Thank you, Mum,” I said, getting up from the table and stretching. “Im going to take the car out for a bit. Dont worry, Ill be careful. There arent many cars about in the evening.”
“Ever since you bought that car, you spend more time with it than with me,” my mother sighed. “Dont you think its about time you settled down?”
“Oh, Mum, not again,” I chuckled, stepping over to hug her. “You know how much I wanted my own car. Let me get this out of my system, drive around for a bit, and then Ill start thinking about a family. Promise.”
She ruffled my hair, unable to hide her fondness. “Youre nearly thirty, and youre still playing with cars. Off you go now, then.”
I left the flat and walked to my car, brushing the powdery snow off the windscreen. My driving licence had been in my wallet for years; Dad used to let me drive his old hatchback, so I had experience. But having my own carafter saving for ageswas something entirely different. Every night, Id take to the streets of London, sometimes heading out as far as the M25. If anyone flagged me down, Id offer them a lift and never charged a penny.
Sliding behind the wheel, I turned the key and listened with pleasure to the engines purr. I cranked up the radio a notch and slowly pulled out into the road. The headlights lit up fluttering snowflakes, glinting like tiny jewels. It had been a particularly fierce start to winter, with heaps of snow in just a few days.
I meandered through the city without any real destination. On one street, I noticed a woman with a young child waiting by the kerb. I turned the radio down, stopped, and wound down the passenger window.
“Could you take me to Bilton Road?” she asked, peering in.
She was young and rather pretty.
“Hop in,” I nodded to the seat next to me.
“How much will it be? Its quite far,” she asked, not getting in just yet.
“Dont worry. I dont charge pretty girls.”
She drew back nervously at that, so I hurried to reassure her.
“Finewill fifty pounds do? Come on, dont stand in the cold,” I laughed.
She opened the back door, ushered her little boyabout five years oldto the front seat, and then got in beside me. I merged onto the main road.
“How many horses have you got?” the boy asked from the back.
“Horses?” I repeated, amused. “Im not sure, to be honest…”
“How do you not know?” he pressed, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Well, when I bought this car, I chose it because it looked good and felt comfortablenot because of how fast it was. But you sound like you know your stuff!” I replied, striving for seriousness.
“I do,” he answered, businesslike.
“Whats your name then, little car expert?” I grinned.
“Oliver. Whats yours?”
“Well, Oliver, Im Simon. Sorry, I cant shake your hand while Im driving.”
The conversation was cheering me up immensely.
“Alright, Oliver, no more pestering Mr Simon,” the young woman interjected.
“Its no bother. Hes a good lad,” I said, checking the rear-view mirror and meeting her glance. Suddenly, I felt a strange warmth inside. Shop windows and street lamps lit up the city. Christmas was a month away, but London was already humming with festive anticipation.
“Drop us off by that building, please,” she said softly from the back.
“Are you sure? I could get you right to the door,” I offered, but she was looking away.
I stopped at the beginning of a long block of flats. She got out, standing with the door open for her son.
“Come along, Oliver,” she urged.
“Will you come for me tomorrow?” the boy asked, nearly in tears.
“Ill fetch you on Sunday. Now, dont cry. Were in a hurry. Out you come,” she said gently.
He slid across the seat rather reluctantly, moving slow as a snail. I got out too.
“Here you are,” she handed me fifty pounds, which I folded and tucked into my jacket pocket.
“Ill keep this as a lucky charm,” I said with a grin, shaking Olivers small, warm hand. “See you around, mate.”
He pressed his little palm in mine and smiled. “See you.”
“Right, off we go. Grans been waiting ages,” his mum called, leading him away. Oliver looked back after a few steps, so I gave him a wave.
I watched as a man stepped from one of the parked cars to meet them. He kissed Olivers mother, then reached for Oliver, but the boy turned sharply away. So, shed got a date, and her son wasnt impressed with Mums new boyfriend, I thought, for some reason feeling a pang of comfort at the thought.
Getting back in the car, I turned up the radio. The soft scent of her perfume lingered inside, and for a moment I glanced in the mirror, as if half-expecting her to be sitting there still. But of course, she wasnt.
Suddenly, I lost my taste for driving. The music grated, so I switched stations, the image of her eyes haunting me. Pretty, but nothing extraordinaryso why couldnt I stop thinking about her?
A few years before, Id fallen for someone older than meGilliana woman with a grown-up daughter. I even asked her to meet Mum.
“Shes older than you, with a child. Simon, you could find someone younger. Dont make a mistake, love,” Mum pleaded when Gillian left that first time.
Afterwards, Mum worried endlessly that shed ruined my happiness, especially since I’d failed to connect with anyone else. I was never short of admirers, but none touched my heart like Gillian did. In the end, her ex-husband came back, and she married him again.
And nowtonight…
For weeks afterwards, I drove past the block of flats where Id dropped off Oliver and his mum. Sometimes Id go down the street where Id first picked them up, hoping to spot them againa brief glimpse, perhaps. I knew the house number. I couldve asked around, probably found which flat Oliver’s gran lived in. But what would I say if I called on her? And perhaps things were fine with that man Id seen that night.
Still, night after night, I drove through the city, always hoping for a lucky encounter, glancing out for that beige coat and white bobble hat.
As the year wound down, the city braced for New Year. Mum was busy in the kitchen from early morning, the living room lit by the fairy lights on the Christmas tree.
I slept late, helped with the salads, and got the good plates out. But as evening fell, I felt a strange pull to go out again.
“Mum, its snowing, its beautiful out. Let me nip out for a bitotherwise Ill fall asleep and miss the whole dinner.”
“Oh, Simon, its only three hours to midnight! Where can you possibly want to go?”
“I wont be long, Mum. I Promise,” I said, grabbing my coat.
Snow was piling up on the car. I slipped into the cold seat, started the heater, and set off. The city buzzed with anticipation. Most windows were aglow; people scurried with last-minute shopping, all preparing for the biggest night of the year.
Near the verge, a tall man in an unbuttoned overcoat waved me down. I stopped; he got in, still puffing from the cold. His shopping made a clatter on the seat. When he got out a short while later, he pressed two £20 notes into my hand for the short journey.
“Everyones extra generous tonightNew Years cheer, I suppose,” I joked, taking the money.
Later, a couple squabbling endlessly needed a lift. I refused their fare, which left them delighted, arm in arm, waving goodbye.
I retraced my usual route, passing the quiet street where Id first met Oliver and his mum, gazing up at the twinkling windows, picturing her inside with her son and, maybe, that other man.
Driving by Olivers gran’s block again, that old restlessness tugged at me. And thenby sheer chanceI saw them! There she was in the beige coat and white woolly hat with a pom-pom, with a gloomy-looking Oliver tailing along beside her.
My heart gave a jolt as I braked and climbed out. They stopped too, looking at me a little warily.
They didnt seem to recognise me.
“Ive got a holiday special tonightfree rides for you two,” I said, swinging the passenger door open.
They approached, Olivers hand slipping into mine.
“Hello, Oliver,” I smiled.
He looked at his mum, then placed his tiny hand in mine. “Left your gloves at home? Quickly, hop insideits freezing!”
They climbed in the back.
“Dont you remember me? I picked you up here a month ago,” I said, looking at her in the mirror. Her eyes were red from crying.
“So where to, then?”
“To the station,” she replied quietly.
Oliver sat silent, subdued.
“Look, theres less than an hour to the new year. Surely you dont want to sit at a station tonight? I dont know whats happened, but nobody should be in tears on New Years Eve. Right, Oliver?”
He spoke up, softly, “We came to stay with Granny, but then Mum and her had a fight.”
“Oliver!” his mum said sharply.
“These things happen Tell you whatlets not talk about the station.” I said, as she readied herself to leave, “Just think about Oliver. Hes shivering. Dont let him miss out on the holiday.”
“What difference does it make to you?” she said, but her voice wavered. “Just take us to the station.”
“My mums cooked enough to feed an army. Its really good, trust meIve sampled everything. Why dont you come back with me? Well celebrate together. What do you say, Oliver?”
His face lit up. “Please, Mum, lets go!”
“Come on,” I urged. “Where else will you go at this hour? I know its a lot to ask, but my mum will be delighted. Leave the tears behindin the new year, start afresh, with a smile.”
I switched up the radio. The very same tune from before began to play. Perhaps it really was fate, I thought.
I parked up outside our flat.
“Right, lets hurry. Weve not got much time,” I called.
“Wow!” Oliver cheered, racing inside.
I opened the door with my key. “Mum!” I called into the hallway, “Weve got guestsand theyre half-starved!”
From the kitchen came the clatter of pots.
“Come on, coats off, everyone! Weve only ten minutes left!”
Mum emerged, visibly surprised to find strangers standing in our hall.
“Who are these, love?” she managed.
I grinned. “This is my mum, Antonia Summers. And these are Oliver and” I turned to the young woman, noticing properly how delicate, young, and lovely she looked now without her coat and hat.
“Alice,” she said, a little shyly.
“Mum, set places for Alice and Oliverlets fill up the table!” I ushered our guests into the living room.
As we sat at the festive table, I turned up the TV for the countdown.
“I just had a feeling, so I set an extra place, didnt I,” Mum said, her eyes glinting with tears. “Still not used to Dad being gone…”
“Oh, Mum, not you as well! Enough tears for one night. Come on nowlets dig in before midnight!”
I popped the fizz, filled everyones glasseseven Olivers with posh orange juiceand stood.
“Happy New Year!” I declared, raising my glass.
“And heres to new friends!” piped up Oliver. We all burst out laughing.
On New Years Eve, four people who otherwise might never have shared a table did just that, for some reason only the universe knows. From that moment, our lives became inseparably entwined.
And thats when I finally realised: sometimes, happiness comes along not when youre searching desperately or trying to control it, but when you open your heart, take a chance, and let yourself find joy in the most unexpected company.
