**Diary Entry**
Has your bus arrived yet? Thats what a hurried man asked me, breathless, as he jogged up to the stop. He wasnt a lada proper bloke, well past fifty, wearing a jacket and joggers, a battered rucksack slung over his shoulder. His plain face, with a moustache of the sort Id never fancied, made me turn away without answering.
Miss, do you know if the last bus has gone? Youre waiting too, arent you? He caught his breath and dropped a heavy bag onto the bench beside me.
Im not waiting for anything, I snapped, but then thought better of itit was late, and who knew what sort of man he was. So, softer, I said, A bus left about five minutes ago. I didnt pay much attention.
Blast it! He flopped onto the bench so hard I worried it might collapse. I stood up, alarmed.
Missed yours too, did you? The man was relentless, almost nagging.
I straightened my coat and decided to walk home. It was late anyway.
An hour before, Id been struck by an odd urge to leave the house. The walls were closing in, the loneliness unbearableit wasnt like me at all.
My whole life, Id been perfectly happy alone. Friends married, had kids, but I never wanted any of that. Mum back in the village had one child after another. Three were sent off to boarding school, but Ithe eldestran off to London. Trained as an accountant, worked my whole life at the citys central café, *The Golden Era*. Good music, good food.
I started as a bookkeeper, rose to head accountant, stayed till retirement. Weddings, anniversariesnever a dull moment. Good wages, tasty meals, bought my own flat, took holidays. I never wanted another life.
Then, a year ago, the new owner said I didnt understand modern methods. That I wasnt up to standard.
And just like that, I was pensioned offnever mind that I wasnt ready.
At first, I looked for another job. But what was offered didnt suit me, and what I fancied wanted younger hands.
I gave up. Had my little nest egg, small but enough. So, there I wasretired, free as a bird.
At first, it was bliss. No plans, no alarm clock. I went on coach trips, even took up Nordic walking in the park.
But suddenly, it all felt hollow. That night, I just walked out and sat on a bench at the bus stop.
Cars hummed past, lights glared, people chattered. I sat there, feeling invisibleas if the city lived its own life, and mine meant nothing.
No one needed me. Not a soul in the whole wide world.
Thenthis man.
Nowhere to sleep either, love? I spent last night on a bench myself. Works out of town, missed my shift. Nights were warmbut tonights nippy! Still, Ive got sandwiches. Sausageyour favourite, Ill bet. Go on, take one. Breads fresh. And here He pulled out a thermos. Hot tea with sugar. Warm you right up.
Out of nowhere, his tone shifted. He pressed a sandwich into my hand. I meant to refuse, but realised I was starving. I hadnt eaten dinnerbarely touched lunch. I took a bite. Heaven! I hadnt bought sausage in yearsalways watching my figure. But thisfresh bread, the meat rich and smoky.
The man chuckled. Good, eh? Here, mind the teahot as blazes. Whats your name?
Margaret Whitaker, I mumbled through a mouthful.
Margaret! Im Uncle Davewell, David Thompson. Used to work at the factory, got laid off. Now in securitynight shifts. Not bad. Mums poorly, though. Old age. So, I work for her medicine, keep her going. Had a family once. Wife left, son grew up. Ah welllife goes on. He sighed, smiled, but his eyes were sad.
You got far to go, love? Ill get you a cab. Not for metoo pricey past midnight. But youll be all right.
Something in his grin reminded me of a schoolmate, Colin. Always hungry, and hed sneak me sandwiches. Same cheeky kindness. Suddenly, I felt like a girl againno *Golden Era*, no forced retirement. Just me.
I finished the sandwich, sipped the sweet tea, then blurtedunexpected even to myself
Come to mine, Dave. Cant have you on a bench. Flats just there. Behave, thoughIve still got a strong arm, dont think I havent.
He gaped at me, at the building behind, then back at me.
Then why were *you* sat out here?
Waiting for nothing. Coming or not? I turned and walked off.
He grabbed his bag. Suppose Id better! Ill take the floorgone by morning. Cheers, love. Proper chilly tonight.
Next morning, a clatter woke me. Dave was already up, tinkering with the loo.
Your cisterns leaking, love. Fixed it. Earned breakfast, have I? He stretched, grinning.
A stranger stood thereshirt on, hair damp. And inside me, warmth flared. Why, I couldnt say.
Right then, Dave. Youve earned it. Fancy scrambled eggs with tomatoes? Ohand the washers playing up too. And
He stayed till his next shift. Phoned his mumall fineand lingered.
Now we live together. Dave works nights, every third day. I wait up, cooking dishes from the old café menu. He kisses my hands.
My Maggie. Knew you were waiting for me. Not chancefate. Couldnt leave you lonely. Never knew I could love like this. Lucky, arent we?
We visit his mum often. Nearing eighty, but sharp as a tack. Around her, I feel like a girl again.
And his son? Mary Thompsons over the moon. Her Davys happy at lastsomething to live for.
