The afternoon nap brought no reliefonly a lingering sense of unease and an unpleasant dryness in my mouth. I wake now with a strange, almost physical sensation of emptiness in my legs, as if someone has snatched the hot water bottle from under the duvet. Normally, Duke, my golden retriever, sleeps there, his heavy, steady breathing more soothing than any sleeping pills.
Today, the bed is empty and the sheet feels cold against my skin.
Sitting up and swinging my legs onto the floor, I shiver at the draft that seems to weave through every room. The flat is weighed down by a hushed, cotton-wool silence that presses into my ears. No clicking of nails on wooden floorboards. No familiar sigh. Not even the sound of his coat shaking off the dustnothing.
Duke? I call out, and to my own ears my voice sounds sharp and foreign.
No answering steps, and suddenly my home feels unnaturally large, hostile, as if all warmth has been sucked away. I make my way through the long hallway, fingers trailing across the wallpaper to steady myself. My heart drums a nerve-twanging, irregular beat in my throat and vibrates in my temples.
In the kitchen, Alice sits at the table, one leg carelessly crossed over the other.
My daughter-in-law, all of twenty-six, is a picture from a glossy magazine: smooth skin, flawless hair, a gaze that never lingers on real warmth or empathy. She dangles a glass of some thick green smoothie in her manicured fingers, scrolling away on her phone with a smile that suggests shes just won the lottery of life.
Alice, wheres the dog? I ask, leaning against the doorframe to hide the trembling in my legs.
Alice casts her eyes up at me, and hers are glutted with cold ease. She takes a slow sip, smearing a green moustache across her upper lip, then delicately wipes it away with her tongue.
Oh, Mrs. Thompson, youre up already? Her voice practically drips with syrupy courtesy. About Dukewell, you see, it was all rather unfortunate. He was howling, darting about, scratching at the door. I thought perhaps he had an upset stomach, poor thing?
She lets out a dramatic sigh, flashing a well-manicured hand with a bloody red polish.
I opened the door, just to get the lead on himand he bolted! Nearly knocked me clean over. I shouted, Duke, stay! but he didnt even twitch an ear. Hes gone. Guess nature calledsprings in the air, all those smells. Dogs that wander off like that? Theres an old saying: it means they want to go away to die, spare their owners heartbreak.
A rusted, jagged key seems to twist deep in my gut.
What spring, Alice? Its November, I say quietly, feeling the tips of my fingers grow icy. He was neutered five years ago. Hes terrified of lifts and never leaves my side when were out.
Alice shrugs, shoulders dipped in pure indifference. She simply doesnt carenot one whit about what Im feeling.
Well, maybe he just got tired of this concrete shoebox. Wanted some fresh air, trees, a bit of spaceHes just an animal, after all.
My eyes fall on the car keys, tossed carelessly on the kitchen table. The keyringa fluffy white rabbitsuddenly looks menacing. The keys should be in the hallway, not here. She didnt just let him out.
She drove a member of our family into the woods while I slept, taking advantage of my weakness.
I can only turn away and head for the door, a cold, heavy determination mounting inside me. If shes taken him far, I cant find him on foot, but I cannot bear to sit and look at her triumphant face. Shes clearing the decks before her holiday, erasing every obstacle.
The next four hours are sticky, airless hell.
I search the entire neighbourhood, peering under every car, my voice growing raw and hoarse till my throat feels flayed. My trembling hands fumble the phone, dropping it twice on the pavement as I ring every neighbour I know. I send a message to the residents WhatsApp group, attaching a photo of Dukegrinning with his tongue hanging pale and pink. “Missing dog, friendly and trusting, happy to approach anyone”
No one has seen him. Not a soul.
Back home, I drink heart medicine, but the biting smell only makes my nausea worse. This flat, bought by my son James for all of us, feels like a battleground where Ive lost without ever raising a hand. Alice glides around me as if Im a bit of cracked old furniture forgotten in a corner.
A suitcase stands yawning open in the hallwaya huge, pink beast of a thing, all zips and teeth. Alice is shoving in swimsuits, wraps, costly bottles of lotion with clinical efficiency.
Dont wear yourself out over that mutt, Mum, she tosses over her shoulder, arms loaded with silky dresses. Why bother? Old dog like that, hair everywhere, weird smell, drool on the floor Ugh. You could get a fish, maybe. No noise, no rainy walks. James has booked me a proper luxury hotel. I need some positivity not your funeral gloom.
Does James know? I ask, voice thick, keeping my head bowing.
That the dogs run off? Not yet. No need to bother a man away on business with silly things. Well tell him when hes home. Or you cana bit of negligence, left the door open, at your age it happens
Shes not just disposed of the dog. Shes lined up a ready-made script where I become the villain. And James, my kind, gentle James, hell believe herAlices tears never leave her nose red, and Ill just sit there, suffocating and silent, too frightened of seeming a mad old woman.
I sit in the armchair in the dark lounge, gripping Dukes chewed rubber ball. Its the last fragile thread tying me to that realitywhere my dog is alive and safe.
Dusk falls early, painting cold, purple shadows across the room. Wind rocks the lilac bush outside, scratching the glass with a creak that scrapes my nerves.
Then the sound changes.
Its not the branch. Not glass. Its a faint, unsure scratching at the front door. And a weak, barely audible whine.
I leap up so quickly my vision swims black. I barely register crossing the flat, hands shaking as I fumble the locks, flinging open the heavy front door.
On the filthy doormat lies a grey, quivering lump.
He smells of earth, petrol, dust from the road and wild, animal terror.
Duke! I breathe, dropping to my knees on the freezing hallway tiles.
My dog lifts his heavy head only with effort. His once-glossy golden coat is now matted with burrs and twigs. He shivers, small and constant. His front right paw is held awkwardly off the ground.
But hes holding something tightly in his jaws. Clenched so hard his gums blanch: a little red, sturdy booklet.
Youre alivemy darlingyou came home My hand strokes his filthy, wet head, feeling nothing but his shivering life under my palm. Lets have that come on, let me see.
He manages, with a dry, rattling gasp, to let go. The red booklet flops into my hand, damp and slimy.
Almost automatically, I wipe the cover on my dressing gown. The golden crest sparkles in the hallway lighta British passport.
Fingers numb, I open it. Alices photo stares out: flawless hair, proud, triumphant eyes. Wedged between the pages is a boarding pass. Business class. Departure at six tomorrow morning.
In an instant, the pieces snap together.
She took him far, into woods or fields. Forced him out of the car. Bag fell, passport tumbled to the dirt. In her haste, furious and scrambling, she missed it. Duke didnt dash blindly after her carhe found the thing that still smelt of her, of home, of us. And brought it back.
Hes come tens of miles, limping on three legs, to return that which shed lost as she betrayed him.
Whats all that noise? comes Alices irritated voice. Mrs. Thompson, are you letting in another draft? Honestly!
She appears in the hallway, adjusting a cloth face mask, looking as out of place in her silk robe as a cloud at a funeral. She catches sight of the filthy dog lying at her feet and freezes. That mask suddenly looks like her real facefixed, pale, lifeless in its emptiness.
Y-you? she squeaks, voice breaking into a shriek. But I took you past Reading! Into the woods! How?
Duke growls low and deep, something Ive never heard him do to a human. The hair on his back bristles. He presses himself against me, seeking comfort or protection.
I brace myself on the wall, slowly standing up despite my stiff back and aching knees. But inside, I feel cool, absolutely steady resolve. The fear is gone. Only a kind of disgust remains, as if Ive stepped in filth.
Sohe ran off, did he? I say quietly, holding the passport by the corner like a dead mouse. Nature calling, you say? Out past Reading?
Alices eyes are wide as saucers, flickering between my hand and the dog. Then she recognises her own passport.
Hand it over! she wails, lunging at me. Its mine! Where did you get it?! Give it back!
I step back, hiding my hand. Duke barksa dry, hoarse, warning bark. Alice recoils, stopped by an invisible barrier.
My flights at six! James paid a fortune for this holiday! Give it here, youyou
Go on, finish it, I say with an icy calm. Witch? Senile old hag? The things you call me to your friends when you think I cant hear?
Dont care! Just give me my passport! This is theft!
And look, poor Dukes limping, I coo, my voice as one might speak to a cruel, thoughtless child. See? It hurts him. Its bleeding. Hes going to need to see a vetan x-ray, maybe an MRI. Expensive, Alice. Very expensive.
Ill pay! she gasps, rummaging in her robe for a purse shes not carrying. How much? A hundred? Two? Just take it, but give me the passport!
No, Alice. I shake my head slowly. This isnt about money. This is about decency. You abandoned a living beinga member of our familyto die in the woods, cold and alone.
Its just a dog! she screams, her face blotched with furious red beneath the mask. A pile of hair! I need my nerves, I need my holiday, I’m tired!
You have no nerves, I cut in. Where your soul should be is just a calculator.
I open the passport. The pages are damp and puckered.
Oh dear, I say, feigning distress as I examine it. What a state its in. Duke carried it all the way, teeth and all, through the mud I cant imagine border control would approve of this look.
I can dry it! Ill use the hairdryer! Ill iron it! Give it back! Shes frantic, stamping her foot.
But even if it dries I drift to the wide-open kitchen window. Were ground floor, and outside is a mess of brambles and wild raspberrya thick, impenetrable jungle the caretaker refuses to clear. The night outside is dense and inky. Wind shakes the dark canes.
You threw away a friend. So Im throwing away your holiday.
No! Dont! She lunges wildly, knocking over a chair.
I swing my arm. Calm, slow, deliberate.
Fetch, Alice!
The passport arcs high and disappears into the darkness outside. Theres a soft thud followed by the snap of thorns as it lands somewhere deep in the prickly tangle.
Go look for it, I say coldly. Maybe youll find it by morning, if you try really hard.
Alice makes a keening noise, like an injured gull, running to the window and leaning out till she nearly falls, squinting desperately into the gloom. But theres only wind, branches, and cold out there.
She whirls around, eyes blazing pure hatred, and storms out. Dressing gown, slippers, nothing else. I hear the main door slam with a crash.
Without haste, I fasten the window shut. Its chilly. Duke shouldnt be in a draft after what hes been through.
He lies on the lounge rug, panting and awkwardly licking his sore paw. I settle on the floor beside him, opening the first aid kit. My hands dont shake anymore. My head feels clear and impossibly lighta weight Ive carried for months, suddenly dropped.
All right, hero, lets see, I whisper, switching on the desk lamp.
I ease apart the fur. No break, just swelling and a touch of blood. Prying carefully, I spy a big, stubborn burr stuck right between his padsthe cause of that sharp pain.
Nearly over, darling, I say, tweezers ready.
He flinches, but trusts me enough to stay still. One swift movement, and the bloody burr is out. I disinfect the paw and bandage it. Duke exhales deeply, relaxes, resting his head on my knees.
Hes home.
Through double glazing, I hear the faint, hysterical shrieks from outside.
Where is it? Damn these bushes! Ouch! I hate you!
Alice is grovelling in the blackness, tearing hands, face, and her precious silk robe on those vicious thorns. Shes cursing me, the dog, the brambles, Her Majesty’s Passport Office, and the entire United Kingdom. For me, her shouts sound like justicean overture to her new, lonely life.
A key clicks in the front door.
I dont startle. I know it isnt Aliceshe left without keys, in a fit of fury.
James steps into the hallway, weary and unshaven, travel bag slug on his back. Home a day early, wanting to surprise us.
He stops dead at the sight of Duke, bandaged and filthy, the scattered bandages and me sat nearby.
Mum? he frowns, scanning our faces. Whats happened? And whys Alice crawling about out in the bushes, torch in hand, cursing the place down? I called her, but she didnt even turn round.
I let myself smilea steady, gentle smile, like someone whos survived a storm.
She’s just training, James. Think of it as a bushcraft coursea taster for Survivor out there in the berry thicket.
James kicks off his trainers and pads in. He looks at Duke, whoon seeing his masterwags his tail weakly in greeting. He takes in the bandages, the bloodied burr.
She dumped him, didnt she? he says softly.
Not lost, not wandered off. He knows. Hes seen her disdain, pettiness, small cruelties. Chose not to see, hoping itd all work out. But today, the truths landed hard.
She did, I confirm. Took him out beyond Reading while I napped. Claimed he ran off on some doggy romance. But Duke came back.
James goes to the window, peering down to where Alices torch beam flickers and branches snap in the dark.
And the passport? he asks, not turning.
Duke found it. Where she dumped him. Brought it home, butwell, its a bit worse for wear. Then I had a small mishapa gust caught it, sent it out the window. These drafts, you know.
James is silent, his jaw clenching. He loved Aliceor thought he did, maybe he loved the idea of her. But Duke, he brought home as a puppy ten years back, was part of himof us, of old memories. This betrayal is something hell never forgive. There’s a line love can’t cross.
I see, he murmurs, hanging up his jacket on the chairmovements slow, weary, final. So shes not going to Spain then.
Shes not, I agree, pouring Duke a full bowl of kibble. The sound is the cosiest thing I’ve heard in a long time. That passports done for.
James sits cross-legged on the rug beside Duke, burying his face in the dogs rough, forest-scented fur. Duke licks his ear in thanks.
Thats alright, then, he says hoarsely. Ill go. With you, Mum. And well take Duke along. There are plenty of hotels that like dogs these days. He needs some therapy after all this. So do you.
Outside, a sudden shriek of triumph then instant despair rattles the windows.
Ive found it! Foundoh, god! What have you done to it?!
Shes found the passport. And, judging by her howl, shes just seen what I had: Dukes canine tooth has pierced straight through, deep and devastating. The visa page is now fancy lace, useless for travel.
James stands, heads over to the kettle and presses the button.
Tea, Mum? Mint? Strong?
Yes, please, love. Yes, please.
Already the flat feels warmer. The silence and cold have faded, washed away by the sound of the bubbling kettle and the quiet crunch of Dukes supper. We are home. We are family.
And AliceAlice is exactly where she belongs: in the darkness, with her rage and her scratched hands, clutching a ruined passport that sees her nowhere.
A week later, we really do leave. To a little seaside cottage, where the owners adore retrievers.
Duke limps for a few days, but the salty sea air and golden sand work their magic. As for Alice, she moves in with her mother. Word is, shes pampering her nerves and tending her wounds, but scars dont always fadenot on the skin, nor anywhere deeper.
