Last day

A story about someone looking to make amends for a mistake.( sort of!)

They sat silently in the old kitchen, gazing at each other. Despite the glorious autumn weather both of them were lost in a sea of grey unhappiness, a dull ache that would not go away. Even the sun outside the window seemed to have lost its warmth and cheerfulness for a moment. Brett shook himself. This would not do.

“Come on, my lovely,” he became aggressively cheerful, “Let’s go for a walk. We’d better make the most of it while we can.”

Tania did not answer, but gave him a long cool stare. She knew him so well. She knew from the first moment that he had begun to plan this, had known about it for months, while he remained silent, hugging the information to him like an old teddy bear.  She had only realised how immediate it was during the last week, when the sorting and de-cluttering began. Still, there was nothing to be done about it; she knew that, he was going away. He had made his decision. 

He had finally made no secret of it; the bags and boxes lay piled in the hallway, ready for off. Well, what must be must be; she wouldn’t make any fuss, there would be no tears, no recriminations. She thought she would die without him – but she had only ever wanted what was the best for him. If going away was the only way he could find that best, then she would endure it.

“Come on, Tania!”

They stepped out of the house and through the tumbled garden where they had spent such happy long hours, working and relaxing. Without speaking, instinctively, their steps took them along the long path shaded by beech trees, sunlight dappling through entwined fingers of shade. They had walked along there so often, in all seasons. They had marvelled at the clear cold air of winter, the rime frosting the old teasel heads and shivering fronds of ivy.  They had ploughed through it in the snow, making virgin tracks, whooping like children, up to their knees in white fluffy shiverings until they had to admit defeat in the face of the cold and retreat to the comfort of a roaring log fire. They had run along the lanes through riots of nodding daffodils and bluebells in the soft showers of spring. It was only a week ago that they had lain in a clearing in the wood, exhausted, in unseasonably hot autumn midday sun, seeking a moment of shade beneath the overgrown bracken, unspeakably happy.

They pressed on through the village, over the humped medieval bridge and past the church.

“You’ll be taking a last walk, then,” Sam Parker, the verger, popped up over the crumbling churchyard wall. “Won’t seem the same without you. I bet you’ll miss this view …”

“I will, Sam, I will.” 

And more than the view, thought Brett, I’ll miss you and all my friends and neighbours in Little Sandon. They’re good people. It’s been home for such a long time now. But I’ll miss Tania more than any of you. More that I can say.

He looked round for Tania, but she had carried on, up the track, and he had to run to catch her up. So it was that as he reached the top of the hill, almost breathless, he found her standing on the great stone outcrop, silhouetted against the burnt orange of the fading sun. He caught his breath. She looked so beautiful, full of life and health – he had never loved her more. 

Later that evening the two of them shared a perfectly cooked steak at the local pub, as they had done so often before, among people they knew well and liked enormously. It was hard to face all the smiles and jollity, all the farewell back slapping and hand shaking, the good wishes for the future, the wise words of advice to the traveller from people who had never gone more that thirty miles from home in their lives. Now that the parting was imminent, both of them viewed the future with trepidation, neither knew what to say, or how to behave. It was time to leave the pub, they weren’t good company tonight.

Soon they were alone again in the night air.

“I don’t really want to go, you know,” he blurted out the words. 

She wanted to jump in with it, to say “Well, don’t, then”, but somehow she couldn’t. He was the one who had chosen to go, after all; she had been perfectly content as things were. It was his need for new experiences and adventure that was driving him onward, and she accepted that. But he was miserable now, and that made her unhappy too. 

It was completely dark by the time they got back to the cottage. Indoors they relaxed; he poured a generous dram of malt whiskey, lit the fire and put on the soft old country music they both loved. They settled back in the old rustic chairs, warm and content, putting the prospect of tomorrow’s parting as far to the back of their minds as they could. They spent the rest of the evening like that, side by side, with no need for words, letting the music soothe their worries and tensions. In truth, both were trying to drag out this last moment of companionship as long as possible. Tania gave in first, nodding asleep in front of the fire.

Brett went up to bed with mixed emotions. Tomorrow was a new day, a job abroad, with the excitement of promotion and the prospect of future success. He could taste the exhilaration – there would be new challenges, new people, a new lifestyle. He knew that it was what he wanted, what he needed, what he had to do – but…

He wondered how he could cope on his own, without the love and trust of Tania, who had been there for him for over ten years. He couldn’t imagine coming home to a house without her immediate loving welcome. He couldn’t imagine not having her there to talk to – to explain all the difficulties of the day, to share in all his successes, to join in all his hopes for the future. He just couldn’t think of life without her. It wasn’t too late; he could always change his plans…

And he did. Just in time.

Six months later, her quarantine period served, he was reunited with Tania, his beloved golden retriever, and one thing was certain, he would never leave her again.