From where she was sitting by the window, she could see a phone box across the road. Just a few short steps, one call home, and she could be back there, tucked up in her warm bed. It would be so easy. But every time she was tempted she thought of Alfie: of Alfie and Brighteyes side by side, bounding over the moor; of Alfie alone in his kennel, carrying his hurt leg, limping towards her, the last time she’d seen him alive; then Alfie lying dead in that wheelbarrow. Use that phone, go back home and the same thing would happen to Brighteyes. She’d rather die first.

The lady behind the counter who had poured her tea had been watching her for a while now. Becky could feel it and had avoided looking at her, pretending instead to sip her tea which had long since been finished. But when she came over to her table Becky had to look up at her. She was about her mother’s age, a black lady in a flowery apron. Becky expected to be kicked out, expected the woman to be angry. But she wasn’t, not at all. “You want some more tea, girl?” she asked.

“Haven’t got any money left,” Becky replied.

“That’s not what I asked now, is it? I said, you want some more tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“And water for the dog?”

“Thanks.”

She brought both, as well as a whole plate of bread and butter and jam. As she put it down on the table, she bent down and spoke to Becky softly, so none of the other customers could hear her. “You want some advice, girl? Whatever it is, I’m telling you it can’t be that bad. You go home to your mum. She’ll be worried sick about you. You can’t stay here for ever, and there’s nothing out there ‘cept streets, and they’re not nice places for a young girl like you. You hear me? You be a good girl, and you go home now. And by the way, I got to say, that dog you got is the most beautiful dog I ever saw.”

Becky wanted to tell her everything at that moment, the whole story, and maybe she would have too, had the lady not turned away to serve someone else at the counter. After that she always seemed to be busy making tea or washing-up. Becky eked out her tea and bread and jam as long as she could. Brighteyes loved the strawberry jam in particular, and went on licking his lips and enjoying it long after he’d swallowed it down.

She stayed on in the café until the lady behind the counter told her she’d really have to go because it was shutting-up time. “You’re not going home, are you?” she said, as Becky went to the door. Becky shook her head. “I didn’t think you were. You got to do what you got to do, am I right? But you got to keep yourself warm, girl. Try the library, about a mile down the road. Nice and warm in there.”