He sat outside the tyre place for forty minutes and saw his father come out to the forecourt twice, and did not get out of the car, and drove home.

“Why didn’t you go in?”

“Because I worked out what I wanted him to say,” Colin said, “and then I worked out that he was never going to say it, and then there wasn’t any reason to be in Fenwick.”

I asked what it was.

“I wanted him to say he knew she was a service dog.” He rubbed his face. “That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Not sorry — I gave up on sorry about a week in.

I wanted him to admit he read the registration tag on her collar, which he must have, because it’s on the surrender form in his own handwriting, and that he did it anyway.