Happiness at the New Year’s Rate
“Thanks, Mum.” Edward pushed back his chair and stretched. “I’ll go for a quick drive. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Roads are quiet this time of night.”
“You’ve done nothing but drive since you bought that car. Honestly, it’s high time you settled down. They say men care more about their cars than anything else.”
“Mum, please,” Edward chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You know how long I saved for this. Let me enjoy it a bit longer, then I’ll think about marriage. Scout’s honour.”
“Fine. Nearly thirty and still playing with cars.” She ruffled his hair. “Go on, then.”
Outside, Edward brushed powdery snowflakes off his windscreen. He’d had his licence for years—his dad had let him drive the old Rover before he wrote it off—so he wasn’t inexperienced. But owning his own car? That was still a novelty. He’d scrimped and saved, researched for ages, and now he took it out every evening, sometimes cruising the motorway. If he spotted hitchhikers, he’d pull over—never took a penny.
Settling into the driver’s seat, he turned the key and grinned at the engine’s purr. He turned up the radio and rolled slowly out of the estate.
Snowflakes sparkled in the headlights. Winter had arrived abruptly, dumping heaps of snow in just days. Edward meandered aimlessly until he spotted a woman with a child thumbing a lift. He turned down the radio, pulled over, and lowered the passenger window.
“Could you take us to Willow Lane?” She peered in—young, pretty, with wary eyes.
“Hop in,” Edward nodded to the front seat.
“How much will it be? It’s quite a way.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t charge pretty ladies.” Seeing her tense, he quickly added, “Ten quid do you? Come on, I don’t bite,” he laughed.
She opened the rear door, ushering in a boy of about five before sliding in beside him. As Edward merged onto the main road, the boy piped up, “How many horses does your car have?”
“Horses?” Edward blinked. “Dunno, actually.”
“How d’you not know?”
“See, when I bought it, I cared more about how it looked and how comfy the seats were. Engine power wasn’t top of my list. You’re into cars, then?”
“Yep,” the boy said importantly.
“And what’s your name, Mr. Car Expert?”
“Ben. You?”
“Well, Ben, I’m Edward. Can’t shake your hand—busy driving.” He grinned into the rearview mirror, catching the woman’s gaze. Something warm flickered in his chest.
The city glowed with shop displays and twinkling lights. Christmas trees decked out in baubles stood outside shopping centres—still weeks until New Year’s, but the festive buzz was already thick in the air.
“Just here, please,” the woman said.
“Sure you don’t want me to drop you at the door?” Edward checked the mirror, but she was staring out the window. He stopped at the start of a long terrace of brick houses.
She climbed out, holding the door for Ben. “Come on, quick.”
“Will you pick me up tomorrow?” Ben’s voice wobbled.
“Sunday, I said. And stop whinging—you’ll get a blocked nose. Hurry up.”
Ben inched reluctantly toward the door. Edward got out.
“Here.” She held out a tenner.
He folded it and tucked it into his jacket. “I’ll keep it for luck.” He offered his hand to Ben. “See ya.”
“Bye.” Ben’s tiny, warm fingers squeezed his.
“Come on, Gran’s waiting.” She tugged Ben away.
After a few steps, Ben glanced back, and Edward waved. Then a man emerged from a parked car, kissed Ben’s mum, and held out a hand to Ben—who promptly turned away.
“Ah. Date night, and the kid’s not a fan,” Edward mused, oddly pleased.
Back in the car, he cranked up the radio. Elton John crooned about tiny dancers. The faint scent of perfume lingered. Edward checked the mirror as if she might still be there.
No one.
Suddenly, he didn’t fancy driving anymore. The song grated, so he switched stations, but the woman’s face stuck in his mind. Pretty, ordinary—so why couldn’t he shake her?
Years ago, he’d fallen for an older woman with a teenage daughter. Proposed, even. Brought her home to meet Mum.
“She’s older. Has a child. You’re young, handsome—can’t you find someone your age?” Mum had pleaded later.
Afterwards, she’d agonised over “ruining his happiness.” Dates came and went, but none stuck like Daisy had. Then her ex returned, and she remarried him.
And now tonight…
Edward often drove past Ben’s gran’s street, even the road where he’d picked them up. Never saw them again. He’d thought about knocking—knew the house number—but what would he say? What if things were perfect with that bloke by the car?
So he kept driving, scanning pavements, hoping.
New Year’s Eve dawned. Mum bustled in the kitchen, the tree glittered by the window, and *Love Actually* played on telly. Edward slept in, helped chop veggies for salads, dug out the posh china. But as dusk fell, restlessness pulled him outside.
“Mum, it’s snowing—proper fairy-tale stuff. I’ll take a quick spin, or I’ll konk out before the PM’s speech.”
“Now? It’s nearly midnight!”
“One lap of town, that’s all. Taxis are swamped—let’s spare them a busy night.”
The car wore a dusting of snow. Inside, Edward cranked the heater. The streets were hushed, windows glowing as families prepped for the big countdown.
A burly man in an unbuttoned coat hailed him. Edward stopped. The man clambered in, clinking bottles in a bag. At his stop, he handed Edward fifty quid for a short ride.
“Cheers. New Year’s generosity, eh?” Edward pocketed it. Next, a bickering couple. He refused their money—they left arm in arm, all squabbles forgotten.
Then he detoured past Ben’s pickup spot, scanning windows, wondering if she was inside with that bloke.
Approaching Ben’s gran’s, he spotted them—walking towards him. Her in a cream coat, white bobble hat; Ben dragging his feet. Edward’s pulse jumped.
He pulled over and stepped out. They halted, wary. “Don’t remember me?”
“Need a lift?” he blurted. “Special New Year’s rate—free.”
They edged closer. Edward offered Ben his hand. “Hey, mate.”
Ben checked his mum before placing his chilly fingers in Edward’s palm.
“Lost your mittens? You’re freezing. In you get.”
They slid into the back. “Remember me? Gave you a ride last month.” Edward caught her puffy-eyed reflection. “Where to?”
“The station,” she muttered.
Ben stayed silent, uncharacteristically still.
“Less than an hour till New Year. You won’t get far tonight. Whatever’s happened—no crying on NYE, right, Ben?”
“We went to Gran’s, then Mum had a row with him,” Ben whispered.
“Ben!” she hissed.
“Fair enough. But here’s the plan: no station. Hear me out.” He cut off her protest. “Think of Ben. He’s freezing. Don’t ruin his night.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Mum’s cooked enough for an army. Proper feast. We’ll head to mine. Fancy it, Ben?”
“Yes!” Ben bounced. “Mum, please?”
She hesitated.
“Come on. Where’ll you go now? Mum’ll be chuffed. Leave the tears in this year—start fresh.” He turned up the radio. Elton’s voice swelled—*Your Song*, same as before. Edward’s heart thumped in time.
“Fate, this is. They say miracles don’t happen…”
At the flat, Edward herded them inside. “Mum! Guests! They’re starving.”
Mum emerged, gaping.
“This is Margaret. And this is Ben and…” Edward glanced at the woman—smaller without her coat, delicate and lovely.
“Lily,” she murmured.
“Mum, get them fed,” Edward said, shepherding them to the table.
As they settled, Margaret dabbed her eyes. “Always set an extra plate. Can’t shake the habit—still miss your dad.”
“Mum, not you too. No more tears. PM’s on.”
They listened, each lost in thought.
Big Ben chimed. Edward popped champagne,As the clock struck midnight, laughter filled the room, and Edward knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.
