‘Two years later, Gavin said to me, “Get out of my sight, St Clair. I hate you.” Just like that. I went home that day and my mother found me sitting in my bedroom looking at the ceiling. She said, “Something upset you? What is it?” And I said nothing, because children don’t tell their parents about what is wrong; they deny grief and the all the cruelties that they inflict on one another. So once she had gone out of the room, I remember just sitting there crying – crying in private – for the end of my friendship. I thought I would never find another friend like him. Never.

‘But I was really telling you about those two dachshunds, wasn’t I? I got sidetracked onto loyalty. Yes, they were loyal little dogs, even if they were a bit snappy from time to time. They had back problems, you see, because of being so long. Eugene had the worst twinges, I think. He was very low-slung and sometimes his stomach would touch the ground as he walked along. And if somebody patted him too vigorously his back would hurt and he could nip them. Not badly – just a small nip.

‘When I lodged at Phyllis’s place, the dogs became quite fond of me. They used to follow me around, and if there was a storm they would come into my room and hide under the bed. They were frightened of thunder, I think – Riley in particular. He used to whimper if there was any thunder or lightning about.

‘They used to love going out into the garden and digging up the flowerbeds. They were looking for something, I suppose, but I never found out what it was. Ancient bones, perhaps? Dachshund song-lines? Who knows? We’re all looking for something, of course, even if we don’t know what it is. And most of us don’t know, do we?

‘I left Phyllis’s place after I finished my PhD. A few years later, when I was working in Sydney, I had a Christmas card from her. Eugene died, she wrote. Poor dear, his back gave out eventually. Riley sends his love. He still remembers you. That’s what she wrote. And you know what? I cried. Not just for Eugene, or for Riley, who must have missed Eugene, but for everything. For the end of friendship, for loss, for the great spaces that exist between us, for the loneliness that is a condition of even this most crowded world. I cried for everything. I’m not ashamed to say it. Most men won’t admit it – but I will. I don’t care. And Gavin? I never saw him again, except once when I was in Sydney. I saw him on television. He had invented a new form of padlock and had won a prize for his invention. I saw him on the news, getting the prize. They showed a close-up of his padlock.’