Beth doesn’t know what to say next or do with her hands, so she bends down to stroke Christmas, who has poked her head out of the bag with a scowl. She can hear Beth’s heartbeat, smell the salt of her nerves.

‘Mum, have you finished your work at the shelter now?’ Beth looks at Greg, not knowing what to say. Watches him look from her to their son.

‘Yes. I have. I’m back now. Back and all better.’ She looks at Greg as she says this.

He stares at her for a long moment, then replies, ‘Come back for a cup of tea?’

Christmas yaps and Greg says, ‘Right, yes. Sorry, I don’t know your name …’ He looks up at Beth, who mouths, ‘Christmas.’ He almost smiles then. ‘I suppose you can come too. If you’ve nothing else on, of course?’ Christmas grumbles but agrees, then goes back into the confines of Beth’s bag, where she finds a half-chewed toffee.

When Lenny has said goodbye to everyone, they walk across the pitch to Greg’s car, on either side of their son, like a pair of bookends. Lenny picks up his mum’s hand, then his dad’s, like he’s a conductor of electricity, linking them together. Setting off the spark. Beth feels love shoot through her and light her up, like a pinball machine.

‘Swing me!’ Lenny demands.

And they do.

Postscript

IT’S COLD ON THE Beacon. There are lots of dogs up here. All their ears are inside out in the wind. Fitz doesn’t mind, but Albert doesn’t like it. Fitz waits patiently for his new friend to have them flipped back the right way, then they tear off together to see Wolfie. Albert has little legs and, although he’s still growing, he’s never going to be as big as Fitz or Wolfie, but they never make him feel bad about it. Sometimes they even let him get to the stick first.

Poppy and Albert are sort of a thing, but it’s new and George isn’t happy about it. Betty is, of course, and chats non-stop about the possibility of puppies. ‘Oh, shush, George. It’d be lovely. You could name them all after pies.’ Betty keeps her hand clasped firmly around George’s arm when they pass Dan and Tom. George remembers the tall bloke from the charity shop and wonders what happened to him but senses it might be wise not to ask. There is something in the way Dan walks, like a man nursing an old injury, only slightly noticeable, and only in bad weather like this.