“You met her first, go with her,” said Oliver to the dog. “I’ll miss you.”
The train slowed down. Passengers had already formed a queue by the doors. Outside the window, the figures on the platform blurred past more and more slowly under the harsh fluorescent lights. Finally, with a jolt, the train came to a stop. The doors hissed open, and people, laden with bags and shopping, hurried out onto the scuffed, well-trodden platform of a small station just outside London.
Chatting and stretching stiff legs, passengers headed for the stairs. Oliver was the last to step off the train. No one was waiting for him. He wasn’t in a rush to get back to his lonely rented flat, a place he only returned to sleep.
A few months ago, he’d divorced his wife, leaving her and their newborn daughter the house while he rented a cheaper place in the suburbs.
He’d met a woman once, dated briefly, then parted ways amicably. Three months later, she’d turned up unannounced, belly rounding with pregnancy. He’d proposed marriage. Four months later, she gave birth to a healthy little girl.
Through tears, she’d confessed—before him, she’d been with another man who’d left her as soon as he learned of the pregnancy. Then Oliver had come along. She had nowhere to go, no desire to return to her hometown. He couldn’t throw her out. So he left instead, filed for divorce.
Now he worked nearly every day, saving for a new place. A mate had put together a crew and offered him work—renovating flats and houses.
Oliver ambled to the stairwell, dimly lit by a flickering lamp. At the bottom, he spotted a ginger dog. The dog looked at him, then back up toward the platform.
“Doesn’t seem like anyone’s left. Did your owner not show? Maybe they’ll be on the last train,” Oliver muttered, turning to walk away.
After a few steps, he glanced back. The dog had climbed the platform, still searching. The train’s wheels clattered as it pulled away. Whining, the dog watched it go before trotting down the stairs and stopping in front of Oliver, sitting with a silent question in its eyes.
“What’s the plan, mate? Waiting for the next train or coming with me? Won’t ask twice,” Oliver said, turning away without waiting for an answer.
The dog hesitated, then followed at a distance before falling into step beside him.
“Lonely, eh? I get it. Who do you belong to? Never seen you around before. Not that I’ve been here long myself…”
The dog kept pace, listening as they reached Oliver’s brick terrace house. At the doorstep, the dog paused.
“Come on in.” Oliver held the door open. “Make up your mind—I’m starving and knackered.” He stepped inside but kept the door ajar.
The dog padded up the steps and slipped past him. “You’re not easy company, are you?” Oliver smirked, letting the door close behind them.
The hallway was dim, lit by a feeble bulb.
“Up to the third floor. No lift, sorry,” Oliver joked.
The dog bounded ahead, waiting at each landing. At his door, Oliver fished out his keys.
“Home sweet home.” He flipped on the light, stepping inside. “Go on, have a look around. Won’t ask twice.”
The dog hesitated, then strode in with quiet dignity, settling by the coat rack.
“Polished. I respect that. But if you’re staying, make yourself at home,” Oliver said, shrugging off his jacket. He dropped his bag on the side table and headed to the kitchen.
The dog lay in the hall, ears twitching at every sound. When the clatter of dishes and the smell of reheated food reached him, he gulped and trotted toward the scent of pasta and tinned meat.
“Knew you’d cave.” Oliver pulled another bowl from the sink, filled it, and set it by the wall.
The dog sniffed, then devoured every scrap, licking the bowl clean before fixing Oliver with a stare.
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. Didn’t exactly plan for you.” Noticing the dog’s glance at the sink, Oliver guessed. “Thirsty? Never had a dog before.” He rinsed the bowl and filled it with water. The dog lapped eagerly, splashing droplets everywhere.
Later, Oliver lounged on the sofa, watching TV. The dog curled at his feet, head on paws, but perked up at the slightest noise.
“Relax, mate. Take it easy,” Oliver said, switching off the telly.
Yawning, he dragged himself up, stretching. The dog sprang to its feet.
“Gotta fold out the sofa. Move over.”
The dog backed off, nails clicking on the floor.
“How’d you get so clever? Wish you could tell me your name,” Oliver mused, glancing at him.
Once the bed was ready, the dog trotted to the hallway.
“Hey, you can stay in here if you want,” Oliver called, but the dog didn’t return. “Suit yourself.” He flicked off the light.
Half-asleep, he heard faint sighs and scratching. Morning light stung his eyes when he peeled them open. The noise came again. He staggered to the hallway—the dog sat by the door.
“Oh, right. Forgot about you. Know the way out?” Oliver opened the door, and the dog bolted downstairs.
“Door,” Oliver remembered belatedly. He almost followed but heard the front door click shut downstairs.
After a shower, he made sandwiches for two, put the kettle on, and slipped into trainers before heading down. The dog waited outside.
“Come on, then.” Oliver jerked his head. The dog dashed in, waiting by the flat.
This time, it went straight to the kitchen, wolfing down the sandwich in its bowl. They left together, walking side by side to the station.
“Off you go. I’ve got work. Will you be here later? No hard feelings if not.” Oliver ruffled the dog’s ears before crossing to the opposite platform.
That evening, he stepped off the train last again, wondering if the dog would be waiting—or if its real owner had finally come. The dog sat by the stairs, watching passengers descend. Spotting Oliver, it stood, tail wagging.
“Owner a no-show again? Or were you waiting for me?” Oliver rubbed its head. “Come on, then.”
The next morning at the station, Oliver crouched before the dog.
“Listen, I won’t be back tonight. Got things to sort. Might even stay in town a couple days. Catch you later.” He stood and walked toward the tunnel. The dog watched him go.
The client was pushing to finish the house, so the crew worked through the night. Two days later, exhausted and hungry, Oliver stepped onto the empty platform. No dog in sight. “Must’ve found its owner,” he thought, trudging home.
The empty bowl in the kitchen sharpened his loneliness. He’d grown fond of that clever dog. That night, he woke to silence. No shuffling, no sighs. He rolled over.
The alarm blared what felt like minutes later. Every muscle ached, but there was another job. He washed the dog’s bowl, drank straight from the kettle, and left.
On the platform, he spotted the dog beside a young woman.
“Is he yours?” Oliver asked.
She blinked. “Why?”
“He stayed with me while you were gone. Bright dog. Lucky you.”
She smiled. “Oh, he’s not mine. Just latched onto me at the station. I was away—mum was in hospital.”
“Really? What’s his name?”
“Hamlet.”
The train rumbled in.
“See you, Hamlet,” Oliver said. He and the woman boarded together.
“I’m Oliver. You?”
“Emma.”
“Funny—both start with vowels. What do you do?” he asked, noticing her blank look at his joke.
“Nurse.”
They talked all the way into the city. Oliver liked her more by the minute. Easy company. No wonder the dog chose her. Emma explained Hamlet’s owner, an elderly professor, had died recently—never came back from the city.
“That’s why he waited at the station. Then he found me. Maybe smelled the hospital on me,” she said.
“Why’d he pick me? I reek of plaster, not medicine.”
“Maybe he sensed you were alone too,” she teased.
They arranged to meet at the station that evening. Oliver worked in a haze, counting the hours. At the platform, he spotted Emma and waved. They barely stopped talking the whole ride.
Hamlet bounded toward them, tail whipping. Emma crouched.
“Who were you waiting for?” she asked, scratching his head.
He licked her hand, then nudged Oliver.
“You met her first, go with her,” Oliver told the dog. “I’ll miss you.”
“Come on, Hamlet,” Emma called.
But the dog stayed put, glancing between them.
“Choose fast,” Oliver said, hoping Hamlet would pick him.
The dog whimpered, paws shifting.
“MaybeAnd as the three of them walked home under the glow of the streetlamps, Oliver took Emma’s hand, and Hamlet trotted proudly ahead, knowing he’d brought them together.
