‘Thank you.’ He took another roll. ‘That your dog? Surely you were not going to leave her behind?’

Matilda looked down. Looking into the car a canine face, paws just reaching the car window.

‘Not mine. I have no dog.’

‘She looks dreadfully hungry.’ He held out half his roll. The dog snapped at it, gulped, retreated a few paces.

‘Now you’ve done it.’

‘Done what?’

‘Got yourself a dog. Can’t you see she’s lost? Look how thin she is. If you looked at her paws you’d see they are sore. That’s a lost dog.’

‘We can take it to the police when you take me.’

‘I’m not taking you, you can manage by yourself.’

‘Look pretty silly if I walk in and say “Hi, Constable, I’m the Matricide and here’s a lost dog, will you arrest us.”’

They began to laugh quietly at first then in great whoops. Tears trickled down Matilda’s cheeks. She watched him feed the last roll to the dog, bit by bit, luring her into the car until she sat on his knee and licked his face.

‘Look at her paws. Poor little thing, oh poor little thing.’ The dog licked Matilda’s face also.

‘Well?’

‘Well?’

‘I’m still frightfully hungry. Will the police feed me, d’you think?’

‘Not for hours. They ask questions first.’

‘Oh dear,’ he sighed, stroking the dog, tipping up the bottle for another drink. ‘That was delicious.’

‘Any left for me?’

He handed her the bottle. She drank, tipping it up three quarters empty, her eyes looking over to the black water in the harbour reflecting the lights from the town. She finished the bottle and reached back to put it in the basket.

‘Here’s a peach.’ He ate. The dog watched him.

‘You wouldn’t like fruit.’ His hand fondled the dog’s tatty ears. ‘She’s a frightful mongrel,’ his voice tender.

Matilda wiped her face with her handkerchief, tidied up the remains of the picnic. ‘She’s lost and unwanted. I think we can skip the police.’

‘Ah. You are soft.’

‘Absolutely –’ Matilda began to speak then stopped, remembering Gus. ‘No, I’m not soft. I don’t know what I am. I hate. I hate. I’m full of it.’

‘Pretty soft sort of hate.’

‘It would be difficult to resist, just look at her.’ The dog now lolled between them, her body relaxed, sore paws hanging down, small black eyes moving from one face to the other.

Matilda tried to think. She had failed to carry out the planned picnic. ‘I’ve missed the tide,’ she mewed.

‘You can try tomorrow.’

‘Not with this dog and –’

‘And?’

‘All that planning gone to waste.’

‘Carefully worked out, was it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So sorry.’

‘No good being sorry,’ Matilda said briskly. ‘No good us just sitting here.’ She switched on the engine. ‘I daresay you’d like a bath.’