WHEN HE FINALLY GETS home after his session with Atticus, Dan is exhausted, but Fitz needs a walk and Dan needs to run away the day, so he laces up his New Balances and whistles to Fitz, who beats a tattoo on his leg. Dan thinks, not for the first time, how much easier it would be if he could give dogs therapy. He imagines Fitz sitting on his work sofa, paws together, ears pricked.

‘So, how was your day, Fitz?’ he’d ask politely, pen poised to take notes.

‘Well,’ Fitz would say slowly, ‘a leaf fell off the tree in the garden. I barked at it and scared myself. Cats are stupid. I had a piece of grass poking out of my bum. It made me feel bad. I’m cutting back on the cheese. I missed you.’

The thought makes Dan laugh out loud.

They set off along the seafront, past the candy-coloured huts and the tiny café set into the cliff that looks idyllic but sells stale buns, before tackling the spiralling stairs that take them up to the Beacon, and on which Dan can do little more than count his breaths. Then they hit the windmill and Fitz bounds ahead, weeing on every bush in sight, and Dan feels the world begin to right itself again. Fresh air and exercise, Dan, not gold-plated ceilings and naked games of Cluedo.

When they reach the middle of the Beacon, Dan spots Luke running towards him. They wave hello and round the last curve of the Beacon together. Luke and Dan are first cousins and best friends. They had a happy childhood kicking balls, making dens and setting low-key fires. They have always been close, and always will be, and both enjoy the benefits that being related brings to their relationship.

They run together once or twice a week. Luke plays football on Thursday nights and Sunday mornings. Sometimes Dan plays too, though he feels out of place in the changing rooms and often hides in the toilet. He never knows where to look, or what might make him seem suspicious. Luke doesn’t have any problem stripping off. He marches round with his willy flapping, chatting about offside rules and missed goals.

To the untrained eye and a mind given to stereotypes, Luke might be the gay one. He uses beard oil and is a primary-school teacher. He wears skinny jeans at the weekend and knows how to do the Charleston, which he does with abandon when he beats Dan in a race. Their nan summed up Luke perfectly when she said, ‘Luke is the kind of man you couldn’t trust to go out and buy a sensible hat.’ Dan wonders how perfectly Nan summed him up to Luke but has never dared ask.