‘Come with me, Marnie,’ Anna said. She led Marnie upstairs and made her look at the new bathroom. ‘I want this. I once had this, and I want it again.’

‘Mum, I—’

‘I was younger than you are now when I last had a bathroom I liked. You have a nice stable life, Marnie, but I didn’t. I’m not giving my house to you. I’m not just going to give you my fucking house and live in a shed somewhere.’

There was a long, helpless silence. ‘Anna,’ Marnie said, ‘what are you talking about?’

Anna wasn’t sure. Every attempt  to articulate  it left her feeling failed. She was getting the house ready for Michael: as much as common  sense, a kind of shyness prevented her from admitting that. Over the next few days she painted.  It was hard  work. In the  end  the  walls took  three  coats and  the  mirrors  four.  One afternoon,  she left the paint  to dry and  walked along the lanes to a pub called the de Spencer Arms, expecting to be able to sit outside at her favourite table and – a bit windswept and pleasantly sundazzled – watch the retirees from London manoeuvring  their Jaguars in and out of the car park. Instead  she found  the table occupied by a boy and two dogs. The boy had a woollen workshirt on over a loose pullover, and over them a donkey jacket. His jeans were tight, worn a little too long, trodden down by the heels of his black, awkward, lace-up boots. Every item was covered in mud or splattered with paint. He was sitting negligently on the table itself, next to an empty pint glass, kicking his legs and whistling.

‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Anna said.

‘I’ll get off this table, shall I?’ the boy said. ‘It’s the cleanest table here, this one. That’s why I sat here.’

‘Your dogs are so beautiful.’

‘They won’t hurt you,’ the boy said, ‘these dogs. Some say they’re dangerous, but I know they’re not.’ They stood alertly by his legs, identical animals facing away from him into the wind, shaped like greyhounds if a little smaller, with pale blue eyes, patches of long grey, bristly fur and a kind of curled, nervous alertness. Now and then a shiver passed over one or the other of them. Every movement  drew their  attention.  They looked where the boy looked, then looked to him for confirmation  of the things they saw. ‘I’d get another  drink,’ he said to Anna, ‘but I hate that posh bar in there. You don’t need to worry about these dogs, they wouldn’t harm a child.’

‘What kind of dogs are they?’