The Light in the Window
Evening settles over the small town of Ashford, wrapping the streets in a damp grey mist. Thomas Wilson trudges heavily toward the scuffed entrance of an old block of flats where his friend David lives. The lift, as usual, is broken, so Thomas huffs his way up to the fifth floor. Catching his breath, he presses the doorbell and waits.
The door creaks open, but instead of David, his daughter Emily stands there, her face brightening with a warm smile.
“Hello, Uncle Tom!” she says cheerfully. “Looking for Dad?”
“That’s right,” Thomas nods, wiping sweat from his brow.
“He’s not here,” Emily replies apologetically. “I sent him off to a health retreat. He’ll be back in a week.”
“A week?” Thomas frowns, his voice laced with despair. “That’s no good… not good at all.”
“What’s wrong?” Emily’s smile fades as she studies his weary face.
“Nothing,” he waves a hand dismissively, but pain flickers in his eyes. “Right, Emily, I’ll be off then.”
“Wait, Uncle Tom!” She steps forward. “If you need something, tell me. Maybe I can help?”
“There’s nothing left I need,” Thomas mutters, staring at the floor. “Though… you know my windows are visible from yours?”
“Well, I suppose,” Emily nods uncertainly, unsure where this is going.
“Could you keep an eye on them?” Thomas lifts his gaze, and there’s something unsettling in his eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘keep an eye on them?'”
“Literally,” Thomas’s voice hardens. “Could you check each evening—see if my lights are on or not?”
“Uncle Tom, what’s going on?” A chill runs down Emily’s spine.
“Nothing’s going on,” he sighs deeply. “Had a check-up. They said something’s not right with me. Wanted to admit me for tests.”
“And what did you say?” Her eyes widen.
“I walked out,” he grunts.
“What?!” Emily exclaims. “You need to get checked if the doctors say so! You’re not even sixty-five yet!”
“I don’t want to,” he cuts in, his voice wavering. “I’m tired, Emily. No wife, no joy left. Reckon it’s time… to rest. So I’m asking you—watch my windows. If the light’s off for days, come knock. If I don’t answer, you know who to call. They’ll break the door down. My son’s number’s on the table. Ring him, tell him to come sort things.”
“Uncle Tom, how can you say that?!” Emily stares at him in horror. “It’s wrong to even think like that!”
“Wrong?” He scoffs. “I’m not planning anything. Just saying—I’ll take what time I’m given. Won’t cling to life. Not made that way. Don’t want to? Fine. Don’t watch.” He turns to leave.
“Wait! Please!” Emily grabs his sleeve desperately. “Why not call your son? Tell him you’re unwell—he’ll come!”
“Why bother?” Thomas frowns. “He’s got his own life, miles away. Don’t want to trouble him. Enough, Emily.”
He walks away, each step slow and laboured, leaving Emily standing there with a lump in her throat.
Outside, a cold drizzle falls. Thomas pulls his coat collar up and shuffles along the pavement, eyes fixed on the wet tarmac. His steps are heavy, as if each one costs him effort. Suddenly, he spots a tiny puppy curled on a pile of soggy leaves. Soaked and shivering, it gazes up at him with such longing his heart aches.
“Bloody hell,” Thomas mutters, stopping. “Just what I need. Can’t take you. If something happens to me, who’ll look after you?”
The pup, as if understanding, trots over and nuzzles his leg with a cold nose. Thomas hesitates, then sighs and scoops it up.
“Heavy little bugger,” he grumbles. “Right, you’ll stay tonight. Tomorrow I’ll take you to Emily—she’ll sort it.”
A week later, loud knocking rattles Thomas’s door. He opens it to find David, back from the retreat, his face red with anger.
“What the hell’s got into you, Tom?!” he barks. “Emily told me everything!”
“What’s there to tell?” Thomas steps aside, letting him in. A cheerful yap sounds behind him, and a small, fluffy bundle of energy bounds toward David.
“What’s this then?” David freezes, staring at the wagging-tailed creature.
“Come to the kitchen—I’ll show you,” Thomas smirks. The pup, barking excitedly, dances around David’s feet.
“See?” Thomas says proudly. “Found him after leaving Emily’s. Meant to shelter him just for the night, hand him over come morning. But next day, I wake up—looks at me like he’s saying, ‘I’m your new start, old man. Take me.’ And, Dave… he’s changed things. Walk him three times a day, life’s got meaning again. No more fretting. Feels like being a lad again.”
“Well, I never,” David chuckles, crouching to scratch the pup’s ears. “Had him checked?”
“Course,” Thomas nods. “Vet says he’ll live twenty years. So I’m not going anywhere yet.” He glances at the pup, his expression softer than it’s been in years. “With her around, even breathing feels lighter.”
The pup, sensing his mood, presses her nose into his hand, filling the flat with a quiet, warm joy.