Noel grins down at the little dog in his arm and drops a kiss onto his brown and white head. ‘No way is he going in the river at this time of year. His fur is really thick and takes hours to dry, and he doesn’t realise there’s a difference in water temperature between now and when he was happily splashing about in there in July.’

I barely have time to register the hot flush at the huge man being so openly affectionate with the little dog, before Noel’s in front of me. He leans over and deposits Gizmo onto my lap and my arms automatically encircle him to prevent him jumping off and giving chase to the fish again. As soon as he realises he’s on me, he turns in a circle and licks my arm before standing up to lick my chin. Noel sinks down on another rock to my left with a groan and leans over to unlace his boots.

‘I think he’s mistaken himself for a grizzly bear. You know how you see them in the shallows catching salmon as they swim upstream? It’s my fault for letting him watch Countryfile unsupervised.’

I stroke his tiny head as he turns in a circle to get comfortable and curls up on my lap. ‘Oh, bless him. Butter wouldn’t melt.’

‘Not now his dad’s got wet feet, it wouldn’t.’ Noel grouches.

‘You’re being a big baby, you know that, don’t you? It’s a lovely day, you’ll dry out quick enough.’

He glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow and a look of indignation. ‘I will, my boots won’t.’

Noel unlaces his boots and pulls them off one at a time. He tips the first one upside down, looking unreasonably forlorn as a trickle of water splashes onto the stones at his feet. He pulls the sock off and wrings it out, then does the same with the other foot.

I try to concentrate on stroking Gizmo, but it only gets more difficult when I catch sight of a flash of colour on his ankle and make a noise of surprise. ‘Is that a Truffula tree?’

He glances down at his foot and then back at me. ‘So, let me get this straight, you can identify a fictional tree tattooed on my ankle but you can’t identify a cedar standing right in front of you?’

‘I love Dr Seuss.’ I hold my hand out and scrunch my fingers together. He turns to the side and holds his leg out behind him, letting me see the tattoo.

I lean over Gizmo, who huffs at being squashed, to clamp my hand around his wet trousers and pull his leg closer until I can see the back of his foot.