After a night shift, Emily was so tired she could barely move her feet. The bitter cold had given way to a strange, slushy thaw, snow falling each day, half-melted and dirty. Emily kept skidding, almost falling where the ice hid beneath the soft, wet mush, but each time she righted herself, she pressed on. There’d been no chance to rest during her shift. A boy with appendicitis, an old woman with a fractured hipalways just as she thought things were calming down, the doors would burst open again. Almost as if everyone waited for the dark hours to call an ambulance and seek care. All Emily wanted now was to get home and collapse into bed. She watched the path ahead, counting paces, so focused on not slipping she didnt see it when a figure peeled from the shadowy edge of a Georgian terrace and stood squarely in her way.
She halted, lifting her head. Before her was a man, perhaps forty, looking rather like a vagrant or rogue. His face was bruised, battered; his clothes were soaked, grubby, as though borrowed from someone else and dragooned into service. Emily stepped aside to pass him, for running was quite beyond her now, but he spoke suddenly:
“Sorry, could you help me?”
As a nurse, pleas for help always landed on Emily like an emergency brake on a commuter train. She paused.
“I” The man clutched his head and shut his eyes for a beat. “They chucked me off a train. Lucky there was so much snowI landed soft, didn’t break anything, just a few knocks and bruises.”
“You should drink less,” Emily suggested, trying again to edge past.
“Wait. I hadnt been drinking. Only had tea. Someone must’ve put something in it, because I went out like a light. They stole everything, even my clothes. Good thing they didnt strip me bare. Left me not far from your station.”
“Quite lucky, then. You need the police, maybe A&E. Are you dizzy, sick? Probably concussion,” Emily noted, circling round as the man still didn’t budge.
“I’ve been to the police already. Next trains hours away. Didnt want to wait at the station. They said I’d likely never see my robbers againa couple in my compartment, the old chap looked just like a professor, little goatee, big specs. But apparently those were fake, and he mustve had accomplices. Anyway, could’ve been a lot worse. I just need a wash and a change of clothes, been soaked through. Ill return them, promise.”
“Well, really. Do you want my house keys as well?” Emily snapped.
He looked up to the sky, sorrowful eyes gleaming. “And you too,” he muttered. “Why does no one believe me? Lord, why won’t anyone help?” This time, his voice, educated and clear despite his rags, gave Emily pause.
She eyed him critically. “All right then. Come along. You’ll catch your death. I’ll find something you can wear.”
“Thank you. You’re kind. Others just ran from me, wouldnt even listen.” He trailed behind her.
At home, Emily dropped onto the hallway ottoman, her legs humming aches, her eyelids heavy as double-glazing.
“Bathroom’s through there,” she nodded down the corridor, “I’ll dig out something for you to wear. What’s your name?”
“Michael.” He found the switch and closed the door. The water thundered a moment later.
Emily sighed. So much for her dream of a warm bed. Her brother lived in London now, but a few bits of his clothing still cluttered the house. “He wont miss it,” she reasoned. She laid out clothes by the bathroom, then poured soup into a bowl and set it whirring in the microwave. What if her mother walked in right now? A man in the shower, Emily bubbling up a mealthere’d be no explaining that. “Please, let Mum be busy in Waitrose or at Aunt Jeans,” she prayed. But the Lord, occupied, perhaps, with bigger matters, did not prioritise her cause. The door clicked.
“Em, are you home?” Mum called, and Emily popped her head out. “Oh! I thought you were in the shower, I was calling for you. Sowhos in there?”
“Dont shout, Mum. Its a man from the trainhe just needs to freshen up, hell be gone soon.” Emily kept her tone soft.
“Thats Alexs jumper youve got out for him? What happened anyway?”
“I told you, he was robbed. Knocked about a bit.”
“Good heavens. And you brought him in here? What if hes the thief, or a lunatic? Thank goodness I arrived in time. Shall I ring the police?”
“Mum, dont be silly. Hes already seen them. There arent any trains for hours. Hell wash up and leave soon,” Emily muttered, low and tired.
The shower stopped; a few moments later, the door opened and shut. Emily guessed hed slipped out to dress. Mum planted herself by the kitchen doorway, arms folded.
Michael entered, sheepish and apologetic. Clearly, he had overheard.
“Lets have a look at you. Howd someone manage to mug a big chap like you in broad daylight?” her mother challenged.
“Sorry to intrude. I was taking the night train to my daughter’s wedding. Apparently, something in my teaout cold. Woke up, no wallet, no phone, not even my own coat. They tossed me off the train in someone’s rags near your stop.”
“And how did you end up knocking at ours? Were not by the station,” Mum pressed on.
Emily bristled. “Mum, let the poor man eat. Sit, Michael. Ive warmed some soup for you.”
“Emily used to bring stray kittens and puppies home,” Mum muttered, but moved aside. “Now its men thrown from trains.”
“Eat up, Michael. But do be waryif my Mum takes a shine to you, youll never escape alive.” Emily smirked.
“Because youre always at work, tending to sick children and old folks. Nearly thirty, and still not married. How am I to pass on if I havent found you a husband?” Mum moaned.
“Mum, honestly! Michael will think were press-ganging him into matrimony. Ignore her, Michaelshes joking.” Emily tried to ease his discomfort.
Mum just waved an arm and stomped out.
“Your mothers quite the character,” Michael said quietly, putting aside his soup.
“She raised my brother and me alone. Just wants someone to look after me, that’s all.”
“So youre a doctor?”
“Nurse,” Emily replied. “But how will you get anywhere with no ID, no money?”
“The police said theyll help. May I call my daughter, tell her I wont make the wedding? And my friend?”
Emily fetched her mobile.
Mum was rifling through her jewellery box, spilling a gold ring and trinkets onto the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Quiet,” Mum hissed. “Suppose he really is a thief? Ill take these round to Mrs. Hawkins.” Off she marched.
No point protesting. Mum would do precisely as she pleased.
Emily left Michael the phone and stood by the window. He rang his daughter; from his face, Emily surmised she wasnt terribly bothered by his absence from the wedding. Then he made another call, requesting Emily’s address.
“My mate will send his driver for me shortly. Reckon I never shouldve bothered with the weddingmy ex didnt want her new fellow to meet me. My daughter insisted, but it was a silly risk in the end.” Michael looked crestfallen.
“A driverso, what do you do, Michael?” Emily was curious despite herself.
He looked almost handsome in Alexs shirt, though it stretched on his broad shoulders.
“Own a small business with my matefixing up furniture and old radios, that sort of thing. He convinced me not to drive, better to take the train. Wouldve been better flying. Im sorry, you have to put up with me a bit longer.”
As she watched him, Emily began to wonder whether Mum wasnt right. How nice it would be to come home to a husband, children waiting, a house full of warmth, not just her and her mother muddling on. She was nearly thirty. Thered been Leon oncea whirlwind romance, half-planned wedding. But shed come home early to find him in bed with her oldest friend, and that was that.
“Youre very kind. Things will work themselves out for you,” Michael said unexpectedly.
“And what about you?” she asked. “Why are you alonelooks, brains, even a business?”
He smiled, a little sad. “Long story. Things never fell into place with me and my wife. Modern life, I supposeeveryone’s always calculating. You’re tired and I’ve not let you rest. Sorry to have landed on your doorstep.”
They talked for a long while. Dusk wove itself softly through the windows before his phone rang again.
“Thatll be my driver, Sasha, downstairs,” he said, taking Emilys phone. “I saved my number, as Michael-from-the-train. Bet youll never call me though.” He smiled lightly. “But if you ever need help, ring me. Thank you again. Ill bring the clothes backtell your Mum Im not a thief.” He looked at her with such honest sadness, Emily nearly wept.
This stranger who had blundered into their livesshe found she didnt want him to leave. But really, who was she, and who was he? She just smiled. “No more misadventures now.”
“None. Next time, its car or plane. No more trains.”
Emily watched him slip away into the soft, violet London dusk, pausing beneath the streetlamps, picking out her window to wave.
“That’s it. He wont remember me by tomorrow.”
“You let him go, then?” Mum asked from the front door.
“First you say I shouldnt bring him in, then you ask why I let him go,” Emily fussed, trying to hide her disappointment.
“Hes a good soul, I could tell.”
“But why’d you hide your jewellery, then?”
“Old fool, thats why,” Mum sighed heavily.
Three weeks passed. New Years Eve approached, and Emily was sure she had imagined Michael. Time leached all the colour from the memory, like a half-remembered dream. She was rostered in for the festive night, but the frozen hospital felt empty; a tiny fake tree blinked in the staff room; nobody expected the ambulance in the small hours, and Emily pictured a peaceful, almost enchanted shift at last.
“So, Em, another night shift together?” Mr. Springett the surgeon grinned slyly at her. He always managed to arrange his rota to coincide with hers. Well known for his interest in the younger nurses, Emily played dumb, refusing to acknowledge what everyone whispered.
“Are you here? Oh, youll never believe this!” Louise from reception scuttled in.
“Already got someone in?” asked Springett, slipping gloves and mask into his pocket.
“Father Christmas! The real one! With a sackful of presentsinsists on visiting the wards. Let him in?”
“Father Christmas, eh? Why not,” said Springett. “Lets go see this kindly soul, shall we, Em?” He took her arm and led her out.
From the corridor they could hear a booming voice in reception. There he was: Father Christmas, in a crimson velvet coat lined with white, a bobble hat, fluffy beard, and a massive sack. He was trying to persuade the front desk to let him visit the patients.
“I’ve rushed all the way down from Lapland, and you bar me from spreading cheer!” he protested, voice oddly familiar to Emily.
“I thought Father Christmas lived in Kent,” muttered Springett, grinning. “Go on, but no shoutingwe have ill folk here.”
Down the wards, he swept, leaving tangerines and chocolates on bedside tables, kindly genial to all. Elderly ladies and gentlemen glowed with delight. Jenny from paediatrics begged him to visit her children. Father Christmas glanced askance at Emily, flustered.
“You cant have Emily as your helper. Sorry, sirbring your own next time,” Springett announced, shepherding her away.
Quarter of an hour later, Father Christmas returned sans beard and hat, coat undone, sack drooping from his shoulder. Emily burst out laughing.
“I guessed youd be working, thought Id come give you a smile. Did it work?” Michael grinned his shy, hopeful smile.
“It did. The old grannies wont sleep for weeks now,” Emily chuckled.
“Looks like Im single-handed on duty then,” Springett said, mock-sighing. “Go on, Emily, off you go with Father Christmas. Ill manage with Louise here. Go enjoy yourself.”
Emily didnt need persuading. Within a month she handed in her notice and moved in with Michael. Mum was over the moon”Finally settled my daughter, now I can peg out in peace. No, I shouldnt say thatthe babies will be along soon! Who else but Grandma to help?” And so she decided to keep living for a while yet.
Its funnywe call all our bad luck ‘fate’, and all our good fortune ‘a fluke’. But one never seems to arrive without the other, does it?
