Julia sat quietly by the entrance to her block of flats, as if she were guarding a mysterious gate. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew the family from flat 22 had vanished for a long stretch, and now, curiously, a stray dog seemed to have taken up residence, determined to wait for their returnlike a silent sentinel.
It was the early nineties in a peculiar, small English town where the haze of June hung thick and surreal. At dawn, beside a bookshop still shuttered and dreaming, the air was split by the scream of brakestoo sharp, too sudden, almost echoing, ringing out across cobblestones and sleepy alleyways.
Shopgirls tumbled out with lampshade hats and mismatched slippers, blinking at the emptinessthe street deserted save for a dog, sprawled miserably at the curb. She whimpered, lunging at invisible spectres, her hind legs refusing every command, limp as old socks.
Brave Vera, her name as English as rain, bent close, her hand hovering like a feather over the creature’s snowy muzzle and thin, shaking back.
Whats she done to herself, Vera? called Natasha, never daring to step closer, and behind her, Mrs. Eleanor Victoria peered out with suspicion, afraid to see some ghastly damagethough the fur lay unbroken by blood.
Yet the hind legs dragged behind, inert, whispering of something deeper amiss.
Lets carry her into the storeroom, girls, Vera proposed. She might recover with some quiet. We cant leave her here in the street, not with all this fog and fancy.
Natasha glanced uncertainly at Eleanor Victoria, who hesitated, then nodded with regal reluctance. Well, well fetch a blanket. Can you manage the lifting, Vera?
I can, Vera replied, arranging her arms like a cradle.
The dog was a muddled heap of breedspart collie, part ghost, part daydream. Thin, muddy, collarlessdefinitely a stray, made strange by her misfortune.
She spent the entire day curled in the storeroom among stacks of old Penguin paperbacks. As evening tipped into twilight, she drank water and nibbled at biscuits, all without stirring. She seemed tethered to the ground by some invisible anchor.
The next morning, Vera sweet-talked her father into collecting the wounded animal during the lunch hour, driving her doddering red Austin to the only veterinary office in towna place with more dust than instruments, unable to even dream of an x-ray machine.
The vet peered over spectacles, his voice as solemn as a curate. Shes young, sturdy. Maybe shell healif you care for her. But walking? Thats a hope best left to fairy tales.
They drove back in silence. Vera clutched the dog in the backseat, her fathers sighs rising and falling like a tide in the rearview mirror. Over supper, amidst shepherds pie and a faint ticking clock, he said, Try not to get too attached, Vera. Dont let her grow too much to you. Come autumn, were off to the north for two years, remember?
I remember, Dad, Vera whispered, her words trailing away like smoke.
She christened the dog Julia, a name that curled around the creature with quiet dignity. Julia stayed in the bookshop’s storeroom, rarely moving for weeks; eventually, she began sliding into the courtyard, hind legs trailing like ribbons left behind by parading clouds.
The shopgirls murmured, teacups clinking, What can we do? Shed be lost in the street, but no one will take her home. At least Mrs. Eleanor Victoria lets her stay here.
Julia, however, seemed oddly content in her new routinesniffing at each dandelion and drain, conducting her business, then returning to her corner with the calm patience of old English legends.
On weekends, the girls rotated, taking Julia home. Vera always declined. Her father was off to distant Newcastle for work with the entire family. The more she cared, the harder goodbye would be.
Yet the attachment between Vera and Julia had already rooted itself, deep and strange, since their very first eye contact on the roadside. Julias gaze lingered with peculiar warmth and devotionmore dream than reality.
But soon, Vera had no choice but to take Julia for a weekend; every other girl was off to seaside picnics or garden parties.
Just once! Vera pleaded, enduring her fathers stern glances. Everyones off travelling, grilling, making merry
We were meant to head to the allotment, you know, called Mum from the kitchen with the faint aroma of lavender.
Julia hobbled over straight away, as if sensing Mums authority. Her sad, soulful eyes prompted pity, and within moments, Mum cooed, Bless herare you hungry? Vera, do you feed her at the shop? Never mind, well take her to the allotment. Dads planning barbecue, shell love it.
Vera shot her father a knowing glance, but he only shook his head, lost in thought.
At the allotment, Julia was delirious with joysausages smokey and sweet, friendship from neighbours spaniel, Ben, who welcomed her like a long-lost mate. The next day, back in the flat, she curled up by Veras bed with the ease of someone who’d always lived there.
But returning Julia to the shop the following morning unsettled her. The storeroom felt wrong, and by lunchtime, when allowed out, Julia simply vanished.
The shopgirls searched, called, implored, but Julia never returned by closing time.
Vera was distraught, traipsing the foggy streets and calling, Julia! Julia, where are you? Come back
She found Julia at her blocks entry, collapsed, almost spectral. But upon seeing Vera, joy eruptedwhimpering, licking her hands, twisting with such exuberance that it seemed she did, in fact, wag some phantom tail.
There was no point returning her nowJulia knew the way home. And Vera couldn’t bear to lock her away again.
So what now? her father asked, eyeing Julia curled at Veras feet in the hallway.
Im going to help her get well, Dad. I hope youll help me too.
A week later, Veras holiday began. She planned to resign soon after, dedicating her last two months before the big move to Julia. Her father took them to the county hospital in York, where the vet finally had proper kit. No promises were made, but surgery was offereda sliver of chance shimmered in the air.
Vera and Julia moved to the allotment, where Vera became nurse, physio, and constant companionher days a whirl of tablets, massages, and practicing movement. Julia, almost unwillingly, learned to walk anew.
Progress was slow, barely perceptible. Yet visiting parents noticed the small victorieslegs no longer dragged so lifelessly, even if they wandered wide as clockwork figures.
By months end, Julia chased Ben across the grass, lurching comically, all except a faint limp.
Vera rejoiced, but the keen sting of farewell loomedtime was running thin.
Bens owner, Mrs. Blake, offered, Leave Julia with me. Shell be happier here with Ben, and its a familiar patch.
On departure day, Vera led Julia to Mrs. Blake, then that evening boarded the train for London. Afterward, flights and connections swept them northwards. York, then Edinburgh, winding finally to Durhamthe great move had come.
Settling in, Vera rang Mrs. Blake, dreading the worst.
Overnight, Julia grew suspicious, digging and pacing the garden. By morning, only Ben remained. Understanding the situation, Mrs. Blake drove to Veras old flat.
There sat Julia, solemn at the entryway, recognizing Mrs. Blake but growling with determinationshe would not budge. Residents gathered, murmuring about that loyal dog waiting for flat 22s return.
However long it would be.
Vera phoned Mrs. Olwyn, her neighbour from flat 23. Mrs. Olwyn kept Vera updated:
Your Julias perched out front like a palace guard! Wont let anyone near except sometimes for a treatI bumped into Mrs. Blake, tempted Julia with sausage, but shes stubborn as an old English clock!
Vera tried sending Mrs. Olwyn money for Julias food, but Mrs. Olwyn dismissed her: No need, love; the whole blocks feeding her! Pound notes arent needed here.
Winter brought frost and dark days. ResidentsMrs. Olwyn includedregularly let Julia into the entranceway, offering respite from the cold. Julia would clamber up to the third floor, curl on the rug before flat 22, and when warmth returned to her bones, slip quietly back outsidea constant, silent vigil.
Vera stayed in touch with the shopgirls, who occasionally visited the stoic dog. Julia greeted them with delight but steadfastly refused to leave her post.
Veras heart broke; she longed to abandon everything and fly home, but money and circumstance trapped her far awaytimes were hard in the nineties, even in England.
June finally arrived, and Vera returned. Approaching the block, she saw Juliaears pricked, trembling, and hopefulbut not daring to believe in joy too soon.
They embraced, tears and laughter tumbling over each other, so miraculous that Vera felt her heart would leap outand Julias, too, surely.
The summer flashed past. In August, her parents visitedher father on a month’s holiday before facing another year-long assignment. Vera begged them to let Julia come along. Her mother glanced expectantly at her father, who frowned, silent and heavy-hearted. The journey would span miles and uncertainties, hard even for grown folklet alone a dog uneasy with lorries and city bustle.
Tension thickened the air, Julia sensing every eddy, glued to Veras side. Then, one morning, her father announced: Lets get Julias papers sorted. Without vaccinations, shell never get on a train, let alone a plane.
The local vet issued Julias pet passport for a few tins of fruit jam, backdating and marking the required jabsofficial red tape passed by in a dream.
That evening, her father stitched Julia a muzzle from old school ties. Julia, whod never worn such things before, sat solemn for fittings, as if understanding the gravity, tail thumping with pride.
Thats settledshes coming with us. Just behave yourself, Julia.
Julia never disappointed. The family quickly understood theyd made the right choice. Railway journeys followed, and Julia, now the most well-travelled dog in Yorkshire, flew in RAF planes, visited the Isle of Wight, crossed to remote blustery islands, and when their travels ended, returned home with Vera.
Julia lived thirteen radiant, loyal, enchantingly odd years with the family, always faithfully shadowing Vera into each new adventure, wherever the English winds carried them.
