Fitz, the traitor, wags his shaggy tail and rushes in to be petted. Atticus solemnly shakes the proffered paw, then pats him on the head. Fitz smiles widely, with all his teeth.

Fitz is loving this, Dan thinks, looking at his dog. He’s enjoying seeing me wrong-footed for once. I’m like him when he nears a red post-box and he goes all low and slinky and weird. ‘It’s only a post-box, boy. Nothing to be scared of. Silly dog.’

Well, look how the tables have turned. It’s only a man, Dan. Nothing to be scared of!

‘What a perfectly lovely beast. Manners of a true gent,’ Atticus says, like he’s just tasted a fine wine. Fitz runs off to find a stick to drop at his feet.

‘Atticus. You need to go.’

‘Do I?’

‘You know this isn’t right. You’re my client.’ Dan’s hands are fists at his sides. His heart is beating too fast, like he’s been running.

‘What? Me being here, on this Beacon, walking along next to you? How is that wrong? We’ve merely bumped into one another.’

‘Yes, but …’ Dan scrabbles for words. ‘You don’t even have a dog.’ It’s pathetic and, for the first time, they both smile. At one another, at the same time, like a string is pulling their cheeks up round their ears. There is Atticus’s slightly wonky front tooth and Dan’s dimple that Atticus is going to kiss one day. Dan feels his mouth stretching, unstoppable. So wide it hurts.

‘I’ll get a dog.’

‘Don’t.’

‘Why not? Dogs love me. Look at No.’ They both turn to see Fitz on his back, legs in the air, tail wagging at Atticus as though he’s made of cheese. ‘It might be good for me. Stroking dogs reduces stress.’

‘That’s cats, or llamas.’

‘So I’ll get a llama.’ Dan can picture it. He tries to think of a way to end this ridiculous conversation while Atticus stands there, looking like James Dean, smelling like Christmas. Atticus takes his silence as weakness and says, ‘There’s nothing wrong with two people walking dogs – or llamas – together, Daniel.’

‘Atticus.’ Dan wipes a sweaty hand across his sweaty brow.

‘Daniel.’ Atticus caresses the word.

Time stops as the two of them study one another. Dan doesn’t know how long they stand like that. Trainer to trainer. Too close, too far apart. The evening wind sends orange-tinted clouds scudding across the sky. The windmill is bathed in light and Dan, who is not religious, prays for a sign.

He wants to fall to his knees and count the blades of grass. He wants to beg Atticus to leave and stay at the same time. He is mute with all the words he cannot say.