‘Fucking dog,’ he muttered, pulling his boots back on. Trix had always been obedient when his mother’d been here to order her around. With Jack, Trix had got in the habit of playing up, wagging her tail, turning into a house dog when she was born to be working, meant for herding sheep. Well, they no longer had sheep here on the farm, they’d all been sold off, even his mum’s prize South Downs ram, so Trix was redundant. Jack knew he ought to make her sleep outside, in the kennel, like the outdoors dog she really was, but somehow he’d got into the habit of having her in the house. She was dopey, a grinning loon of an animal, but she was company.

Grabbing the torch, he stepped out into the yard. The rain wasn’t letting up and it was turning damned cold. Trix’s barking was coming from near the biggest barn. She’d disturbed some rats, maybe. He’d had a big vet’s bill last month when she’d tackled a nest and the rats had fought back, biting off half her left ear. He was going to have to get a cat, a good mouser, if he was going to stay.

If.

For now, he was treading water, making repairs, tending what little livestock was left – just the chickens and his mother’s horses now, he’d already sold the sad remnants of the dairy herd which had once – so long ago – been his father’s pride and joy. He was trying to decide what he was actually going to do with the rest of his life. And there was the dog, the damned dog. Maybe one of the other farmers around here would give her a home.

‘Trix!’ he hollered into the rainy night. ‘Get out of there, you daft bastard!’

The torch’s beam caught her, eyes glittering. She was standing at the big barn door, which was hanging open, and she was staring into the interior, her hackles raised.

‘What you got now then, eh?’ Jack asked her, but she paid no attention to him. ‘You got more guts than sense, that’s your bloody trouble.’

But he’d shut that barn door earlier.

Moving cautiously now, he edged forward. People did break in sometimes out here in the middle of nowhere, thieved equipment. One of the local farmers had even lost a tractor, for God’s sake. He reached the dog and grabbed her collar. She let out a single bark of protest, then was still. Deep in her throat, she kept up a steady low growl.