Prologue, Maida Vale

Maida Vale Prologue

But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

She heard the song in the car on the way to pick up the grandchildren from school. She cried. Not the sobbing, whole body tears of fresh loss but the slow, welling tears of ruthless melancholy.

She had heard that a new contestant, a plain 47 year old woman from Scotland, had astonished the judges and the crowd with an unexpected performance on Britain’s Got Talent. She had read Victor Hugo’s book and attended a performance of Les Miserables in the city so she thought she knew the song. She had not watched Britain’s Got Talent nor had she called up the video on YouTube but she had only seen a newspaper photo of the contestant, Susan Boyle. Good going girl, she thought.

But it was this song and this voice finally heard in the intimacy of a short, solitary trip to pick up the joys in her life that brought back the memory of a time in 1972, such a long time ago but so near to her heart. A time when she had lost the anchors of a carefully prepared youth and watched the jetsam of her life – the hull and keel, deck and transom – slip starboard in a darkening night.

But Jack had been there, watching with her. Jack was always with her. Just as he had been with her during the loss of her premature son in 1981. Jack was old and tired by that time. The once licorice black patch of fur around one eye was flecked with gray and his once stately head and proud muzzle had turned gaunt and jagged. But he had patiently waited for her at the door when she returned from graveside. Nobel and dignified, bone-weary but uncomplaining.

Jack had shadowed her life like a guardian angel, a solid dog deep through the heart. Without him she would have been truly lost. She had met Jack in the summer of 1972 when she went to take care of her father’s little flat and big dog in Maida Vale, London. In an anchorless time he became the reason for continuation. Dogs need to be watered and fed and walked, groomed and bathed and patted. He didn’t always do what she asked, being – after all – rather stubborn. And wise. But when real danger approached – life-threatening, disastrous peril, not just the dashed dreams of a broken heart – yes, when she needed him most, he did exactly what was needed, at great risk. Though he almost got her killed, he redeemed himself by saving her life and he continued to save her throughout his 13 long years.

Her tears in the car that spring afternoon in 2008 were for him too, for Jack had waited for her all his life and never disappointed her. She knew without doubt that when he slept he dreamt of their partnership, when he woke his first thought was for her, and when he laid his head down at night his last thought was of her. A good dog. Her dog. So when he struggled to hang on, she knew he hung on for her.

She said to him, That’ll do, Jack. That’ll do.

And it did. It did do.