**Waiting to Meet Again**
September had been warm, dry, and bright. The low autumn sun blinded the eyes, especially in the evening. Richard lowered the car’s sun visor. Tall as he was, it shielded him from the glare—but Daisy?
How many times had he suggested she leave the car at home? He could drive her to work, pick her up later. But their work hours never quite aligned.
“It’s sweet you worry,” she’d say, nestling against him, “but I drive carefully. You know I can’t do without it.”
“Fine, just promise to wear sunglasses at least. The rain will start soon, and cold roads aren’t any safer than blinding sun—both risky.”
“You’re too good to me,” she’d laugh, raising a hand solemnly. “I promise. All will be well.”
Richard parked outside their house and glanced up at the third-floor windows. Sunlight glared off the glass—he couldn’t tell if the blinds were drawn. If not, the flat would be sweltering by now.
Daisy’s car wasn’t there. Odd—she finished work an hour before him, usually had dinner ready by his return. No missed calls or texts. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, locked the car, and stepped inside.
***
They’d met eighteen months ago. Richard had spotted a stranded car by the roadside, door open, a small, flustered woman beside it. A flat tyre—of course. He’d stopped to help, and soon they were inseparable.
Daisy had rented a flat then—petite, fiercely independent. With her, he felt strong, protective, though she bristled at his fussing. Moving in together made sense—why pay rent when she stayed with him every night?
His bachelor’s den transformed under her touch. Throw blankets, cushions, soft lamps appeared. The flat smelled of baking, stews, vanilla—no longer just a place, but a home.
Then one evening, she brought in a dirty puppy, shivering under a scraggly bush in the rain.
“Daisy, why? It’s filthy, probably sick,” Richard had grumbled. He’d never cared for pets.
“Look how sweet he is! Just cold. I’ll wash him, take him to the vet tomorrow. He’ll die out here!” She cradled the shivering mutt to her chest.
“You know I can’t stand dogs. Leave him at the clinic.”
The look she gave him said it plainly—press the issue, and she’d walk out with that dog. And he couldn’t bear that. He’d never loved anyone as he loved her. So he relented.
She named the puppy Rex—ridiculous for a scrappy thing, but the dog perked up at the sound, as if approving.
Rex grew fast, soon a sturdy, russet-coated mongrel, some retriever in his blood. Richard played with him, but Rex adored Daisy, ignoring commands unless they came from her. Richard even felt a twinge of jealousy.
They lived contentedly—Richard adapted, even walking Rex in the mornings. Children could wait. They were happy as they were.
***
At the flat door, Richard heard Rex whining. The moment he stepped inside, the dog bolted past him toward the stairs.
Richard sighed, locked up, and followed. “Slow down, mate.”
Usually, Rex waited for the lead. Today, he darted ahead, glancing back as if urging Richard on.
“Where’re you off to?” Richard muttered.
Rex paused, ears twitching, then tore across the pavement.
“Stop! Bloody hell—where are you—?”
The dog kept checking if Richard followed, racing with single-minded purpose. Then dread coiled in Richard’s gut—Rex only ran like this to Daisy.
They cut through their usual park, then zigzagged through backstreets. Richard’s lungs burned; his heart slammed against his ribs. Rex’s bark echoed ahead. He sprinted, cursing the dog’s speed, swearing he’d take up running.
They reached a winding road lined with old terraced houses—rare in this busy part of town. Rex stood whining by the kerb, sniffing glass-strewn tarmac. As Richard neared, the dog barked hoarsely.
Richard knew—something had happened to Daisy. Why had she taken this route?
A boy of ten tinkered behind a fence. “Hey, lad, what happened here?” Richard called over Rex’s noise.
“Crash,” the boy said, approaching. “Saw the ambulance leave, then a tow truck took the car.”
“Colour?”
“Red, I think.”
Richard dialled the hospital. “Was there a call recently? Which one? Right. Thanks.”
He regretted not leashing Rex—the dog refused to budge. Richard ran back to his car.
Night had fallen when he reached the hospital. A weary doctor eyed him.
“Who are you?”
“Her husband.”
The doctor sighed. “No good news. She died en route.”
Richard’s chest caved. His mind spun—mistake, not her, she never took that road. He needed to call her.
“Can I see her?”
“Nothing to see. Face is… not recognisable.”
“What if it’s not her?” Hope flickered.
“They found her ID.”
The doctor led him down corridors, outside, then turned a corner. Richard’s legs buckled—the mortuary.
Inside, he recognised Daisy’s small frame beneath the sheet, bloodied and broken. Darkness swallowed his vision. His own howl filled his ears.
Outside, he slumped against the wall, weeping.
“Why her?”
The doctor lingered. “No chance. The other driver was blinded by sun—your wife came round the bend…” He left Richard to his grief.
Richard barely remembered driving home. Only then did he recall Rex. He returned to the crash site—few streetlights, the dog lying on the kerb. At Richard’s approach, Rex lifted his head: Well? Found her?
“Home, Rex.”
The dog didn’t move.
“Come on, Daisy’s waiting.” The lie tasted bitter.
Rex followed, stopping often, glancing back. Richard urged him on.
“In the car. Now.”
Rex hesitated, then jumped in.
At home, the dog sniffed every corner, whining, turning mournful eyes to Richard. That night, he howled by the door.
“Quiet. You’ll wake the neighbors.”
A knock—the man next door, scowling. “Shut that dog up. Can’t sleep.”
“Trying,” Richard muttered.
He crouched to Rex. “You understand, don’t you? I’m hurting too, but I’m not howling. Want to leave? Go on, then. Traitor.” He yanked the door open.
Later, he stumbled downstairs to let Rex out properly.
Days blurred—arranging the funeral, drowning in whisky, half-dreaming of Daisy beside him. One night, his feet carried him back to the crash site. A rustle—Rex, gaunt and matted, gave a feeble tail wag. His ribs barely moved.
Richard lay beside him in the wet grass, staring at the cloudy sky. He woke stiff with cold. Rex’s side was still.
“Lucky you,” Richard whispered.
He fetched a shovel, dragged the dog to the bushes, and dug. Morning traffic ignored the disheveled man weeping over a grave.
At home, he drained a glass of vodka, ignoring his churning stomach. The mirror showed a stranger—red-eyed, dirt-streaked. A knock went unanswered. He was a ghost now.
Days later, under a drizzling sky, he wandered aimlessly to a nearly empty pet market. A boy cradled a shivering pup.
“Buy him, mister? Cheap,” the boy pleaded. “Dad’ll drown him otherwise.”
Richard frowned. “How much?”
The boy clutched the pup tighter. “Changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“You’d not care for him.”
“I need him,” Richard said, surprised by his own conviction. “My dog died recently.”
The boy hesitated, then nodded.
Richard fished out a crumpled twenty-pound note.
“Nah,” the boy refused, nervous. “Just a coin.”
Two pence changed hands. The boy passed over the pup.
“His name’s Rex!” he called as Richard walked away.
Richard froze but didn’t turn.
At home, the pup piddled on the floor.
Richard almost smiled. “No shame? Your predecessor never did that.”
He cleaned up, fed the pup, remembering how Daisy had done it. They slept together on the sofa.
Richard never heard the old Rex’s bark again. But Daisy visited his dreams—smiling, just out of reach. He chased sleep, eager to close his eyes, waiting to meet her again.
