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Back The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry Save as PDF
Chapters (34)
  1. Cover
  2. Table of Contents
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
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  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32

The trees gave up their branches to the wind as fluidly as tentacles in water. He had made a mess of being a husband, father and friend. He had even made a mess of being a son. It wasn’t simply that he had betrayed Queenie, and that his parents did not want him. It wasn’t simply that he had made a mess of everything with his wife and son. It was rather that he passed through life and left no impression. He meant nothing. Harold went to cross the A696 in the direction of Cambo, and realized the dog was missing.

He felt a shower of panic. He wondered if the dog had been hurt, and he hadn’t noticed. He retraced his steps, scouring the road and the gutters, but there was no sign of the animal. He tried to remember when he had last registered its presence. It must be hours since they had shared a sandwich on a bench. Or was that the day before? He couldn’t believe he had failed even in this simple task. He was waving down cars, asking drivers if they had seen a dog, a little tufty thing about so high, but they sped away, as if he were dangerous. Catching sight of him, a small child clung to her car seat and sobbed. There was nothing for it but to retrace his steps towards Hexham.

He found Dog sitting in a bus shelter, at the feet of a young girl. She was wearing a school uniform, and had long dark hair that was almost the autumn colour of its fur, and a kind look about her. Stooping to pat its head, she picked up something by her shoe, and stowed it in her pocket.

“Don’t throw the stone,” Harold was about to call; but he didn’t. The girl’s bus drew up beside her and she got on it, followed by the dog. It looked as if it knew where it was heading. He watched the bus drive away, with the girl and the dog on it. They didn’t look back or wave.

He reasoned the animal had made its own decision. It had chosen to walk with Harold for a while, and then it had chosen to stop, and walk instead with the young girl. Life was like that. But in losing his last companion, Harold felt a further layer of skin had been ripped from him. He was afraid of what would come next. He knew he hadn’t got it in him to take much more.