“Button? Oh, I called her Holly. She was running around all morning—you could tell right away she wa…

Biscuit? Oh, I called her Sprout. Shed been scampering about all morning. Poor thing it was obvious she was lost. Then she curled up at my feet. So, I popped her in the car so she wouldnt freeze, bless her, the man chuckled.

Emma, honestly, can you be any more unlucky? How many times did I tell you, that Jack was no good for you! Emmas mother berated her.

Emma stood there with her head bowed. Although shed only just turned thirty-seven, she felt more like a schoolgirl whod just brought home a see-me from her teacher. And to top it off, she felt absolutely wretched upset about herself, her failed marriage, and her little daughter. Right before Christmas too, the one time of year youre meant to have a family and theirs was suddenly one short.

Im leaving you, Jack announced casually that evening, barely a scones throw from indifference. Emma took a moment to even register what he meant.

Leaving and going where? she asked out of habit, putting a steaming bowl of stew in front of him.

See, thats just it, Em youre never all there, are you? Dont understand a thing about serious matters! How have I lived with you all these years? Jack lamented, rolling his eyes so far back she worried he might get stuck that way.

Before Emma could utter another word, Jack launched into chapter and verse:

I just cant do this anymore! And your yapping dog that incessant howling. The kids forever ill. Wheres the romance, Emma? Just look at yourself. What have you become? he finished, melodramatically.

Emma tried to see herself, distorted in the kitchen cupboard glass. The sight wasnt much, and her tears blurred what little she saw. So, she simply stood there, motionless in the middle of the kitchen.

Jack was allergic to tears. With a regretful glance at his stew, he pushed back his chair and went off to pack.

Biscuit, sensing some trouble brewing, circled at Emmas feet, whimpering and trying to offer doggy solace.

Maybe Ill finally have some peace and quiet without that constant racket, Jack scoffed, appearing in the doorway with his bag slung over his shoulder.

Jack, what about Emily? Emma whispered, picturing her five-year-olds heartbreak, asleep now in her little room.

Oh, figure it out! Youre her mum, after all, he retorted, and left to the soundtrack of Biscuits moans.

Emma spent the whole night at the kitchen table, hugging Biscuit close. The pup licked her with a warm tongue, desperately trying to help. She understood something terrible had happened.

For days, Emma didnt know how to break it to her mother. Mum would ring, asking after her. Emma would give a hasty everythings fine and switch off her phone.

And work? Found anything yet? Watch out, or that Jack of yours that scoundrel will leave you with nothing to live on, mum warned pointedly, coming round for tea.

Emma couldnt hold back any longer. She burst into tears, admitting both that no one was offering her interviews, and that Jack had walked out several days ago.

Her mother threw up her hands she hadnt seen that coming.

Well, we all saw what he was. Five years together, a child, and he never even proposed properly! she raged, though she did genuinely pity her errant daughter and granddaughter.

So, what now? she asked at last.

Emma shrugged:

Ill think of something. Maybe Ill take a job as a nursery assistant at Emilys preschool, she said wearily.

You wont last long on nursery pay… And youve still got the dog to feed, her mother concluded, not much of a pet lover herself. Shed never warmed to the fluffy stray Emma had rescued.

She started up again, but stopped short when she saw Emma was on the verge of tears.

Right then, dont start. Ill help. If you need, Ill look after Emily, she offered, still managing to sound slightly put out.

So, another week rolled by. Emma landed a job at the nursery. She and Emily would walk there together every morning, which Emily enjoyed.

Mum, cant we take Biscuit too, as our helper? Grannys always grumbling about walking her, Emily giggled. Biscuit could help you wash up and guard us while we nap.

Emma laughed and gave her daughter a squeeze, though her heart sank every time Emily asked the same question:

Mummy, when will Daddy come back? Do you think hell make it home for Christmas?

Emma never found the courage to tell Emily the truth. She passed it off as a sudden business trip, texted Jack about arranging a visit. He always pleaded important business:

Emma, please, dont mess up my personal life. Tell Emily Im a super-spy on a top-secret mission. I wont be home for ages. Oh, by the way, have you seen my tie at yours? Cant celebrate New Years without it, you know, he lamented.

Emma sat dumbfounded long after he hung up, unsure how on earth shed see in another Christmas alone. How could she explain everything to Emily?

One day, Emilys gran took her to the surgery for a cold. Emily was nearly better. They chatted as they went, and who should round the corner but Jack.

Daddy! Daddy, youre back! Emily squealed, rushing up to him.

Jack startled, tried to smile, and quietly told her that he and Mummy wouldnt be living together any more. Then he hurried off down the street.

Maybe Ill pop by again soon, he called over his shoulder.

Emilys face turned to stone. She whispered: Please, dont pop round any more.

That night, her temperature soared again. Two days later, the doctor arrived at their door.

Emily didnt want to speak to anyone. Nor, it seemed, did she feel like getting better.

Might all be the stress, shrugged the doctor after hearing about her dad.

Emma reproached herself:

I should have told Emily straight away. Shes a clever girl, shed have understood, she told her mum, who could only shake her head.

But two days later, disaster struck yet again. Granny took Biscuit for a walk. In her hurry, she didnt bother with the lead. Biscuit, of course, fancied doing things her own way.

When the old lady told her off for lagging about, Biscuit spun and darted down the road.

Oh, is that how it is? Fine, freeze your socks off, youll come running back soon enough, Granny huffed, marching home in a strop to dose Emily.

But when Emily heard Biscuit was gone, she flat out refused to eat or drink. Emma tried everything nothing would persuade Emily except one thing:

When you find Biscuit, then Ill eat, she insisted, turning her face to the wall.

This is all your fault, Emma. Youve spoilt her. Shes completely out of hand. I told you so… her mum began.

You shouldve watched Biscuit, Mum, instead of lecturing me, Emma snapped, surprising even herself.

Well! After all I do for you, Mum retorted, storming out.

Emma found herself alone again. That evening, she paced the streets near the house for hours.

Emily finally dozed off in her little bed. Emma clung to hope that Biscuit might find her way home. But come the early hours, frozen and forlorn, Emma climbed back upstairs to a troubled sleep.

Emily woke at dawn:

Mummy, I had a dream! About a Christmas tree! We decorated it and found Biscuit! she said, eyes shining.

Emma managed a sad smile. On the table stood a tiny plastic tree. It was Christmas Eve, and theyd done their best to look festive.

But Emily was in tears, insisting their tree had to be tall and real.

Thats when Biscuit will come, just like in my dream! she sobbed.

Emma sighed. A real tree hadnt featured anywhere in her modest budget. She rang her mum, who flatly refused to come over:

Honestly, you care more for that dog than your own mother! Think about that, she sniffed.

With a sigh, Emma resigned herself to Christmas without Granny. Thank heavens for weekends.

Emily felt poorly and wouldnt get up. That evening, with everything ready for a very small, sad Christmas, Emily began to cry again:

Still no tree, Mummy. And Biscuits gone. Just like Daddy…

Emma stroked her hair and held back tears herself. She rang their kindly neighbour and begged her to sit with Emily, before dashing out into the icy night.

The frosty air struck her face, snowflakes whirling in little dances. People bustled by, smiling and chattering but Emma saw none of them, searching desperately for Biscuit.

Where could you have run off to, sweetheart? she whispered, pacing the dark, familiar streets again and again.

Then she wandered past a small Christmas tree stall. A burly chap in a thick coat stamped his feet beside the couple of scraggly trees left. Emma stopped, rooted to the spot.

Need a tree? Only a couple left. Can do you a deal, the stallholder said, clearly itching to get home.

No doubt his familys waiting for him wife setting the table, kids peering out the window Emma thought.

Just then, a cheery couple snapped up one tree.

What about you? Want one? Last one! Ill help you carry it, he offered.

Emma, flustered, looked at him.

She hadnt a penny on her, and what little she had at home wouldnt have covered a proper tree anyway.

Awkward, she spotted a pile of cast-off branches in his van.

Erm, could I have some of those branches if you dont need them? she asked quietly.

He glanced at her, then the tree debris, and sighed.

Sure, take as many as you like. Actually, Ill help hang on, he said, fetching an armful for her.

Emma thanked him, embarrassed, and found herself babbling:

Thing is, my daughters poorly just lying there, dreaming of a tree. Our little dogs gone missing its just all turned a bit hopeless, you know, not very Christmassy at all

The man listened quietly. His wife had just left him, too. He knew firsthand what it was to not have anyone waiting for you at Christmas.

At that moment, another man approached:

How much for the last tree, mate? sizing it up.

Already sold, sorry, the stallholder waved. Try the next bloke along.

Emma blinked in surprise.

Come on, Ill help get your Christmas tree branches home, the man smiled.

She realised he wasnt half as gruff as he first seemed.

But I have no money, honestly, she blurted.

I remember, he nodded.

And then something truly magical happened the sort of thing that only happens at Christmas.

He opened his van, and there on the front seat was a snoozing Biscuit, wrapped in a woolly jumper, barely stirring at first.

How on earth did you find Biscuit? Emma gasped, close to tears.

Biscuit? Id been calling her Sprout. Was skittering about all morning, lost as could be. Ended up curling up at my feet so, well, I popped her in the van before she caught her death, the man grinned.

His name was Paul. As it turned out, he was rather good with animals and children.

Not long after, Emmas little flat was warm and full of life in a way it had never been before. Maybe it was the magic of Christmas bringing two lonely souls together just when they needed it. Or maybe, as fate would have it, it was meant to be, all along

Whos to say? All we know is, the new family ended up very happy indeed. And every so often, just for fun, Biscuit would still get called Sprout.