When they used to visit, Dan’s mother would park her car by the Beacon and catch the bus into the centre of Brighton. Dan wanted to tell her he was happy where he was. That he liked how deserted the beach was, and the lollies sold in the shop on the corner. His cousin Luke, who liked to be a big fish in a small pond, was similarly infatuated with the place, and with the local girls, their sunburned shoulders. He dived into the waves, cycled with no hands along the promenade, flirted with the daughters of the fish-and-chip man. As they grew older, and wanted to move away from their home town, Rottingdean was a natural choice.

While he pauses for Fitz to poo, Dan thinks back to his conversation with Alan and wants to kick himself. What was he thinking, running to the teacher like a schoolboy? He should have known Alan would turn it into something. He’s a counsellor. That is what they do. Now Alan is going to keep asking Dan how he feels. Like a fraud, Dan thinks. Like an idiot. Fitz finishes, then walks three feet away to dig up the earth nearby, his pants puffs of steam. His yellow fur glints in the evening light and his muscles ripple under his slight (cheese lovers, the pair of them) fat roll. He was made for running. His legs are pistons, his haunches the shape of tennis racquets as he canters, mouth agape, tongue lolling.

Fitz fills Dan with the simplest form of love. Comfort. Fitz is nursery food, coddled eggs, honey and milk. Dan admires his dog chasing an abandoned crisp packet as men in flat caps appreciate thoroughbred horses trotting out at the Grand National. There is no better dog, never could be.

Yet Fitz was a risk. Dogs are messy and uncontrollable, need a lot of time and effort. Spread hair and mud, and dribble. They force you to be sociable with others when out walking. Dan hadn’t wanted a dog, but then Luke got Wolfie and Dan found himself falling to his knees to ruffle the dog’s furry ears. Dirty jeans be damned. Dan would laugh out loud when the oversized dog scrambled into his lap, knocking him backwards onto his heels, covering him with wet laps of his tongue.

It was not long before Luke turned up at Dan’s with a bundle of fluff. A pink nose poked out, and two brown eyes appeared from the wrinkles in its face. Dan had never seen such kind eyes.

‘Oh,’ he had said, backing away as his heart and resolve melted, like candle wax. ‘Ah.’

The dog had slipped from Luke’s grasp and wobbled over to Dan, who found his arms were already outstretched, waiting, like the windmill, to welcome his boy home.