We both looked around the square. Other strays were lazing about in the sun and the shade, but I didn’t see where they would get water.

‘Maybe there’s a fountain or something close by,’ replied Josh. I hoped he was right. I felt proprietary over our dog, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her having to scrounge for water every day, especially in that heat. I saved some of the water for after the chips – I knew they were probably too salty for a dog, but it was either chips or ice cream, and I guessed potatoes would be marginally better for dogs than dairy. She gulped down the chips, and then I let her finish the water. She sat at our feet, grinning at us. What a gorgeous girl she was.

I didn’t notice until he said, ‘Smile!’ that Josh had his camera out. The dog and I both turned to the camera and obliged him.

‘Bye, girl,’ I said petting her head again. She licked my hand. ‘Thank you for being our dog today.’

And as if she understood it was goodbye, she stood and trotted away without looking back. I felt tears sting my eyes. And then I immediately felt stupid and glad I was wearing sunglasses. She was a stray – she probably did the ‘cute dog’ routine with travellers all the time. I blinked away the tears.

‘Water?’ Josh asked, handing me the second bottle. He’d already taken a swig. I was super thirsty after our little adventure, but my hands were a grimy mess. I poured some of the water into my left hand, gave him back the bottle, and did my best to wash my hands. I wiped them on my shorts. They still felt gross, but not a dog-has-licked-these-hands-all-over gross. I signalled for the water again and took a drink.

‘Hey, I haven’t charged my phone in a couple of days, and I was thinking of finding an internet café, maybe checking email. Would you be up for that?’ Josh asked.

‘Uh, yeah, sure. Did you see one near here?’

‘I figure if we head back towards the waterfront and keep an eye out, we’ll find one.’

‘Sure.’

Twenty minutes later we were each sitting in front of an ancient computer. I loaded my Gmail account and started deleting dozens of emails from stores, blogs and services – all soliciting for my time, my money, or both. It felt freeing to delete them without reading them, to ignore the unnecessary minutiae of life I would typically pore over.

And then I saw it. Towards the bottom of my inbox was an email address I didn’t recognise, but a subject line that leapt off the screen. ‘I hope to see you in London soon.’ It was from him! The silver fox had kept his promise and emailed me. My hand trembled a little as I clicked on the message.

Chapter Thirteen