Michael Froze: From Behind the Tree, a Dog He’d Recognise Anywhere Watched Him with Sad, Knowing Eyes

I frozepeering from behind an old oak tree, a dog watched me with a sadness Id have recognised anywhere.

Dust hung lazily over the country lane, swirling in sleepy spirals as if reluctant to move on. I killed the engine beside a sagging garden fence but didnt climb out straight awayjust sat, absorbing the gentle shudder of the old car beneath me.

Fifteen years Id kept away from this place. Now, suddenly, I was here. Why? I couldnt say for sureeven to myself. Perhaps to finish a conversation that never started, or to ask forgiveness far too late to be granted.

Well, you old fool, I muttered, you made it.

Turning the key, the engine wound down to silenceheavy, rural, thick with the scent of hay and faded memories. Far off, a dog barked in clipped bursts. Somewhere, a gate creaked. Still, I lingered inside the car, as though stepping out meant meeting the past head-on.

A memory elbowed its way forward; she stood at that very gate, waving to me as I left. I looked back only once. Shed already let her hand fall, head tilted, just watching.

Ill come back, I shouted then.

But I never did.

At last, I left the car, adjusted my collar, legs suddenly unsteady. Ridiculous, I thought. Sixty years old, and still afraid to meet my own past.

The gate no longer squeakedsomeone had finally oiled the hinges. Valerie always complained, Squeaky doors are like nervous tics. Just get some oil, Michael. I never bought it.

The garden looked almost the same. Only the old apple tree stooped lower, burdened by years, and the house seemed to breathe more softly, as if twice its age. New curtains now framed the windowsnot Valeries. Anothers.

I walked the familiar pathto the churchyard. That was where I planned to say what had been left unsaid these past fifteen years.

Then I stopped dead.

A rusty, gold-flecked dog sat by the birch tree, white chest bared and eyes so intent Id once called them golden. Not just similarher. My old friend.

Clever, I whispered.

She didnt come running. She didnt bark. Only watched, quietly, waiting. As if to ask, Where have you been? We waited.

I struggled to breathe.

Clever didnt move. She simply stayed there, silent as a shadow, those very same eyes as before. Valerie always laughed, Clevers half-psychiatrist. She sees straight through youright into your soul.

My God I breathed. Are you really still alive?

Dogs dont live this long.

But Clever rose slowly, as gently as a pensioner, every movement careful. She padded over, sniffed my hand, then glanced away. It wasnt hurt she showedjust a dogs way of saying, I remember. But youve come too late.

You do remember me. I didnt have to ask. Of course you do.

Clever whimpered softly.

Forgive me, Valerie, I murmured, crouching beside the gravestone. Forgive me my cowardicefor running away, for choosing career and empty rooms and pointless journeys. Forgive the fear that kept me from staying.

I talked for a long time, sitting on the cold stone, telling her about wasted work, women for whom my heart never ached, the number dialled but never rung, always lacking time, courage, or belief that someone still waited.

I returned from the churchyard no longer aloneClever, trailing behind, seemed to accept me back in her circle. Not warmly, but without malice.

A door snapped shut by the house.

Who are you? demanded a firm, female voice.

A woman in her forties stood on the stepdark hair tied back, face set and serious, but the eyes Valeries eyes.

Im Michael, I faltered. I used to

I know who you are, she interrupted. Anna. Her daughter. Dont you recognise me?

Anna, Valeries child by her first marriage. She looked at me as though every word burned inside her.

She stepped down, Clever shuffling nearer her side.

Mums been gone six months, Anna said, voice level. Where were you before? While she was ill? While she waited? While she believed?

The words struck hard. I found nothing to say.

I I didnt know.

Didnt know? She gave a humourless laugh. Mum never threw away your letters. Kept every one. Knew all your addresses. You werent hard to find. But you never looked.

There was nothing to say. Id written for the first few years, then less, until those letters were swept away by business and endless hotels and other lives. Valerie faded away, like a dream you cant return to.

She was ill? I managed at last.

No. Just her heart. It had grown tired of waiting.

She said it calmly. That hurt more.

Clever whimpered. I shut my eyes.

Mums last words, Anna continued, were, If Michael ever comes back, tell him Im not angry. I understand.

She always did. But I never managed to understand myself.

And Clever? Why was she at the churchyard?

Anna exhaled, eyes somewhere distant.

She goes every day. She just sits beside her. She waits.

Dinner was a silent affair. Anna told me she worked as a nurse, married but living apartLife never fell into place. No children. Only Clever, her companion now. Her anchor to Mum.

Could I stay here for a few days? I asked.

Anna met my gaze steadily.

And then disappear again?

I dont know, I admitted honestly. I really dont.

In the end, I stayed. Not just daysa week, then two. Anna stopped asking when Id leave. Maybe she knew I didnt have an answer.

I mended the fence, relaid some boards, drew water from the well. My body ached, but my mind felt at peace, as though something inside me finally gave in.

Clever accepted me, truly, after a week. She came over herself, laying her head on my boot. When Anna noticed, she remarked, Shes forgiven you, you know.

I looked from the windowat the dog, the tree, the house that still seemed to hold Valeries warmth.

And you? I asked Anna quietly. Can you forgive me?

She hesitated, as if testing every word in her mind.

Im not my mother, she said at last. Its harder for me. But Ill try.

Clever was always first awake, vanishing as dawn lit the sky. At first, I thought nothing of itdogs have their habits. But I soon realised, she walked the same route each time. To the churchyard.

She goes there daily, Anna explained. Since Mum died. She just lies down by her side. Like a sentry for forgotten memories.

Dogs remember longer than people, perhaps. Humans bury pain, invent reasons, hide behind routine. Dogs simply wait, love, remember.

One morning, thunderheads lay so low they seemed to brush the rooftops. By midday, it drizzled. By dusk, rain drove in sheets, the wind howling. The earth turned to mud, birch trees bending as if trying to duck away.

Clevers not back yet, Anna said, peering into the gloom. She always comes for dinner. Now its after nine.

I looked out too. Rain blurred everything, road and earth and sky, only the odd flash of lightning revealed the world.

Maybe shes found shelter, I offered, but did not quite believe it myself.

Shes old. Anna gripped the windowsill. A night like this what if somethings wrong?

Have you got an umbrella?

She passed me one, blue with daisies and far too cheerful for such weather.

What, youre going now? she asked, eyebrows raised.

But I was already fastening my coat.

If shes out there, shell stay till the rain stops. At her age a night out in this I didnt finish. Anna understood; words werent needed. She handed over a torch and the flowery umbrella, the sturdiest one she had.

The trek to the churchyard was all mud and wind, my torch barely piercing the downpour, umbrella blowing inside out with every gust. I slipped, cursed under my breath, but pressed on.

Sixty years old, knees creak like rotten floorboards, I grumbled, Ill be laid up tomorrow. But I have to go. I owe it.

The gate to the churchyard banged in the windthe latch had come loose. I stepped inside, torch beam sweeping the sodden ground, and there she was.

Clever, huddled by Valeries grave, head pressed to the wooden cross. Soaked through, breath shallow, but she hadnt left. Didnt even lift her head until I knelt by her.

Hey, old girl I knelt straight into the mud. Why dyou do this

She looked at me thenquiet and tired. As if she meant, I cant leave her. I remember.

Mums gone, I whispered, voice rough. But youre still here. I am too. Were not alone anymore. Were together now.

I wrapped her in my coat and lifted her carefully. She didnt resistthere wasnt the strength left. I didnt have much either, but that didnt matter.

Forgive us, Valerie, I murmured, sheltering Clever against the night. Forgive me for being too late. And herfor never forgetting you.

The rain eased at dawn. All night, I sat by the fire, Clever wrapped in my coat, stroking her, comforting her with nonsense, the way you do with sick children. Anna brought a bowl of milk. She drank a little.

Is she ill? Anna asked.

No I shook my head. Just worn out.

Clever survived two more weekspeaceful, never more than a step from me. Guarding the bit of time she had left, unwilling to let a moment slip by.

Day by day, she faded. Movements slower, eyelids heavier. But there was no fear. Only peace, and, strangely, gratitudeas if she knew she could let go at last.

Clever slipped away at dawn, lying by the porch, head on her paws. I found her with the first rays of light.

We buried her beside Valerie. Anna agreed immediatelysaid her mother would have smiled at them being reunited.

That evening, Anna handed me a set of keys.

I think Mum would have wanted you to stay. Not to leave again.

I stared at the time-blackened keys. The very ones that were once in my pocket, before I walked away and left everything behind.

And you? I asked quietly. Do you want me here?

Anna exhaled, and in that breath was a lifetime unlived.

Yes. She nodded. I do. The house shouldnt be empty. And I still need a dad.

A father. The word Id always feared. Not from lack of desire, but simply never knowing how. But maybe, while were alive, its not too late to learn.

Alright, I said. Ill stay.

A month later, the flat in London was sold, and I moved here for good. Tended the garden, patched the roof, painted the house. The silence no longer crushed me. It felt like the countrysides gentle breath.

I visited the churchyard. I talked to Valerie. And to Clever. Told them about the day, the weather, what Id planted, the neighbours I met.

Sometimes, I could swear they listened. And in those moments, peace settled around me in a way I hadnt felt for years.

So Ive learned this much, too late perhaps, but learned it still: sometimes, its the waiting, the forgiving, the coming homeeven if you believe its too latethat matters in the end.