'I want a new dog, Mum. I've asked Bertie, and he doesn't mind.'
I lost complete sight of the baby leaves in front of me for a moment; all I saw was an unfamiliar bundle of fluff and energy racing across the field, barking at the sheep, thundering down the stairs and gruffling in his sleep at the foot of Joey's bed. The image faded and I dug my trowel into the soft earth again.
'What sort would you want?' I asked him, careful how I chose my words.
'The sort that stays for a while,' he replied.
The radish leaves went misty again, but for a different reason this time. I tossed the trowel down and hugged my son. 'Daddy and I'll see what we can do,' I promised. Suddenly it seemed like the most important thing in the world. And Bertie would understand. Bertie, who had died so young.
Joey smiled. Really smiled. And I realised for the first time that the gap between his front teeth was finally being replaced by a brand new sliver of white. He picked up my trowel and began to tickle the carrot tufts.
'And Rufus says he'll give me one of his kittens if we take him with us on the next steam train ride.'
Oh did he? 'That's generous of him,' I mused, with a half smile. 'A cat and a dog now, is it?'
But inside I was thinking, I wonder if any of the kittens are grey...?
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