Leon shortened the rope and led Rosie across the carpet. He hoped she wouldn’t bite anyone. She tugged him along, stopping when her head was under the old woman’s hand. Leon watched those bony fingers grasping woodenly at the dog’s head in a rough sort of pat. He noticed the bright look of rapture on the old lady’s face, and the dog’s equivalent of a smile. The woman’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, she’s a bonnie doggie, isn’t she, sonny? Those ears are like velvet.’ Leon was surprised the woman could feel anything with those gnarly hands. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Rosie.’

‘Hello, Rosie. Aren’t you a good dog? You’ve made my day.’

‘Hey, what about us?’ a man called out. He was a thin scrap of humanity with a camel’s-hump back, sitting in a wheelchair on the other side of the room. ‘We want to pat her too. You can’t have all the fun, Glenys.’

The old woman laughed. ‘You lot can wait. Rosie and I are already friends.’

‘All right then,’ the man in the wheelchair said, ‘if Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Muhammad.’ He yanked at his brake and started wheeling himself across the room.

‘Good Lord, Duncan,’ someone said. ‘What are you doing? You know you’re supposed to wait for a nurse.’

‘Bad luck,’ Duncan said, ‘I want to pat the dog.’

Leon saw the wheelchair approaching and realised the old man had little control. Those thin arms were pecking at the handles unevenly and the chair was skewing wildly. To avert a crash, Leon grabbed the armrest and pulled the chair to a halt, bending to sling an arm around the old man so he wouldn’t slither to the ground. It was a near thing, but neither Glenys nor Duncan seemed to register this. They were crooning over the dog, thin faces glowing, smiles like dark caves, semi-toothless.

‘What’s this?’ a loud angry voice called, much younger and authoritative.

The excitement in the room held its breath, and Leon looked up. The voice belonged to Maryanne from the front desk, her red lips compressed.

‘Sorry.’ Leon dished out humble pie. ‘I’m looking for my grandpa.’

Maryanne was proficient at haughtiness and she piled it on now. ‘What’s this dog doing inside? Is it clean? Has it been wormed? Is it registered as a carer dog?’

‘Yes to everything,’ Leon lied—the easiest way out. ‘And look how much happiness she’s giving. Everyone here’s come alive!’

Maryanne scanned the room like a radar and her posture softened. The old people were no longer limp husks; they were all reaching to touch the dog. Fortunately, Rosie remained cooperative. While Maryanne supervised, Leon led the dog around the room, greeting each oldie one by one.