She thought about how life would be without Derek. Their friends were his before they became hers. Would her relationships with them survive? She’d lost touch with those she’d socialised with before she met Derek. He hadn’t liked her friends and she’d given them up for him. She was ashamed of it. But Faye was not afraid of being alone. She’d look for work. Something to give her purpose, direction. She’d get a dog. At last. The idea of a dog at her side made her steps seem lighter.

There had never been a time in her childhood that Faye’s family hadn’t included a dog. Her first memories were of a gentle, tan and black German shepherd called Trixie Belle. One of her parents’ wedding presents, Trixie was old by the time Faye was big enough to hold onto the dog for support as she took her first steps. She could still smell the grassy, damp scent of Trixie’s long fur as she climbed onto her back and snuggled into her neck. She remembered Veronica’s words of caution.

“Don’t pull Trixie’s ears, Faye. She’s patient but if you hurt her, she might snap at you. That’s what dogs do if you don’t respect them, even angelic ones like Trixie.”

Trixie never snapped or even growled at Faye, but the little girl had seen the magnitude of her teeth and sniffed her rancid dog-breath often enough to understand what might happen if she overstepped the mark.

The family’s next dog was Dingo Rue, brought home by Veronica when she found the famished, worm-infested mongrel puppy—perhaps, the family speculated, with some mastiff and boxer in her—in a gutter outside a grocery shop. What she lacked in elegance and etiquette, Dingo made up for in personality. Even as an old dog, she was playful and her tail-wagging greetings were unprecedented, sometimes even bruising.

Dingo was joined in her latter days by another of Veronica’s rescues. Wallis Simpson was a lively and much-indulged terrier of sorts and the only one of the family’s dogs who was still around when Derek came onto the scene. Faye remembered making the introduction.

“This is Wallis, Wallis Simpson,” she said, bending to pat the wriggling pooch.

Derek didn’t attempt to touch Wallis. “A dog with two names? Why?”

“I don’t know. All of our dogs have had two names. Why not? Many people have three.”

“Seems excessive. For a dog.”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“I love dogs. Why would you ask that?”

Veronica had walked into the room and the dog discussion had ended. From that day on, whenever Derek arrived at the family home, he made a point of greeting Wallis, though still, he never patted her.

“Hello, dog with two names. How are you, Wallis Simpson?”

After they were married, Faye and Derek moved into a house with a small garden.