Tom froze in placeout from behind an old oak, a dog was watching him with sad eyes, the kind of gaze he would have recognised anywhere in the world.
Dust on the country lane swirled lazily, as if even it couldnt be bothered to move on. Tom let the engine tick over a moment longer before finally switching it off near the sagging, battered fence, drawn out by the familiar rumble beneath him.
For fifteen years, hed kept away from this place. And now, out of the blue, hed driven all the way back. Why? Tom couldnt really say. Maybe to finish a conversation that was never really finished. Maybe to beg for forgiveness when all hope of it had long since slipped away.
Well, you old fool, he muttered under his breath, you made it.
He turned the key, and silence, thick and green and laden with the scent of hay and old memories, fell around him. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A latch clicked quietly somewhere behind him. But Tom sat still, weighing whether to face the ghosts waiting outside.
Memory played its tricks: there she was, at the garden gate, waving him off. Hed only looked back once. Just once. Shed stopped waving by thenjust standing, head tilted, watching.
Ill come back, hed called.
He never did.
He got out, straightened his collar, and suddenly his knees felt like jelly. Ridiculous, he thought, sixty years old and still afraid to look your own past in the eye.
The gate didnt creak anymoresomeone mustve oiled the hinges. Val always used to say, Creaky gates drive me potty! Buy that oil tin, Tom. Of course, he never did.
The garden hadnt changed much. Only the old apple tree was stooped over, heavy and tired now; the house itself seemed quieter, almost older. Different curtains in the windowsnot Vals, not any more.
He made his way along the overgrown path towards the churchyard. Hed finally decided to say what he never managed to say, fifteen years back.
He stopped suddenly, rooted to the spot.
There, from behind a silver birch, a dog watched him. Rust-coloured, a white chest, those same deep, thoughtful eyes he used to call golden. Not just similarit was her.
Maggie? he whispered.
Maggie didnt rush over, didnt bark, just watched patiently, as if asking, Whereve you been all this time? We were waiting.
Toms breath caught in his chest.
Maggie stayed put, sat as still as a shadow; but her eyes Val always laughed, Maggies a therapist, that one. She can see right through you.
God, he breathed. How are you still around?
Dogs didnt live this long.
But Maggie slowly struggled up, stiff like an old lady whose joints ache. She ambled over, sniffed his hand, then turned away. Not offended. Just letting him know, I remember you. But youre late.
You do recognise me, Tom saidnot needing an answer.
Maggie whimpered softly.
Forgive me, Val, he murmured, crouching by the old headstone. Forgive my cowardice. I ran. I chose work, and ended up with empty flat and pointless business trips. Forgive me for being scared to stay.
He sat there for ages, talking quietly to the cold stone, telling her about his lifeabout pointless jobs, about women who never felt right, about picking up the phone to call her but putting it back down. Always too little time, too little courage, too little belief someone might still be waiting.
He didnt walk back aloneMaggie followed, not exactly with joy, but no malice in it either.
The front door slammed.
And who are you? A womans sharp voice rang out.
On the step stood a woman around forty, dark hair tied back. Stern face, but her eyes Vals eyes.
I Im Tom, he said, unsure. I used to
I know who you are. She cut him off. Im Anna. Her daughter. Dont you remember?
Anna, Vals daughter from her first marriage, was watching him like she was holding something burning inside.
She came down the steps, Maggie sidled up next to her straight away.
Mums been gone half a year, Anna said, evenly. Where were you? When she was ill? When she was waiting? When she still believed?
It hit him like a slap. He couldnt find the words.
I didnt know, he managed.
Didnt know? She let out a humourless laugh. Mum kept your letters. Every one. She knew your addresses. You werent hard to find. But you didnt look.
He had nothing to say. Hed written the first years, but then work had swallowed him up; the letters grew fewer, then stopped altogether. Val faded away, like a nice dream you can never return to.
She was ill? he croaked.
No. She just her heart gave out. Too tired of waiting.
She didnt cry. That made it worse.
Maggie whimpered quietly. Tom closed his eyes.
Mums last words, Anna added, were If Tom ever comes back, tell him Im not angry. I understand.
She always did understand. He never gave himself the time to.
What about Maggie? Why was she at the churchyard?
Anna exhaled slowly. She goes there every day. Lies down and waits.
They had dinner in silence. Anna explained she worked as a nurse, was married but lived alone nowdidnt work out. No kids. But she had Maggieher comfort, her link to her mother.
Could I stay here a few days? Tom asked.
Anna looked right at him.
And then vanish again?
I dont know, he admitted. Truly, I dont.
He stayed. Not just a daya week, then two. Anna didnt ask again when hed leave. Maybe she realised he wasnt sure himself.
He fixed up the fence, patched boards, fetched water from the well. His body ached, but his mind felt calmer than it had in years. As if something inside finally stopped fighting.
Maggie only let him in properly after a week. She came over on her own, lay across his boots. Anna smiled when she saw.
Shes forgiven you.
Tom gazed out the window. At Maggie. At the tree. At the house that still felt warm with Vals memory.
And you? he asked Anna softly. Can you forgive me?
Anna was silent for a long time, weighing every word carefully.
Im not my mum, she finally said. Its harder for me. But Ill try.
Maggie would still wake before anyone else. As soon as the sky lightened, shed slip off through the garden, on an important mission. Tom didnt think much of it at firstdogs have their own routines. But soon he noticed: she was always heading for the churchyard.
She goes every day, Anna explained. Since mum died. Just sits there, like a guard for the past.
Turns out, dogs hold onto memory better than people. People can bury pain, invent excuses. Dogsthey just keep loving, keep waiting.
On the morning of that day, heavy clouds hung low as if they might settle on the roof. By noon it was mizzling, and by evening the heavens opened: pelting rain, howling wind, thunder. Rain smashed the windows, trees bent as though trying to hide.
Maggies not back, Anna said, peering into the gloom. She always comes back for tea. Its past nine.
Tom looked out too. The rain blurred everything, even the lane. Lightning flashed, revealing the ghostly shapes of trees.
Maybe she found shelter somewhere, he said, not quite believing himself.
Shes old, Anna gripped the windowsill. In weather like this Im scared.
Have you got an umbrella?
Of course. Anna was puzzled. Youre not thinking
But Tom was already tugging on his coat.
If shes there, shell stay put. Wont leave until its finished. And shes too old for a night like this.
He didnt finish, but Anna understood. She handed him a torch and a silly, sturdy blue umbrella with daisies. He took both.
The path to the churchyard was ankle-deep in mud. The torch barely pierced the downpour. The umbrella almost wrenched itself free every other step. Tom pushed on, half-sliding, muttering at himself.
Sixty years old, knees like rusty hinges, about to catch my death. But here I am, because I must.
The churchyard gate rattled in the windthe latch had blown off. Tom stepped inside, shone the torch along the ground, and there she was.
Maggie lay by Vals grave, pressed against the old wooden cross. Soaked, chest heaving, too tired even to raise her head until Tom crouched beside her.
Hey, girl He dropped to his knees in the mud. What are you doing
She looked up at him, quiet, exhausted. As if to say, I cant leave her alone. I remember.
Shes gone, he said, voice trembling. But youre still here. And so am I. Were together now.
He wrapped Maggie in his coat, lifted her in his arms. She didnt strugglewhatever strength she had was spent. His arms werent strong either, but that didnt matter.
Forgive us, Val, he whispered into the rain. Forgive me for coming too late. And herfor never giving up.
The rain stopped only at dawn. Tom sat by the fire all night, holding Maggie bundled in his coat. Talking gently, soothing, like with a sick child. Anna brought milk. The dog sipped a little.
She poorly? Anna whispered.
He shook his head. Just worn out.
Maggie lasted another fortnight. Quiet, peaceful, never further from Tom than a step. Squeezing every second of time.
He watched her slipping away: each move slower, her eyes more often closed. But she wasnt afraid. Just calm. And oddly grateful. As if she knew: it was finally safe to go.
Maggie left at sunrise. She lay on the step, laid her head on her paws, and drifted off. Tom found her as the first sunlight reached the house.
They buried her next to Val. Anna didnt hesitatesaid her mum would have smiled at the thought.
That evening, Anna handed him a bunch of old keys.
I think mum would have wanted you to stay here. Not go away again.
Tom turned the rusty keys over in his palmone of them hed carried for years, before he left all this behind.
And you? he asked gently. Do you want me to stay?
Anna let her breath outa sigh with years of missing in it.
I do, she nodded. A house shouldnt be empty. And I need a father.
Father. The word that had always frightened him. Not because he didnt want tobecause he didnt know how. But maybe it was never too late.
All right, he said. Ill stay.
A month later, hed sold the flat in London, moved in for good. Dug the garden beds, fixed the roof, painted the house. The quiet no longer weighed on him. Now it felt like the earth breathing.
He visited the churchyard often. Talked to Val, and to Maggie. Told them how the day went, what hed planted, gossip from the village.
And now and then, he felt as if they were listening. And that quiet contentment was something he hadnt felt in a long, long time.
