Eleanor walks the dog along the gravel track towards the Skirrid.
‘Go!’ she says, as they arrive at the stile. ‘Go on!’
The dog’s ears stiffen. He c***s his head to the side. Sheets of cloud obliterate the pathway to the summit but judging by the volume of vehicles in the car park, Eleanor guesses a few hikers remain on the ridge. When the dog doesn’t move and merely stares, Eleanor considers tying him to the stile at the top of the track where he might be seen.
‘What are you waiting for?!’ she says. ‘Go!’
Eleanor throws a ball into the woods beyond the stile.
‘Go! I’ll be fine.’
The dog dives under the stile, chasing the ball into the woods. Eleanor makes a dash for her car. Manoeuvring out of the car park into the dual carriageway, she half expects to see him sprinting after her do
