Pushing the duvet back, I shuffled my feet into slippers and grabbed my dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around me before padding downstairs, making sure to be quiet. From previous experience bustling about the kitchen, it seemed that Jack was normally a pretty heavy sleeper, but the last thing I wanted right now was to have another confrontation.

Moonlight streaked the limestone floor of the kitchen-diner and in the soft light, a golden head raised itself to look at me.

‘Oh, crikey, I’d forgotten about you,’ I whispered.

Clive’s ears twitched and he tilted his head to one side.

‘Just go back to sleep.’

He looked at me for a moment more, then rested back against the side of the clearly brand-new bed Jack must have bought him and let out a long sigh.

‘I know how you feel, boy.’

As quietly as I could, I made a sandwich and took it over to the sofa, together with a glass of milk.

Clive shuffled in his bed, so that his head was now resting on his paws and looking directly at me.

‘Please don’t look at me like that. I know you must think I’m horrible. This just isn’t the right place for you. You’re obviously a nice dog and you deserve a wonderful home. I can’t give you what you need. I don’t even know what you need, but I do know that I can’t give it to you.’

Clive blinked and carried on listening.

‘I don’t know what Jack was thinking, bringing you home. I’m sure he meant well, but he doesn’t really know me, he just thinks he does, and then we end up in a situation like this.’

Clive got up, did a stretch a top yogi would be proud of, made a squeaky little yawn noise and padded over to me, his toenails clicking on the tiles. When he got alongside me, he sat and gently laid his head on my thigh.

‘Did Jack teach you that one as well?’

Clive didn’t respond.

Letting out my own sigh, I lifted my hand and tentatively stroked the dog’s head. His fur was silky soft, and he made a contented sound as I did so.

‘Sorry, Clive. I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. I’ve never had much to do with dogs before.’

Clive shuffled his bum a bit closer to the sofa and my legs, so I guessed I must have been doing something right.

‘It’s not that I don’t want you, particularly. It’s just that I’ve never thought of getting a dog. I’ve never really been a doggy person, no offence.’

He didn’t appear to take any, so I continued.

‘People have suggested it before, of course, but you hear such horror stories of puppies chewing this, pooing here, weeing there. I just didn’t think I could deal with all that on top of everything else. I hear you had your own little chewing session? Although it does sound like that was more your old owners’ fault than yours. I do wonder why some people get dogs if they’re not prepared to put the work in and make a suitable home for them. I mean, you’re companion animals, aren’t you? So what’s the point of getting a dog if you’re then going to be out at work eight to ten hours at a time? I’m sure you’ll make somebody a lovely pet. I just don’t think it can be me. You wouldn’t like living here, anyway. I mean, I think you’d like the garden. I’m sure there’s lots of good sniffs out there and you seem to have taken to Jack. He’s here quite a lot, although after the hoo-ha tonight, I’m not sure how long that arrangement will last. But as for the rest of it, I’m pretty sure you’d find it quite boring. I don’t really do much. I’m not social at all.’