Oh, let me tell you about Margaret Thompson—she’d been bustling about her kitchen since dawn, chopping veggies for salads, simmering soup, roasting a chicken with rosemary, and polishing her crystal vase for flowers. Twice she dashed to the shops, coming back with a Victoria sponge and bags stuffed full, bumping into her neighbour Betty by the lift.
“What’s all this then, Margie? Throwing a party?” Betty asked, perched on her usual bench near the entrance.
“Course I am! My Emily’s coming round—my baby girl!” Margaret beamed, hefting her bags up the stairs with effort.
Betty just shook her head. “You’re still fussing over that girl like she’s a child. Blimey, she can’t even pick up the phone for you.”
Margaret ignored her. Easier said than done when your heart’s still wrapped around someone who barely spares you a thought. But Emily was the only reason she bothered getting up in the morning, even if the love between them had thinned to almost nothing.
Then came the call—short, blunt. “I’ll drop by tonight.” Margaret’s heart hammered like a carpenter on a deadline. She flitted about, fluffing pillows, stirring gravy, laying out Emily’s favourite jam tarts.
Then—the doorbell.
There stood her daughter: tall, thin, ice in her voice, sunglasses hiding her eyes, a tiny spaniel on a lead.
“Hello, Mum,” she said, no warmth at all.
“Oh, love! Come in, wash up—I’ve got everything ready!”
Margaret darted to the kitchen, clattering plates, fussing with serving dishes. Emily followed, silent, glancing around like a stranger.
“Sit down, darling—roast, mash, your favourite pudding—!”
“Mum, I’m only here a minute. I’m moving to Manchester. Long-term. Trains are dear, and it’s a hassle, so we won’t see each other for years. This is Bella—ex gave her to me, no clue why. Can’t take her with me. You’re alone anyway—she’ll be company. She’s quiet, barely barks.”
Margaret froze. The food, the fresh sheets, the milk set out—none of it mattered now. She stared at her daughter, still hiding behind those dark lenses.
“Alright,” she managed.
“Thanks, Mum. Love you.” A peck on the cheek, the lead shoved into her hand, and Emily was gone.
Minutes later, Margaret stood in the hall with Bella trembling in her arms. She’d never had pets. With her bad back, her measly pension, the exhaustion—what was she supposed to do now?
“Come on, love… maybe Betty’ll take you.”
But Betty recoiled the second she opened her door. “Have you lost the plot, Margie? I don’t need a mangy mutt ruining my carpets!”
“She’s clean—Emily’s fussy—please, Bet, you’ve had dogs before—”
“Use your head! I told you—stop chasing after her. And now look! Stuck with her cast-off. Chuck her in a shelter and be done.”
Bella just gazed up at Margaret with wide, knowing eyes. Fear. Resignation. A loneliness that mirrored her own.
“Suppose we’re the same, you and me,” Margaret whispered. “No one left who cares.”
Betty huffed. “Do what you like. Just leave me out of it.”
The next months were hard. Bella needed walks—five a day. Margaret’s back screamed, her knees gave out. But the dog never yapped, never whined. Rain? She waited patiently by the door. Heat? Curled silent under the bed. Slowly, Margaret realised… she wasn’t so alone anymore.
Even when Betty stopped speaking to her. So what? The house had a heartbeat now.
A year passed. Margaret’s last. Her heart gave out. Neighbours found her in the kitchen—Bella hadn’t left the door, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t made a sound.
A week later, Emily barged in unannounced.
“Ugh, the stink in here—” Her nose wrinkled. Bella barked.
“Quiet! She’s gone. I’ll have to take you—flipping this flat, no pets allowed.”
At the graveside, Emily tossed the lead aside.
“Ta for the flat. And the savings. Bella can stay here too.”
She walked off.
The dog sniffed the fresh earth, then lay down. She knew where she belonged.
Two days. Bella didn’t move. Didn’t eat.
On the third, Betty turned up—flowers in hand.
“There you are, sweetheart,” she murmured, spotting the dog by the grave. “Oh, Margie… gave that girl everything. In the end… only the dog stayed.”
She crouched, stroked Bella’s matted fur.
“Right. Come on, then. Can’t leave you like this. If Margie could handle you… well, I’ll manage. Just gotta be decent, ain’t I?”
She scooped Bella up. The clouds broke—sunlight, for the first time in a week.
