The Quiet Life of a Confirmed Bachelor: Content in His Own Company
Henry was a bachelor of a certain age, living life at his own pacesolitude had never bothered him. He worked like a dog but loved what he did. A meticulous man, everything had to be just so, each item in its proper place. Hed known plenty of women, but none had ever seemed quite right. That July, tired of routine, he decided on a holidaysomewhere far from civilisation. A quick online search later, he placed an advert.
A reply came from a woman with two children, living in a quiet Cornish village. The beach was twenty minutes on foot, far from tourist traps and busy towns. She offered a private room and home-cooked meals in exchange for groceries. Henry was sold. The journey went smoothlyno GPS mishaps. The house was old but spotless, his room cosy, and the owner, Emily, was kind. In the garden, a little Jack Russell terrier darted about. Fruit ripened on the trees while the children, a boy and girl of nine or ten, helped with chores. Emily never pestered him, only asked what hed like for dinner, piled his plate with strawberries, and smiled warmly.
Henry spent his days at the beachswimming, scrambling over rocks, snapping photos, and texting 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 laughed, “theyre minejust late arrivals. Life never led me to marry, but I wanted children. And Im not *that* oldIm 48.”
As they chatted, Henry studied her properly. She was cheerful, quick to laugh, and he rather liked her name. *Emily. Em.* It reminded him of his mother. She smelled of strawberries and fresh bread. The cider was crisp, the nights mild, the sky full of stars. Neither of them danced around thingsthey were adults, after all. By day, everything seemed ordinary. But at night, Henry would slip quietly to Emilys side of the house before creeping back to his own room before dawn. The children mustnt wake. The dog never barkedjust watched with a knowing look, as if she understood everything. A good little thing, efficient. She ate two spoonfuls of food and guarded the garden dutifully. Her name was Millie.
Soon, Millie began joining Henry at the beach. Shed swim with him, shake off on the sand, dry in the sun, and trot home ahead of him. But one day, she didnt show. Henry searched everywhere, shouted her name, plastered the village with posters. Where was she? An elderly neighbour suggested some outsiders renting a cottage at the far end of the village mightve taken her. Henry raced overjust in time to hear theyd left an hour earlier, heading for the main road with a small terrier in tow.
He jumped in his car and sped after them, catching up fifty miles later. He blocked their Land Rover with his own. Two young women climbed out, bold as brass.
“Oi, move your car! Cant you drive? Well call the police!”
“Go ahead,” said Henry, “but first, hand over the dog.”
“Youre lucky,” sneered the taller one. “She was a straywere rescuing her.”
“Shes not a stray,” he said firmly. “She has a family. Shes not yours.”
“Push off!” screeched the other. “If you dont move, well smash your windows!”
Henry ignored them and called, “Millie!” The dog yapped frantically, scrambling over the seats toward the half-open window. The girls grabbed at her, swearing and swinging punches. Henry hesitatedhe couldnt hit a woman.
Luckily, a sweaty, weary police officer appeared. Covering his ears against the shrieking, he took Millie.
“Quiet! The dog goes to whoever she chooses. Neither of you have papers for her.”
“Here, girl!” cooed the women, waving ham.
“Come on, Millie,” said Henry.
The officer set her down. She bolted straight to Henry, tail wagging madly.
“Case closed,” sighed the officer.
“No, shes ours!” they howled. “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 frankly, Id love to see if its stolen. The systems back at the station”
The Land Rover vanished fast.
Henry shook the officers hand.
“Cheers.”
“Dont mention it. Ive got a terrier myselfclever little bugger. Wears a jumper in winter, hates the cold. Good breed. Loyal. Practical size. Safe travels. No speeding.”
Back in the car, Millie curled in Henrys lap, warm and soft as velvet. He felt… good. Itd been a while. The road was quiet, the engine purred, and Millie dozed. But amid the calm, his chest tightened. Soon, hed have to leave. No one waited for him at home. The thought of simply turning the car around and taking Millie with him flickered in his mind. What did he even *have* to go back to? A few T-shirts, socks, a tracksuit. The idea lingered. Henry sighed and drove back to Emilys.
The last week was rainy, but Henry still went to the beachMillie beside him. At night, hed sneak to Ems room; by morning, the ache grew sharper. On his last day, the sun returned. He packed the night before, left Emily a gift, swapped numbers, and climbed into the car.
He drove slowly, thinking holidays and summer flings always endtime for routine again. Hed just reached the tarmac when he spotted Millie sprinting after him. He sped up. She ran faster. His foot pressed the accelerator.
The little dog began to fade into the distance. Henry stopped. He lit a cigarette, hands shaking, smoked it down to the filter, and stared at the road.
A tiny speck moved on the asphalt. Henry ranpraying no car would hit herhe hadnt sprinted like this in years. Millie charged forward, dust coating her fur, tongue, even her little ears. Her tail wagged, but when she tried to bark, she only sneezed.
Henry picked her up, wiped her clean, gave her water from the bottle. Then he called Emily, a grin in his voice: “Fancy a change of scenery? Me, Millie, and two small passengers are on our way back.”
