As I pulled up to the address Id been given, the man opened the car door and reached into his jacket pocket. But instead of pulling out money, he produced a knife and, threatening me, demanded I hand over all my cash and get out…
I remember the day William left so vividly. My son Thomas and I stood there outside our little house, watching as he packed his bag, preparing for the long journey ahead. He was flying abroad, full of hope that a new job would give our family a brighter future.
Before he left, William hugged Thomas and me tightly. Trying to comfort us, he joked, Emma, why are you saying goodbye as if Im away forever? A year will fly by! Ill be in touch every day you wont even have time to miss me! And dont forget my mum, visit her often, and make sure to walk the dogs together. And please, keep up with the vaccinations for our loyal protectors. Look at them they know somethings up, he said, giving a fond scratch behind Baxter and Titchs ears as they whined nervously.
The plane shimmered in the weak spring sunlight as it took off from Heathrow, soaring above London and crossing the Atlantic, carrying William far away to another continent.
Tall and slender, I stood in silence next to Thomas and our two dogs, watching as that silver arrow vanished into the sky. A whole year of waiting stretched ahead of us.
William hadnt reached this point overnight. Hed spent nine years working as a microbiologist in Oxford, climbing the rungs slowly. Now, finally, hed landed a contract with a major American firm, and as a mark of respect, theyd paid for his business-class ticket. He was headed to the United States.
It would be ten long hours before he landed in JFK, but in his mind, he was already beginning anew our home in Reading, our family, Baxter, Titch, and old friends seemed to belong to a distant chapter.
I sat at home later, wrapped in a blanket, suddenly struck by how empty the house felt without him.
The dogs sensed it too three-year-old Baxter and sprightly Titch, the scrappy little terrier Id rescued from a street corner. Baxter curled at my feet and stared at me, while Titch snuggled up to my side, as if attempting to comfort me. Even Thomas sat quietly in his room, wrestling with his sadness.
I thought to myself, When the holidays start, Ill take some leave and well escape to Williams mums cottage…
Margaret, my mother-in-law, lived across town, but shed visit most weekends, staying overnight, always ready to help and keep me company.
Wed walk the dogs together in the park, take Thomas to the theatre, talk through our dreams of moving, and sort through endless paperwork and old photographs.
In summer, we all decamped to the countryside: working in the little veg plots, wandering through the woods, swimming in the cool river. The dogs adored the open space and never left our side.
I returned to work as usual, and William called more often, saying how much he missed us. He raved about America and kept assuring me our future would be brighter than ever.
By autumn, he said hed found a house, paid a deposit, and asked me to sell the flat and transfer the proceeds. I refused to sell the car, but he pressed Margaret to consider selling her cottage too; he was set on buying the home outright without a mortgage.
My flat sold instantly furniture, old upright piano, everything. Miraculously, the same buyer wanted Margarets cottage, and per our agreement, all the funds went straight to Williams American account.
The night before we moved out, the dogs paced nervously around our bags, whining softly, watching me. I felt anxious in a way I couldnt explain, a feeling that never really left me.
After we moved, Williams calls grew less frequent busy with work, he said. Then, in winter, disaster struck. There were cuts at the institute and I lost my job. The whole country was struggling, pensions were delayed, and jobs were scarce.
Baxter lost weight there just wasnt enough food to go around. Margaret suggested I work as a kitchen porter in a café and bring scraps for the dogs, but I was determined to find work myself. Eventually, things stabilised: Baxter put some weight back on and would greet me at the door, helping carry shopping bags heavier than he was.
Then, lugging a stockpot at the café, I broke my arm. Out of nowhere, Margarets health deteriorated her heart was giving out. Thomas needed a new coat. I rang William.
He answered curtly that funds were tight after the house purchase, but hed try to send something.
I broke down in tears. Margaret sat me down, stroked my shoulder, and whispered, Dont worry, love. Well manage.
Even the dogs leaned in close, as if they understood.
A few days later, £150 arrived. It disappeared at once medicine, food, and a warm jacket for Thomas.
That afternoon, I packed my mink coat and the last of my gold jewellery into a bag and trudged to the pawn shop, knowing Id never see them again. With the money, I stocked up on dog food and groceries.
That was the last of our cash.
Im going to drive a minicab, I told Margaret.
She shrieked and nearly fainted, but I was determined. Baxter jumped onto the back seat, lying quietly, as though he knew wed have to stick together now.
Night shifts behind the wheel brought a surprise: just one shift and I earned more than in a whole month at the café.
I went back out the next night. During my rounds, I picked up a distinguished man my former boss. He was shocked to find me cab-driving, told me hed been looking for me all week he was launching an NGO and wanted me aboard as his top specialist. He handed me his card.
I drove home nearly elated. Baxter wagged furiously when he heard my happy voice.
On the way, I saw a man standing alone on the kerb. Just a short trip, he said. I agreed, hoping for one last fare.
When we arrived, he suddenly opened the door and reached into his jacket pocket… only to pull out a knife.
In the blink of an eye, the silence was broken by a bloodcurdling howl Baxter, snarling, was already on the mans back, teeth sunk deep into his coat. The man thrashed with the knife, unable to shake the heavy dog off.
Baxter lunged for the arm holding the blade; it cut his muzzle, but he wouldnt let go. Seeing my dogs blood-streaked fur, I lost all fear, swung my plastered arm, and smacked the attacker in the face with the cast.
Both the man and Baxter tumbled from the seat. Hauling back my furious companion, I sped away as fast as I could.
Titch barely touched his food that night he waited by the front door, fretting. Quietly, not wanting to wake the others, I cleaned and dressed Baxters wound, fed him, and then collapsed onto the sofa, holding my brave companion close. Titch crawled up beside me, resting his head on my knee and snuffling softly.
From that night, things got easier. I stopped counting pennies; in time, my new job meant I could even afford a new foreign car.
Meanwhile, William receded further from our lives, calling only on special occasions, always with a new excuse for being busy. Five years later, Margaret died her kind heart couldnt take the strain. Her only son didnt return for the funeral, nor did he offer any help. In her will, she left the flat to me.
A few months later, the doorbell rang insistently. Both dogs leapt up and dashed to the door. Thomas answered, to find a sharply dressed man with an expensive briefcase and a forced, gleaming smile, arms spread for a hug.
Well then, son, give your father a welcome! he announced, theatrical as ever.
Thomas fixed him with a cold look. As far as Im concerned, I never had a father. I dont want to see a traitor. Go back! Ill get Mum.
I came into the hallway. Baxter and Titch flanked me, silent and watchful.
What do you want now? Wait… I opened my handbag, pulled out two £50 notes, and threw them in his face. Here. Were good at repaying our debts not that youd understand, traitor!
This flat was my mothers its my inheritance! Get out, both of you! William roared, briefcase raised menacingly, mask slipping.
But Baxter lunged, knocking him to the ground, tearing the sleeve of his smart overcoat and snapping at his face with frightening precision. Titch joined in, determinedly gnawing the other cuff, growling with delight.
Baxter! Baxter, its me, your old master, surely you recognise me? William whimpered, desperate.
In answer, Baxter contemptuously ripped the other sleeve for good measure.
Without another word, I pulled the dogs away and shut the door for good.
P.S. William N. was never to read these words. In August 1998, he died suddenly of a heart attack, never seeing his new baby in America. He was buried at the Orthodox Cemetery at Rock Creek in Washington, D.C. No one from England went to say goodbye.
