“I know he’s here,” the man says. “You can’t keep him. We haven’t done anything wrong. He got into a fight in the park, that’s all. We’ve got seven days to claim him. That’s what my mate said.”

I angle myself away from him so my shoulders are square on to the computer and we’re no longer facing each other. “I’m sorry but I can’t discuss special cases.”

“Oi!” He leans over the counter and reaches for the monitor, yanking it towards him. “I’m talking to you.”

“Gary …” His wife touches his arm. He glares at her but lets go of the monitor. “Please.” She peers at my name badge. “Please, Jane, we just want to see Jack, that’s all, just to check he’s okay. We don’t want any trouble; we just want to see our boy.”

Her eyes mist with tears behind her glasses, but I don’t feel sorry for her. She must know Gary enters Jack into fights. She’s probably objected from time to time, maybe tried her best to clean Jack up with a wet flannel afterwards, but, ultimately, she’s done nothing to stop that dog getting torn to bits.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I really can’t discuss individual cases.”

“What bloody case?” the man roars, but his hands hang loosely at his sides. The fight’s gone out of him. He knows he hasn’t got a leg to stand on and the shouting’s just for show. The worst thing is he probably does love the dog. He was no doubt proud of Jack when he won his first few fights. He probably gave him a big handful of dried dog biscuits and sat next to him on the sofa with his arm around him. But then Jack started to lose and Gary didn’t like that; it knocked his pride, so he kept entering him into competitions, kept waiting for his fighting spirit to return, kept hoping his luck would change.

“Everything okay, Jane?” Sheila, my manager, strolls into reception from the corridor to my right and puts a hand on my shoulder. She smiles at Gary and his wife but there’s a tightness around her lips that suggests she’s heard every word.

“We’re going.” Gary slaps the counter with the palm of his right hand. “But you haven’t heard the last from us.”

He turns and stalks towards the exit. His wife remains where she is, fingers knotting in front of her, silently pleading with me.

“Come on, Carole,” Gary snaps.

She hesitates, just for a second, her eyes still fixed on mine.

“Carole!” he says again, and she’s off, trotting obediently at his side.