Over the years, Patsy has returned to the flat on several occasions to unexpected scenes (Delia halfway though repainting the walls, Delia sweeping up an entire smashed tea set, Delia eating cakes at the table with Sister Monica Joan), but being greeted by an excitable whippet-cross is a new one.
"I've called her Akela," Delia looks sheepish, as Patsy lifts her bag out of harm's way. "Just so she has a name."
Patsy has several questions. "Isn't Akela a boy, though?"
"You're Akela at Cubs."
"Fair point."
"I've telephoned Battersea Dog's Home and the police, and they'll be in touch if they hear anything."
"So until then, your plan is what?"
"Oh Patsy, I couldn't leave her in the street! She was being abused by those boys down Bazley Street! What if they come back?"
Patsy is taken aback by how Delia's expression resembles a pleading puppy more than the actual pleading puppy next to her.
"Fine. She can stay until the Dog's Home can take her."
A Thursday morning about a year later, Patsy drifts awake to the sound of rain drumming on the skylight. Delia is still asleep in her arms, and Akela is curled up at the foot of the bed. They'll need to walk her at some point today, but it's their shared day off and there's no rush.
Akela yawns, and Patsy holds Delia close and gently falls back to sleep.