Tears prick at the back of my eyes and I blink them back. I hate that I’ve lied to Sheila, hate that I’m not the person she thinks I am. It never occurred to me when she first interviewed me that we would build a relationship more akin to mother and daughter than employer and employee. Could I tell her? Could I sit her down at my kitchen table and, over a bottle of wine, tell her what I told Will? But I only told him part of the truth, and this is a different situation. I’m in a position of responsibility here. If I’ve lied about who I am and what I’ve done, how could she trust me with some of the serious cases we’re dealing with? She’d have to let me go. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.

But it may already be too late. Someone searched through my things yesterday, and there were only two people in my house other than me. One was Will; the other was Angharad. And one of them took the letter.

My walkie-talkie crackles when I’m halfway up the top field with Jack. “You’ve got visitors in reception.”

I wave at Barry, who’s over the other side of the field walking Bronx, a powerful Doberman with an excitable, inquisitive personality, and then point back down the field towards the gate to the sanctuary. “I’m going back.”

He cups a hand behind his ear and shakes his head.

“Back!” I shout and gesture again. This time he gives me the thumbs up.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” I crouch down and rub Jack behind the ear. He gazes up at me, his brown eyes warm and trusting, mouth open, dribbling saliva onto his chest. It’s only been a few days since we brought him in, but the change is remarkable. He’s not keen on Barry, he’s not keen on any of the men who work here, but he seems to have warmed to me. He flinched the first few times I reached out to touch him, but now it’s only sudden movements that scare him. He’s not over his dog-fighting experience, not by a long shot, but his psychological scars are slowly healing along with his physical ones. I’ve been half expecting Jack’s owners to pay us a repeat visit to demand him back, but there’s been no sign of Gary Fullerton and his wife. I can’t say I’m not relieved.

“Come on then, boy.” I straighten up and we stroll side-by-side back down the field. “Let’s go and see these visitors.”

Chloe throws herself at me the second I walk through the double glass doors to reception. Her small arms circle my hips as she presses her head into my belly.

“She was up at six this morning, according to Sara,” Will says. “Too excited to sleep, apparently.”