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**_We’d found the perfect place to celebrate our marriage. But then disaster struck. By Shona Cattan, 44_**

We huffed and puffed but finally we’d made it. After a long walk up a hill, my husband Richard and I stopped in front of a plot of land.

We were in the middle of nowhere and, apart from the ruins of an old stone cottage, there wasn’t much there.

But, to us, it was full of excitement and opportunity.

We’d just tied the knot in Newcastle, Tyne & Wear, before moving out to Spain to live our dream.

Our plan was to build a house on the land, as well as an area to hold a huge wedding celebration in the sunshine for our friends and family.

Richard worked as a tree surgeon, but we also planned to grow olives and fruit on our land.

We got to work, planting our olive grove and building a wooden house and set about restoring the stone cottage, living in a caravan while we did it.

We didn’t know much Spanish when we arrived, but we learned as we went along.

> 'What are the chances of another disaster?'

Two years went by and finally we were nearly ready to host our big party.

But one night, with just two months to go, Richard got a call as we were getting ready for bed.

As he listened, his expression dropped, so I knew it was about his grandma, who’d been poorly recently.

Three weeks later, I drove him to the airport to fly back to the UK for the funeral.

I wanted to pay my respects too, but I had to stay in Spain for our dog Jampo.

‘Will you be OK on your own?’ he asked.

The last time he’d flown back, I’d ended up in hospital. I’d accidentally disturbed a wasps’ nest and my fingers swelled so badly I had to get my rings cut off.

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘What are the chances of another disaster?’

On the way home, though, I stopped at the supermarket in the nearest village and left my purse on the counter.

I realised in time, and ran back to get it.

However, as I headed home along the isolated country roads, I spotted a huge plume of thick smoke rising up into the sky.

‘I hope that’s not our home on fire,’ I said to Jampo.

I meant it as a joke but, as I kept driving, I started to feel nervous.

The closer I got to home, the bigger the smoke plume looked.

‘Please no,’ I muttered as I put my foot down.

Our wooden house was engulfed in flames that reached 10 metres into the air. The smoke plume was double that height and the flames were already spreading to the surrounding trees and hillside.

I leapt from the car and grabbed our passports and documents from the caravan.

My Spanish wasn’t great and I desperately tried to explain the directions to the operator.

All I could do was look on, and keep Jampo safe, as our dream home went up in smoke.

Then, I saw fire engines in the distance.

There were 14 vehicles, fire engines and police cars, and firefighters sprang into action.

Once the main fire was out, the volunteer fire service spent nine hours cutting down trees and making sure there was no risk of the fire spreading further.

I sobbed until I felt like I had no tears left.

Our wedding venue and the home we’d worked so hard to build for two years was destroyed. There was nothing left.

Our kitchen, living room, furniture, utensils… nothing survived.

‘At least you and Jampo weren’t inside,’ one said.

‘It’s only stuff,’ soothed another.

I knew they meant well, but I still felt heartbroken.

When I knew Richard was at his parents’ house, I called him.

We were both in tears as I told him that our home was in ashes.

‘I’m getting on the next flight back,’ he said.

I told him that Jampo and I were fine, but he was adamant.

His mum even filled a suitcase with dishes, pots, pans and utensils for us.

When he arrived, we fell into each other’s arms in tears.

Luckily, the caravan wasn’t damaged so we could sleep there but we didn’t know where to begin to put things right.

An investigation was carried out. While it couldn’t find an exact cause for the fire, it was believed that our solar equipment was faulty, and the control panel was damaged by rain as it was placed on the wall near an open window.

On top of everything, there were only weeks to go before our big celebration.

‘People have spent all that money, we can’t just cancel,’ I said.

‘Then we’ll rebuild it,’ Richard said, ‘and quickly.’

Redoing two years’ work in two months was a huge ask, but we were determined, and our friends in Spain rallied round, helping us to rebuild and donating furniture.

We installed better solar equipment, away from any windows, and back at home a friend even started a fundraiser to help us rebuild.

I was so grateful for everyone’s love and support, and by the time our big day arrived, we’d rebuilt most of the wooden house and put up a beautiful tent around the rest.

On the day, our guests arrived and we held a ceremony. Then Richard and I planted apricot trees. They were symbolic as they needed each other in order to pollinate.

It was a perfect day, and I was so grateful to everyone who helped us.

Now we’re looking to the future and feeling thankful for all the love we were shown.

We may have faced the flames but not even a fire could stop us celebrating.

Our home and wedding venue went up in a blaze

**_Becki and I were like sisters. So how would I feel about my fella getting her pregnant? By Kimberley Allen, 33_**

A voice whispered in my ear and I started to giggle.

But before I could whisper back to my friend Becki, another — much louder voice — barked at me.

‘Kimberley!’ the teacher snapped. ‘You sit over there!’

I glanced at Becki and we started sniggering again.

We were always being split up for chatting but, despite the best efforts of our teachers, Becki and I had been inseparable since we were four.

We were chalk and cheese, though. While I was outgoing, Becki was more reserved. But that was fine because we complemented each other.

She grounded me, while I brought out the fun in her.

We spent hours laughing, chatting, and making up dance routines to our favourite Atomic Kitten songs.

We could instantly tell when the other was upset and no matter what happened, we always felt comforted by the other’s presence.

‘You’re not my friend, you’re my sister,’ we’d tell each other.

So, when I was diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome at 15 and told I’d struggle to have children, it was Becki I turned to.

‘Being a mum was my dream,’ I told her.

‘You never know what’s going to happen,’ she replied.

As the years went by, our friendship remained unbreakable — even when Becki fell pregnant.

I was so pleased for her, it never crossed my mind to feel envious. After all, if anyone deserved the joy of motherhood, it was my best pal.

Even when I did manage to fall pregnant, I suffered a series of devastating miscarriages which took their toll on my relationships.

She gave birth to another two daughters and her growing family only ever brought me joy.

I loved being a fun auntie and I jumped at the chance to look after them whenever Becki needed. They stayed over so often that I had my spare bedroom set up just for them.

Eventually, I stopped wondering when it would be my turn to be a mum and even gave up on finding a man.

But one night I found myself online and got chatting to a man called Jamie. We hit it off and agreed to meet up.

Amazingly, we got along even better in person.

Before things went further, I knew I had to be honest about my struggles to have children.

‘That’s OK,’ Jamie replied. ‘Let’s just see where this goes.’

So we did and, eight months on, he popped the question.

As time passed, we looked into fertility treatment, but it didn’t work and we started to accept that it wasn’t going to happen for us.

Becki invited us round to hers for a barbecue and, when the kids were in bed, she sat us down and said something astonishing.

‘I’d like to have a baby for you,’ she said.

Jamie and I sat in stunned silence for a few minutes before I finally managed to say: ‘You what?’

‘I’ve thought about it,’ she said, ‘and I’d like to help you.’

I’d never thought about Becki being a surrogate for us, but she’d already discussed it at length with her husband.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I love you.’

We got the ball rolling straight away, deciding to do everything ourselves, with no surrogacy agency.

And when we were ready, I called Becki over to my home in Southsea, Hampshire.

Jamie went upstairs to make his deposit in a cup.

Then, when he returned, Becki and I went up with his sample and a syringe from a bottle of children’s medicine which I’d sterilised

It wasn’t conventional, but I made sure that everything was clean and safe.

But we couldn’t help giggling like kids as we did.

‘I just helped my husband impregnate my best friend!’ I said, laughing.

When Becki didn’t fall pregnant, we went through the process again and, 12 days after our third attempt, Becki asked us over, then pulled out a pregnancy test.

I looked at it and my mouth dropped open.

I worried about everything we had to prepare, but Jamie kept me calm. And, at the same time, we started planning our wedding with Becki’s help.

When we told friends and family that Becki was carrying our baby, they were so supportive, and Becki’s children understood that even though the baby was in their mum’s tummy, Jamie and I were the parents.

I went to every appointment with Becki and, whenever we sat chatting on the sofa, she moved my hand on to her bump.

In time, we got married with Becki as a witness. At our reception, all eyes were on Becki and her bump.

But I wasn’t jealous. In fact, I was grateful to her for taking the pressure off me!

It was a wonderful day, made all the more special because our unborn child was there.

Then three weeks later, Becki went into labour.

Jamie and I were in the delivery room with her and her husband, and emotions were high.

Nothing prepared me for seeing Becki in pain, and I couldn’t breathe until I heard a little cry.

Our little girl had arrived safe and sound.

Becki didn’t want to bond with her, so we were taken to another room with Roxy.

‘We love you!’ I called to Becki as I left.

I had the first skin-to-skin contact and I fell head over heels in love.

She was absolutely perfect, and I couldn’t believe we were finally parents.

Jamie and I couldn’t stop staring at her.

My mum said Roxy was a miracle sent by my late grandparents, and I agreed, but she was also a miracle from Becki.

‘I can never thank you enough,’ I sobbed to her, ‘you really are my sister.’

We brought Roxy home and then, when she was six months old, we went to family court to officially become her parents.

She’s fearless, cheeky and clever and she loves being with Becki, who she calls her Auntie BeeBee.

We’ve decided to raise our kids as cousins, as we’re now a blended family.

I’d already considered Becki my sister, but now there really is a piece of her DNA in my family.

Roxy knows she grew in Auntie BeeBee’s tummy, and when she’s older we’ll be open with her.

I thought my dream of being a mum had been taken from me, but Becki gave it back to me.

Becki told _Take a Break_: ‘Kimberley’s a sister to me, and we’ve been through so much together. My husband and I discussed it thoroughly, as I knew it was her dream to be a mum, and more than anything I just wanted to give her what I had. Because that’s what sisters do.’

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