Man's best friend

The platform at Liverpool Street was quieter than the main concourse; cooler, too, without the glass roof acting like a greenhouse. The train had not yet arrived, but the platform had been announced, and the platform edge was filling up with commuters on their way home. Karen walked to her usual position, where she knew the doors would be: glad to be out of the office. Next to her was a man, waiting patiently, his golden guide dog by his side. Karen looked briefly at her watch – needlessly, because she had seen the time on the platform indicators – and rested her summer jacket on top of her briefcase on the ground. The train was still a few minutes away.
“I haven’t seen you here before. I’d recognise your beautiful dog if I had.”
The man turned to face her. “No,” he said, “I normally go via King’s Cross, but obviously I have to get home another way.”
“That must be quite difficult for your dog, a change of routine and everything.”
“She’s a wonderful dog – very intelligent, even for a guide dog. In fact, I’m a bit sheepish because I owe her an apology.”
He paused, knowing that he had Karen’s undivided attention.
“I gave her quite a telling off last week. On Thursday we were waiting at the platform – at King’s Cross. It was quite busy, but we were at the front of the platform – being let through busy platforms is one of the benefits of having her – and ready to board the train. When the doors open, she started barking and pulling me around. She’s never done that before, always been as good as gold.
“Rather than let her cause a scene, I pulled her back and let everyone else on. While we waited for the next train… Well, I gave her a piece of my mind.
Of course, before the next train turned up, the service was suspended and we had to leave the station. I was furious.”
Karen nodded for him to continue, mumbling “u-hu” when realising the futility of her nodding. She was bending down, stroking the dog.
“I found out later that it was the carriage that the bomb went off in. She saved my life. I feel awful, thinking about how I told her off… I’m just glad that she stuck to her guns.”
Karen was wide eyed, “do you think she knew? Could she smell the bomb? Or the fear?”
“I have no idea. I guess so – dogs have an amazing sense of smell. But she must have known. I’ll not doubt her again. And I’ll keep spoiling her until my guilt goes”
He swallowed hard, laughed gently and stroked his dog. Karen smiled, and continued talking to him – both of them – as the train drew up.