The Truth About Harry By M.M.Wake
To put it bluntly Harry was just no good. My mother told me plainly, right from day one, but did I listen?
Well, with a mother like mine, you don’t, know what I mean? For all the times she’s been wrong, got the wrong end of the doo-dah, but this time with Harry she was right all along.
Right on the button; straight on the schnozzle.
From the first time she laid eyes on him she knew. The scruffy hair, the casual manner, the way he looked her straight in the eye without quavering; not easy with my mother.
Oh she knew alright, seen his kind before and she made no bones about it I can tell you. Came straight to the point she did.
But did I listen? Did I heck. It was love at first sight. I loved the way his hair stuck up at the back, the glints of grey just appearing.
That was another thing, Harry’s age. Not that it ever bothered me. The age difference seems immaterial when you are head over heels. But she was right, in the end of course.
She said he would break my heart.
In the beginning I thought it was something different, something that would last, but all great love affairs have to end sooner or later.
But at the start it was wonderful; just the two of us. We would spend endless hours roaming the countryside at the weekend, ending up in a cosy country pub. Then back home for dinner and cuddling up in front of a good film, or even a bad one. I didn’t care, and neither did Harry, we were just happy to be together.
But after a few moths things began to change. Harry became restless. After dinner, instead of joining me on the couch for our usual cuddle, he would mooch around the house wandering aimlessly as if looking for something lost. Worst thing, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye anymore; and when I tried to engage him in conversation he would just turn his head.
As the nights grew lighter, he took up the habit of taking a turn around the garden after dinner. I would watch him walk to the end of the hedgerow, staring across the fields and into the distance. We were growing apart, and there seemed nothing I could do to bridge the widening gap.
One evening after several hours engrossed in a book, I realised that Harry had not returned from the garden. He had been pottering around earlier, and had seemed happy enough so I had left him to his own devices. I looked at my watch, it was just before 9. Looking out of the window I could see no sign of him. The garden was empty, save for the oncoming night.
Stepping outside I called his name softly. No reply.
Harry stayed out all night. He returned the next morning, walking nonchalantly down the path whilst I was having my breakfast, as if nothing was wrong.
It must be another woman. My mother had been right. Harry was no good.
There was no explanation and I tried to push the incident to the back of my mind.
And for a while, Harry seemed his normal happy and loving self, and for a few weeks we settled back into our old routine.
That is until yesterday when it happened again, for the second time Harry went out for his evening stroll and did not return.
There was no sign at breakfast, and by midday I was frantic with worry and possibilities.
When I received the phone call I already guessed the worst. Harry was dead, run over, identified by his collar.
Heartbroken I knelt by his empty basket.
Mother had been right all along.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2012
Well, with a mother like mine, you don’t, know what I mean? For all the times she’s been wrong, got the wrong end of the doo-dah, but this time with Harry she was right all along.
Right on the button; straight on the schnozzle.
From the first time she laid eyes on him she knew. The scruffy hair, the casual manner, the way he looked her straight in the eye without quavering; not easy with my mother.
Oh she knew alright, seen his kind before and she made no bones about it I can tell you. Came straight to the point she did.
But did I listen? Did I heck. It was love at first sight. I loved the way his hair stuck up at the back, the glints of grey just appearing.
That was another thing, Harry’s age. Not that it ever bothered me. The age difference seems immaterial when you are head over heels. But she was right, in the end of course.
She said he would break my heart.
In the beginning I thought it was something different, something that would last, but all great love affairs have to end sooner or later.
But at the start it was wonderful; just the two of us. We would spend endless hours roaming the countryside at the weekend, ending up in a cosy country pub. Then back home for dinner and cuddling up in front of a good film, or even a bad one. I didn’t care, and neither did Harry, we were just happy to be together.
But after a few moths things began to change. Harry became restless. After dinner, instead of joining me on the couch for our usual cuddle, he would mooch around the house wandering aimlessly as if looking for something lost. Worst thing, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye anymore; and when I tried to engage him in conversation he would just turn his head.
As the nights grew lighter, he took up the habit of taking a turn around the garden after dinner. I would watch him walk to the end of the hedgerow, staring across the fields and into the distance. We were growing apart, and there seemed nothing I could do to bridge the widening gap.
One evening after several hours engrossed in a book, I realised that Harry had not returned from the garden. He had been pottering around earlier, and had seemed happy enough so I had left him to his own devices. I looked at my watch, it was just before 9. Looking out of the window I could see no sign of him. The garden was empty, save for the oncoming night.
Stepping outside I called his name softly. No reply.
Harry stayed out all night. He returned the next morning, walking nonchalantly down the path whilst I was having my breakfast, as if nothing was wrong.
It must be another woman. My mother had been right. Harry was no good.
There was no explanation and I tried to push the incident to the back of my mind.
And for a while, Harry seemed his normal happy and loving self, and for a few weeks we settled back into our old routine.
That is until yesterday when it happened again, for the second time Harry went out for his evening stroll and did not return.
There was no sign at breakfast, and by midday I was frantic with worry and possibilities.
When I received the phone call I already guessed the worst. Harry was dead, run over, identified by his collar.
Heartbroken I knelt by his empty basket.
Mother had been right all along.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2012