Nesha was crossing the street with the two dogs. They were a striking pair. Stan’s fur was that deep burnished red colour that you only see in dogs and Dasher was pale yellow and gigantic at his side, with all the calm intelligence and quiet strength of his breed.

‘I’ll get Dasher’s things,’ I said. ‘There’s a blanket he likes. And an old tennis ball.’

‘Max?’

‘What?’

She turned back to the window.

‘Thanks.’

Everyone said their goodbyes to Dasher.

When I was down on Charterhouse Street with Whitestone and Dasher, I looked up and saw Scout, Mrs Murphy and Nesha solemnly watching us from the window while Dasher was happily oblivious, wearing his big Lab grin, ready for his next adventure.

I drove Whitestone and Dasher to the terraced house in Holloway that already looked like his new home.

There were fresh boxes of Nature’s Menu Country Hunter food – ‘seriously meaty’ – in the tiny kitchen, a silver bowl full of water and a collection of brand-new balls, toys and chewing sticks. Dasher padded off to give it all a good sniff. But there was no sign of the boy.

‘Justin wants to talk to you,’ Whitestone said. ‘If that’s all right.’

Dasher padded behind me upstairs to the boy’s bedroom. I don’t know what I was expecting. Nothing good. But Justin was calling Dasher’s name before we went inside and he got down on his knees to wrap his arms around the Lab.

Dasher responded with excited licks of Justin’s face.

‘Do you shave yet, Justin?’ I said.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Twice a week now.’

‘Dasher loves aftershave balm. It’s like ice cream to him.’

‘I thought he might be annoyed with me,’ Justin said, easing into his chair by his desk. He moved with more confidence than when I had last seen him. It had not become easy. It would never be easy. But it was not quite the struggle it had been. ‘Because of when we met,’ he said.

‘Dogs are endlessly forgiving,’ I said. ‘My friend Fred always says that if he locked his wife and his dog in the boot of his car for four hours, when he went back only one of them would be pleased to see him.’

We laughed, the boy’s fingers in Dasher’s fur as the dog settled at his feet.

‘You sound as if you like dogs more than people,’ he said.

‘Whatever you give Dasher, he’ll give it back a hundred times over. You don’t find many people like that, do you?’

His face grew serious.

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ he said. ‘About your work.’

‘Why don’t you ask your mother?’

‘Because she’ll tell me what she thinks I want to hear. And I think you’ll tell me the truth.’