Humming under his breath, he got out of the car and released the lurchers from their captivity. They took off with their usual enthusiasm. But in the business of closing the tailgate and locking up, Paul missed the sudden arrest of their headlong plunge for the moors. When he turned, expecting to see the dogs a distant blur of movement, he was astonished to see they’d stopped behind the bin, nosing at something on the ground. ‘Bloody dead sheep,’ he muttered, pulling leashes from his pocket and heading for the dogs.

But it wasn’t a sheep.

Startled awake by an unfamiliar sound, Carol was out of bed and halfway to the door before she registered what she was actually hearing. A scratch at the door, followed by a soft whimper. Then a more insistent scratch. The bloody dog, that’s what it was. She let out the breath she’d been holding and felt her muscles loosen as the adrenalin fled. ‘OK, Flash, I’m coming,’ she called through the door, hastily pulling on jeans, T-shirt and fleece. She opened the door into the main body of the barn and a bundle of black and white threw itself at her, threading a figure of eight round her legs, barking with delight at being reunited with the new human.

Carol staggered under the onslaught, laughing in spite of her grumpiness at being wakened on a schedule other than her own. She ruffled the dog’s fur, then said, ‘Sit,’ in her most commanding voice. Flash obeyed, but looked over her shoulder at the door to the outside world, another soft whimper escaping from her mouth. ‘You need to go out,’ Carol said. She crossed the room barefoot, looking out for wood splinters and stone chips, then opened the door on a glorious clear morning, the chill in the air invigorating and inviting. Flash ran out into the yard, heading for the rough grass at the edge of the cobbled parking apron. Carol watched while she peed, concerned in case the dog made a run for her old home over the hill. But Flash simply trotted back to the barn after she’d finished, rubbing herself against Carol as she re-entered.

‘Good dog,’ Carol said. She headed into her room to put on socks and boots so they could go for a walk. ‘Listen to me,’ she grumbled. ‘Already I’m talking to you as if you’re going to answer.’ The dog thumped her tail on the floor. ‘It was at least a month before I started talking to my cat like that, you know. I’m turning into a weird old hermit.’