Becky stayed there watching the two dogs for some time, Alfie circling Brighteyes, checking him out, and all the while Brighteyes stood in the middle of the kennel trembling from head to tail. After a few minutes Alfie seemed satisfied, because he came and stood alongside him then, very close, their shoulders touching. Becky could see that the two of them were friends already. Alfie stood almost a head higher. He was resting his chin on Brighteyes’ neck, and this must have been a great comfort to Brighteyes because very soon the trembling stopped altogether.

Within days it was as if they had known each other all their lives. They’d become quite inseparable. Whenever Becky let them out Brighteyes would stick to Alfie like a shadow. Very soon she was so confident Brighteyes wouldn’t run off that she was able to take both dogs with her when she went out riding on Red, something she liked to do as often as she could. That first morning she took them out together, they raced way ahead of her, almost side by side, but always Alfie leading by a neck and Brighteyes following. However fast Becky rode, they raced ahead faster, hurdling the rocks and streams, pausing only to let her catch up.

They ended up on the very top of High Moor. The dogs sat beside one another next to her on the bank, their panting almost synchronised, as Red grazed the grass busily below, scarcely ever lifting his head. The dogs were both looking at her quizzically. “You’re right,” she told them. “Dad’s up here, isn’t he? You know it too, don’t you? This is my favourite place in the whole wide world, because Dad’s here, because I feel free. That’s why you like it too. You love to run free. It’s what you were made for. You weren’t made for that horrible dog track. This is where you belong, like I do.”

In fact, Becky had hardly ever been to see the greyhounds racing. The few times she had gone she’d hated every minute of it. She loathed having to watch the dogs she knew and loved treated simply as numbered racing machines, so many of them quite evidently terrified by all the bright lights and the noise of the crowd, of the blaring loud speakers, and the deafening music. Beside them in the stand, Craig would bellow and roar, whether his dogs won or not. It didn’t matter if it was a winning triumph or a losing disaster. Either way he’d go berserk, and then afterwards he’d drink too much with his cronies, while Becky and her mother and the dogs had to sit and wait in the car park for him.

On the way home, especially if he’d lost heavily on the dogs or the betting, he’d start shouting at her mother, and if Becky tried to intervene he’d turn on her too. Craig could be very frightening at times like these, and Becky didn’t want to be near him. So, more often than not, she’d tell her mother she had homework to finish, which was sometimes true, and stay at home. She’d make sure she was in bed with the lights out by the time they got back. She could tell right away at breakfast the next morning whether the dogs had won or not, whether Craig had lost money. If he’d had a bad night, he’d sit there in an angry and sullen silence. He’d start nasty and he’d stay nasty all day. Neither Becky nor her mother were allowed to forget it. He’d snap at them and find fault with everything they said or did. So Becky certainly preferred it when the dogs won.