After wrapping her wellies in a jumper to try to re-create the weight of Maud on her bed, Beth goes to the local RSPCA and adopts a wiry ginger dog, with one leg missing. The dog reminds her of herself now that she no longer has Lenny. It is right down at the bottom of the kennels, with its fat back to the world, and doesn’t even bother to get up when Beth walks by. The dog is as surprised as the volunteers when Beth declares her perfect.

‘Really? She’s not very friendly, and she’s terrible on or off the lead,’ one helper says, while the other nudges her elbow and raises her eyebrows as if to say, ‘Shut up! We’re finally about to get rid of her.’

The dog is dragged out, dishevelled and blinking wildly. She hasn’t seen the full sun for a long time. There will be no Nelson Mandela speech for her, though. She will not thank friends and comrades or stand unevenly before them as a humble servant. She lies down instead, and licks a bald patch at the base of her tail, which doesn’t wag.

‘It says here her name is Christmas?’ Beth says, as she fills in the paperwork.

‘Aye,’ says a volunteer with dreadlocks, in a green bib, ‘she was brought in on Boxing Day. We thought Christmas was slightly kinder.’ Beth has nowhere to go with that logic.

Christmas is thrust at Beth with ‘You are doing a truly wonderful thing’ and ‘We won’t charge for the spot-on flea treatment.’ All that comes with her, except her name, is an old orange towel full of holes. Christmas stares at Beth with the look of someone who’s learned to disappoint first, before being disappointed.

Beth reaches out and gently turns one oversized ear the right way around. There is a patch of silky pink skin there, veins like a bright pink cauliflower. ‘I’ll treasure her,’ Beth promises, paying for a water bowl and a lead.

Christmas refuses to walk, so Beth has to carry her, ripe and repellent, all the way home. Christmas does nothing to make the trip easier, refuses to bend into shape. Beth thinks of Lenny’s arched back when she used to try to strap him into his pushchair. Christmas growls into Beth’s armpit.

Beth readjusts her weight and continues on her journey. Christmas protests, nipping at Beth’s collarbone. She smooths a long ginger wire from Christmas’s eyebrow. The dog’s mouth smells sweet and fruity. Beth makes a mental note to have her tested for diabetes.

‘I’m going to look after you, and you are going to look after me.’