Happiness Beneath the Bench
Emma hurried into the shop after work. Only four days remained until New Year’s Eve, and her fridge stood empty. She hadn’t had time for anything—not even decorating the tree.
An icy wind howled through the streets. After a brief thaw, the wet snow had hardened into treacherous, glassy patches. And of course, she’d chosen to wear heeled boots. Now she shuffled forward in careful, tiny steps, arms weighed down by straining shopping bags, their plastic handles digging into her palms. Her legs ached from the effort. “Why did I buy so much?” she scolded herself. “Half of this could’ve waited till tomorrow.”
She reached the bus stop and set the heavy bags down on the narrow bench, rubbing her stiff, numb fingers. Sinking beside them, she let her exhausted legs rest, tucking her hands deep into her coat pockets. Even here, the wind gnawed at her.
Cars rushed past, their headlights blurring in the early winter dusk. She imagined the warmth of sitting inside one, sheltered from the cold. She’d dreamed of owning a car for years but hesitated to take on debt. Now she regretted it.
A bus hissed to a stop. The doors clattered open, passengers spilling out, none sparing Emma a glance. She was about to stand when she heard a groan. She glanced around—no one else was there. A moment later, the sound came again, close by. Emma leapt to her feet. A passing car’s headlights flickered over something dark in the shadow behind the bench.
Her first instinct was to run. But if no one found him by morning, he’d freeze—especially if he’d been drinking.
She fished her phone from her bag and aimed the torch into the darkness. A sleek black coat and polished designer shoes caught the light—not the kind of clothes a homeless man would wear.
The beam shifted to his face. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed shut. Young, well-groomed, expensively dressed. She leaned closer but caught no scent of alcohol.
“Hey, are you alright? Get up—you’ll freeze!” She shook his shoulder.
No response.
Without hesitation, she dialled emergency services. A tired voice answered, promising help would come.
Slipping her phone away, Emma hunched into her coat like a shivering sparrow. She was cold—so how much worse must it be for him? She debated leaving, but what if the ambulance was delayed? Someone might rob him.
By the time the blue-lit van arrived, her teeth were chattering. Two paramedics in high-vis jackets hurried over.
“Over there, in the corner,” Emma pointed.
The medics crouched beside the man. Another bus pulled up, disgorging onlookers who clustered around Emma, peppering her with questions.
“Step back!” a medic snapped.
He returned with a stretcher and an orderly. “Help us lift him,” he said to the bystanders. They vanished like smoke.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emma asked anxiously.
“Likely a heart attack. You found him just in time—another hour, and he might not have made it.” The medic pulled out a notepad. “Leave your number, just in case.”
Emma scribbled it down. “Do you need me anymore? I’m freezing.”
He shook his head. She watched the ambulance pull away, then grabbed her bags, legs stiff with cold.
At home, she thawed her hands under scalding water before unpacking. All evening, she wondered about the man—how he’d ended up there, what had happened. She wished she’d asked which hospital they’d taken him to. She’d call tomorrow.
Two days later, an unknown number flashed on her screen. Snow tumbled outside, softening the world. After a pause, she answered.
“Emma?” A warm male voice.
“Yes… who’s this?”
“You saved me. Called the ambulance when I collapsed at the bus stop.”
“You’re alive? How are you feeling?”
“Better. I wanted to thank you. You left your number.”
“What happened?” Guilt prickled—she hadn’t checked on him.
“Hard to explain over the phone. I could drop by when I’m discharged. What’s your address?”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” she demurred.
Silence stretched. Emma hesitated—she knew nothing about him. He said goodbye before she could ask his name.
Four years with her ex, two living together—no proposal. It took a year to heal. Now she feared new heartbreak.
Her friends were in the same boat—Rebecca divorced, Tanya’s boyfriend lost overseas. They drank, talked, watched New Year’s shows, wept into each other’s shoulders. Misery loved company.
On the thirty-first, Emma lingered in bed. While chopping vegetables, her doorbell rang. Too early for her friends.
She opened it to a handsome man holding flowers and a bag.
“Emma?” His smile was brilliant. “I came to thank you.”
“You?”
“Yes. Convinced the doctors to discharge me.”
“How did you get my address?”
He chuckled. “Phone number. May I come in?”
Flustered, she stepped back. He handed her the bouquet and the bag—inside, pineapple leaves and a gold-foiled champagne bottle peeked out. He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.
“If not for you, who knows what might’ve happened,” he said, his gaze steady.
“Come in.” She buried her face in the roses.
He shed his coat and followed her to the kitchen.
“Expecting guests?” He nodded at the veggies.
“My friends are coming.”
“What are you making?”
She shrugged. “The usual. Prawn cocktail, beef Wellington…”
“Let me help. I’m James. Work at The Savoy. Know my way around a kitchen. Got an apron?”
She blinked but handed him her floral one.
Soon, elegant salads adorned the table. Marinated beef rested in a dish. They set the dining room together, slipping into first names.
“What happened at the bus stop?” she asked.
His smile faded. His restaurant’s New Year party. His girlfriend kissing another man.
“I couldn’t ignore it. Made a scene, was told to leave. Drove aimlessly—angry, hurt. The car skidded twice. Then… chest pain, couldn’t breathe. Pulled over, sat on the bench. Next thing, I woke in hospital. They said a woman named Emma saved me.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Didn’t visit. Doesn’t matter now.” His tone lightened.
“This looks like a restaurant.” She eyed the table. “Should we start the beef?”
“Plenty of time. When are your friends arriving?”
“An hour. I need to change.” She paused. “Will you stay for New Year’s?”
His smile returned. “That’s why I’m here.”
Upstairs, she agonised over dresses, wanting to match his effortless glamour. “What fool would let him go?” she muttered.
Returning, she found him rising from the sofa, his admiration plain. The doorbell saved them from awkwardness.
Rebecca and Tanya burst in, gaping at the table.
“Since when do you cook like this?” Rebecca demanded.
Emma gestured to James as he emerged.
“You kept him a secret?” Rebecca eyed him shamelessly.
“Found him on the street,” Emma teased.
James poured wine, explaining. “Collapsed at a bus stop. Emma saved me.”
Rebecca grinned. “I’ll start checking benches too.”
“More likely find a drunk,” Tanya retorted.
Laughter filled the room. James danced with each of them, deftly evading Rebecca’s advances. Emma’s heart ached—soon, the night would end.
At four, Tanya dragged a tipsy Rebecca home. James offered to drive them. Emma masked her jealousy with a smile.
Alone, she cleaned up, thoughts circling back to him. Fear and hope warred in her chest.
When the doorbell chimed again, she knew. Her pulse roared as she opened it—James stood there, snow dusting his shoulders.
