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It’s gone ten by the time Kerry has finally coaxed the children to bed, having persuaded them that, yes, they still have to go to Nanny and Nonno’s with Daddy tomorrow, but it’s only for one night. And yes, of course Buddy will still be here when they get back on Sunday.

‘It’s not one night,’ Freddie bleated. ‘It’s two whole days.’

And now with the children in bed it’s just Kerry and Buddy, sharing the living room sofa (her no-dog-on-furniture rule lasted approximately five minutes). When she goes through to the kitchen he trots at her heels, his gaze un-wavering as she extracts the wine bottle from the fridge and pours herself a glass. He tails her to the music room, sitting expectantly at her feet as she starts to play the piano. And when she gets up from her stool to select a piece of music from her files, he looks up, following her every movement.

‘It’s okay,’ she says, patting his head. ‘I’m just going to the loo. Back in a minute.’ She hopes Buddy’s expression indicates that that’s okay (it’s impossible to tell). Yet, as soon as she’s shut the bathroom door behind her, his distressed whine quickly morphs into urgent barks. With a sigh, she lets him in, leaving the door open and trying not to feel under surveillance as she attends to business with him staring at her.

The flush of the loo seems to terrify him, and he shoots out, coming to a panting standstill at the front door.

‘D’you need to go out?’ she ponders, clipping on his lead and stepping out into the small, gravelled front garden. ‘Yes, I guess you do.’ There, just outside the house, she spots Buddy’s bag of food, document file and a couple of bowls all packed neatly into his basket; James must have dropped everything off without knocking. Just as well it hasn’t rained. Thanks a lot, Kerry mutters, deciding he clearly wants as little communication with her as possible. She circuits the garden several times until Buddy pees, then takes him inside, praying his barking doesn’t wake the children as she dashes back outside to retrieve the basket.

Is he exhibiting separation anxiety, like babies and toddlers have? Placing his basket in the corner of the living room and plumping up its paw-patterned cushion, she tries to coax him into it. He jumps up onto the sofa instead, wriggling to get comfortable, and when she sits beside him he rests his head on her lap. Now Kerry can’t fetch her wine or even reach the TV remote. She is trapped, and there’s nothing for it but to sit here with her now-sleeping dog, listening to the faint rush of the waves in the distance.

Her trilling mobile makes Buddy flinch, and she snatches it from her jeans pocket.

‘Kerry? It’s James.’

‘You mean Buddy-James?’

‘Yes.’ He chuckles. ‘Look, I’m really sorry to call you so late …’

‘That’s okay. Is something wrong?’ A thought strikes her: he wants Buddy back. That brusqueness – it was all a cover-up, and he’s realised he’s made a terrible mistake.

James clears his throat. ‘I should have explained. You see, I’m helping my son with his business – he has a sandwich shop – while trying to keep up with my own website design work. Things have been incredibly hectic lately, but this evening, when I started to think about Buddy …’ He tails off.

‘I did wonder,’ she says carefully, running a hand over Buddy’s soft fur. How on earth will she tell Freddie and Mia that Buddy has to go back? Rob was right – it was a rash move. Even if this hadn’t happened, all kinds of things can go wrong: illness, accidents, death … Buddy opens an amber eye and looks at her. She no longer cares about his barking outburst or the fact that he pooed outside school; it’s just what dogs do.

‘… He has a few issues,’ James is saying, ‘since, er, something happened at home.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘He gets really anxious,’ James goes on, ‘like if he sees or hears another dog that he can’t greet and sniff, and if a truck goes by – any large vehicle really – and there’s been some chewing and the odd, er, little accident …’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she murmurs.

‘No, I’m sorry. I wish I’d been more honest with you from the start.’

Kerry bites her lip. His voice is lovely; warmer and friendlier than the clipped tone he’d adopted when she’d been at his house. ‘You can come and pick him up tomorrow if you like,’ she says flatly.

‘Oh. Er … right. Okay.’

There’s a stilted pause, and Buddy shifts position so as to edge further onto Kerry’s lap. ‘My children will be away with their dad then,’ she adds, ‘and I’d rather it happened when they’re not around. The sooner the better, I suppose, before they get too attached.’ Some hope of that. The entire evening has been filled with cuddling, grooming and playing with Buddy, and he seemed to relish the attention.

‘Er, I only want him back if he’s too much for you,’ James says.

‘No, I didn’t say he was too much. I thought you said you’d made a mistake …’

‘Did I?’ James sounds baffled. ‘No, I just wanted you to know what he’s like – his little quirks, I suppose. I thought you should know what you’re taking on. But he’d never hurt or bite anyone and he loves people. He’s just …’

‘A handful?’ Kerry says, laughing now and overcome with relief. ‘Oh, of course I don’t want you to take him back. Absolutely not. My children are thrilled and we all think he’s fantastic – in fact he’s asleep with his head on my lap right now.’

‘He’s doing that with you already?’ James sounds as if he’s smiling.

‘Yes, he is.’ Buddy opens an eye again and she’s filled with a rush of warmth for him. ‘I’m sure we can cope with his quirks.’

‘I’m really glad. I just felt, you know – a bit guilty …’

‘A sort of Trade Descriptions Act thing?’

‘Yeah.’ He chuckles. ‘Well, maybe I’ll run into you sometime when you’re out walking him.’

Kerry pictures James in his empty-feeling house, with a space in the hall where Buddy’s basket used to be, and it’s on the tip of her tongue to arrange something. But he clearly has too much on his plate right now. ‘I’m sure he’d like that,’ she says. ‘And thanks, James. He’s the perfect dog for us.’

Later, when Kerry goes to bed, Buddy follows her upstairs and leaps up onto her bed, settling on the lower section of the duvet. It’s tempting to let him stay there; the bed has felt huge since she moved here, and seems to have expanded even more these past few weeks. But she can’t let Buddy sleep here, as some kind of husband substitute; it would be too sad, too poor-dumped-wife to contemplate. Yet he wants to be near her, so she fetches his basket from downstairs and places it in the corner of her bedroom.

He curls up in it instantly. Soon she hears his deep, steady breathing, and as Kerry drifts towards sleep herself, she already feels a little less alone.