As she spoke, Tara saw another little girl. Another dad and another dog, her two favourite things in the world. She pushed the thought away, but David seemed to understand the pain in her face.

He patted her shoulder. ‘We will find him.’

Could David somehow connect with Lloyd, wherever he was? She couldn’t make him do the one thing he’d explicitly said he’d never do. It was enough that he was here with her, in the mud, searching.

They stood under a sycamore tree by the side of the road. The rain was heavier again and Tara imagined Lloyd sliding in the mud, distressed and disorientated. Had he found somewhere to shelter? Was he hurt? Worse, had some stranger picked him up – and driven him away? The fields were covered with standing water, and it was impossible to see where the swollen streams started and the fields ended. Very easy to fall in. Very easy.

Poor, scared Lloyd. If he was stolen or injured, Molly would blame herself. She’d carry his pain like a scar for the rest of her life. Tara covered her mouth to keep the sob in.

‘Right,’ said David, without warning. ‘I think we should get back in the car and head down the road.’

‘Are you …?’ Was David seeing what Lloyd was seeing?

But he was walking back to the car, with a determination that made her want to follow him, quickly.

They drove in silence for another mile or so until they came to a tarmacked entrance to a cider orchard.

‘The footpaths cross just over here,’ he said, pointing to a sign. ‘Lots of dog walkers, lots of smells.’

Tara couldn’t tell if he was being logical or just pretending to be logical to cover his less easily explained intervention, but they braced against the rain and set off down the footpath, slipping around as they tried to search and call and avoid sliding down the bank at the same time.

Neither of them spoke, other than to shout, ‘Lloyd!’ and grunt at the mud and the rain. Tara’s lungs burned keeping up with David, but something about the way he was striding out made her feel as if they were getting nearer.

They’d walked for what felt like miles – but probably wasn’t – when David stopped so abruptly Tara nearly pushed him off the path. He pointed over the hedge into the next field. ‘There!’

‘Where?’ David didn’t seem to notice her grabbing his arms to keep her balance. He hoisted her easily on to the higher bank so she could see.

Tara couldn’t make it out at first, because instead of a yellow Labrador there was now a chocolate one, merging in with the water and mud, but there he was: cowering and surrounded by water, trapped in a field of sheep. Lloyd.