshop bag on her other shoulder. She felt extremely burdened. Mum used to carry loads ofheavy bags around with her -they'd never been able to afford a car -she used to say her genes had been spliced with those of a donkey. No she didn't say that, Mum wouldn't have used the word 'spliced', she might not even have used 'genes'. What had she said? She was fading, retreating into a darkness where Reggie couldn't follow. 'Bred from a donkey' -that was it. Wasn't it? The darkness deepens.

Eventually Reggie felt too tired to walk any further and caught a bus the rest of the way. Sadie did pretty well for a first-time bus user.

The surgery was a big, modern, single-storey building with no obvious place to leave a dog so Reggie said 'Sit' and 'Stay' to Sadie in her most authoritative voice, the one she used on the baby ('No!') when he was making an accelerated move on a deathly grape or coin. When Sadie was a puppy Dr Hunter had taken her to obedience classes from which Sadie had graduated top of her class. ('Dog school', Dr Hunter called it. Which was a lovely idea.) She even had a red rosette, tattered now with age, to prove it, which Dr Hunter kept pinned to the cork noticeboard in the kitchen. She was pretty smart for a dog, she could do all the usual sit-and-stay stuff as well as walking tightly to heel like a dog at Crufts, 'My Best in Show,' Dr Hunter said fondly. Sadie had what Dr Hunter called her 'party pieces' as well, she could roll over, and play dead, and shake your hand -her big paw softer and heavier in your hand than you expected.

Sadie hunkered down obligingly on the ground outside the big glass doors to the surgery and Reggie went inside and found the reception desk where a woman was having a silent stand-off with her computer. Without even glancing in Reggie's direction she put her hand up and made a kind of 'halt' sign to her. Reggie wondered if she was going to say 'sit' and 'stay'. Eventually the receptionist tore her eyes away from the screen and, giving Reggie a starchy look, said, 'Yes?' It pained Reggie to think that Dr Hunter worked in a place that contained such unfriendly people.

'I know Dr Hunter's away,' Reggie said. 'I just wondered when she would be back?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you that.'

'Because it's confidential information?'

'Because I don't know. Are you looking for an appointment with her?' 'No.' 'Because I can make one with another doctor.' 'No, no thank you. You don't know why she's gone away, do you?'

Reggie asked hopefully.

'No, I can't tell you that.'

'Because it's confidential information?'

'Yes.'

'Just one last thing,' Reggie said. 'Did she phone in herself, or was it Mr Hunter?' 'Who are you?' Little Miss Nobody. Sister of the lesser Billy. Orphan of the storm.

Little Polly Flinders sitting amongst the cinders. Reggie didn't sav any of that, of course, she just said, 'Well, seeya,' and hoped she wouldn't.

On the way out of the surgery, passing a seemingly endless display of posters urging her to brush her teeth twice a day and eat five pieces of fruit and watch out for chlamydia, Reggie bumped into one of the midwives attached to the practice. Dr Hunter's friend, Sheila.

One afternoon in late summer Dr Hunter came home with her and said, 'Sheila, this is the famous Reggie, she's my life-support system,' then Sheila and Dr Hunter sat in the garden with the baby crawling around on the grass ('I can't believe how he's grown, Jo!') and drank Pimm's, even though Dr Hunter said, 'God, Sheila, I'm breastfeeding, this is shameful,' but they were laughing about it and Sheila said, 'It's fine, Jo. Trust me, I'm a midwife,' and they laughed even more.