‘God, that would be … magical.’ I sit down beside Gizmo, who gets up and turns around, getting comfortable on his blanket until he’s leaning against my thigh. I scritch along the line between brown and white patches on his head while Noel picks up both mugs of tea and somehow manages to snag what’s left of the biscuit packet with his little finger and carry the whole lot across. He hands me my tea and flops down on the opposite side of Gizmo, leaning back against the bench and exhaling like it’s the first time he’s sat down in hours.

The song changes to Lady Antebellum’s cover of ‘Let It Snow’ and he holds the biscuit packet out to me. I take one, and he takes another one and puts the packet down on his other side, out of Gizmo’s reach. Gizmo thinks all food is meant for him and tries to clamber across Noel’s lap to get to the biscuits. When that fails, he climbs up his chest and tries to take the digestive right out of his mouth, his tail wagging like it’s the best game ever.

Noel’s laughing as he turns away from him, clamping his lips shut and swallowing quickly. ‘You can’t have that, my love, it’s got chocolate on it.’

Gizmo sits back down on his blanket with an annoyed huff. I’ve never seen a dog sulk before, but he may as well have folded his arms and stuck his bottom lip out. If he was a teenager, he’d have shouted ‘it’s not fair!’ and flounced out with a door slam.

Noel laughs when he tries to stroke him and he huffs and turns away, and I nearly choke on my own biscuit when he looks at me beseechingly and stands up again, wagging his tail as he puts a tentative paw on my thigh like he can have a bit of mine instead.

‘Giz, look.’ Noel whistles Gizmo’s tune from Gremlins to get his attention, and then digs around in his pocket. I watch the wide pointy Chihuahua ears go up and down at every movement of his fingers in the pocket of his slate-grey hoodie until he produces a tiny dog biscuit with a flourish and presents it to the little dog, who gets so excited about it that he nearly wags himself right off the bench.

He puts a paw on Noel’s fingers and pulls his hand towards him, taking the biscuit delicately and crunching it up.

‘Are you sure you’re supposed to feed him after midnight?’

‘What, because of Gremlins?’ Noel laughs and when he looks up at me, there’s something soft in his eyes that look closer to blue than green in the harsh light of the bare bulb above us. ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever met who loves that film as much as I do.’