The Quiet Life of a Contented Bachelor: Happy in His Own Company
William was a bachelor of a certain age, living life at his own pace, never troubled by solitude. He worked like a horse but loved what he didmeticulous to a fault, everything had to be just so. Hed met plenty of women, but none had ever seemed quite right. That July, tired of routine, he decided on a holiday and headed south, craving an escape from civilisation. He posted an ad online.
A reply came from a woman with two children, living in a Cornish village. The beach was twenty minutes on foot, far from resorts and towns. There was a private room, and in exchange for groceries, shed cook him proper meals. He was sold. The drive went smoothlythe satnav didnt fail him. The house was old but tidy, the room cosy, and the owner, Emily, friendly. In the garden, a little terrier, Betsy, scampered about as the fruit ripened on the trees. Emilys two children, a boy and a girl of nine or ten, helped with chores. She never bothered him, just asked what he fancied for dinner, piled his plate with strawberries, and smiled warmly.
William spent his days at the beachswimming, climbing rocks, snapping photos, and messaging an old mate on Facebook. Occasionally, he wondered how a woman in her fifties had such young children. Finally, he asked:
“Emily, are these your grandchildren?”
“No,” she chuckled, “theyre minejust late arrivals. Life didnt lead me to marriage, but I wanted children. And Im not that oldonly forty-eight.”
As they talked, William studied her properly. She was kind, quick to laugh, and he liked her nameEmily. Em. His mother had been called that. She smelled of strawberries and fresh butter. The cider was crisp, the nights mild, and the sky full of stars. Neither of them bothered with gamesthey were past that. By day, everything seemed normal, but at night, William would slip quietly to Emilys side of the house before creeping back to his room. The children mustnt wake. Betsy never barkedjust watched him knowingly, as if she understood everything. A good dog, economical. Two spoonfuls of food and shed guard the garden like a sentry.
Soon, Betsy started joining him at the beach. Shed swim, shake off in the sand, dry in the sun, then trot home ahead of him. But one day, she didnt show. William searched everywhere, shouted her name, plastered the village with posters. Where was she? An elderly neighbour mentioned some tourists whod rented a cottage at the far end of the villageperhaps theyd taken her. William drove straight there, arriving just in time to hear theyd left an hour before, heading for the main road with a small terrier in tow.
He jumped in his car and sped off, catching them eighty miles down the road, blocking their path. Two young women climbed out of the Jeep, bold as brass.
“Oi, move your car! Cant you drive? Well call the police!”
“Go ahead,” said William, “but first, give back the dog.”
“Youre lucky,” sneered the taller one. “She was a straywere rescuing her.”
“Shes not a stray,” he shot back. “Shes got a family. Shes not yours.”
“Get lost!” screeched the other. “Move or well smash your windows!”
William ignored them and called, “Betsy!” The dog started barking and scrambling over the seats, trying to reach the half-open window. The girls grabbed at her, swearing and swinging at him. William hesitatedhe wasnt about to hit a woman.
Luckily, a sweaty, weary police officer appeared. Covering his ears against the shrieking, he took Betsy.
“Quiet! The dog goes where she chooses. Neither of you has papers for her.”
“Here, sweetie,” cooed the girls, waving a bit of ham.
“Come on, Betsy,” said William.
The officer set her down. She bolted straight to William, tail wagging madly.
“Case closed,” sighed the officer.
“No, shes ours!” wailed the girls. “You cant take her! Well report you!”
The officer turned red.
“Either leave now, or Ill check your insurance, fire extinguisher, warning triangle, first-aid kit, and count every pill in that car. Its filthy, and Ill run the plates to see if its stolen. The systems back at the station…”
The Jeep vanished faster than a pubs last pint.
William shook the officers hand.
“Cheers.”
“Dont mention it. Ive got a terrier too. Clever little buggers. Wears a jumper in winterfreezes otherwise. Good breed, loyal. Handy size. Drive safe.”
Back in the car, Betsy curled on his lap, warm and soft as velvet. It felt goodhe hadnt felt like this in years. The road was quiet, the engine purred, and Betsy dozed. But amid the peace, his chest tightened. Soon, hed have to leave. No one waited for him at home. The thought of just turning the car around and taking Betsy flickered in his mind. What did he have, really? A few shirts, some pants, a tracksuit. The idea winked at him. William filed it away, sighed, and drove back to Emilys.
The last week was rainy, but William still went to the beachBetsy in tow. At night, hed slip to Ems room, and by morning, the ache grew sharper. On his last day, the sun blazed. He packed the night before, left Emily a gift, said goodbye, gave her his number, and got in the car.
He drove off slowly, thinking his holiday fling was overback to routine. Just as he reached the tarmac, he spotted Betsy sprinting after him. He sped up. She ran faster. He floored it.
The little dog fell behind, then vanished. He stopped, got out, lit a cigarette, and noticed his hands shaking. He smoked it down, stubbed it out, and stared at the road.
A tiny speck moved on the tarmac. William ran, praying no car would hit her. He hadnt sprinted like this in years. Betsy charged forward, dust coating her fur, tongue, even her perky ears. Her tail wagged, but when she tried to bark, she just sneezed.
William picked her up, wiped her down, gave her water. Then he called Emily, grinning. “Fancy a change of scenery? Me, Betsy, and two small passengers are on our way back to yours.”
