Dear Diary,
Im exhausted after a long shift at the little flower shop on Piccadilly. The shop is always bustling, especially now that the Christmas rush is in full swing. The cold has settled over London, a steady drizzle turning the streets slick, and the occasional flurry of snow makes me pull my warm padded coat tighter as I trudge home along the pavement.
I cant even find a moment to sit down during the day. My thoughts drift to the moment Ill finally get home, kick off my shoes and collapse into bed. While Im lost in those fantasies, an unfamiliar man appears beside me. I pause and look up at him.
Hes roughly forty, oddly dressed, and I instinctively step aside to let him pass.
Excuse me, could you help me? he asks suddenly.
Startled, I freeze.
I he swallows, shakes his head, and closes his eyes for a beat. I was travelling to my daughters wedding by train, and something went terribly wrong
He pauses, his gaze landing sadly on me. I try to move past him again.
Wait, he says, I stepped off the platform at your station for a moment, and when I returned to the carriage, my bag was gone. I looked out the window and saw a man walking away with it. I chased after him, but he vanished.
I raise my eyebrows. Why didnt you just get back into the train and sort it out later? I ask.
He sighs. I was looking for that man, and while I was searching, my train left without me
I feel a knot of irritation forming. So you should have spoken to someone, right?
I tried every staff member. They told me to wait. The next service isnt due for a few hours. I cant stay in the waiting room forever. My bag had everythingclothes, documents, cash I need to wash up and warm myself. Ill give everything back, I promise, he pleads, eyes pleading.
I cant help but roll my eyes. Do you even have the keys to your flat? You cant just barge in here.
He looks even more despondent. Everyone shuns me. Lord, why does nobody believe me? He lifts his head, his sad eyes scanning the sky, and I feel a pang of pity.
I give him a scrutinising look. The man is poorly dressed maybe his belongings really are in that bag. He speaks calmly, albeit oddly.
Fine. Come to my flat; youll catch a cold otherwise. Ill figure something out with your clothes.
Thank you. Youre very kind. No one else has listened to me, he says, following me.
Inside my modest flat, I sit on a small stool in the hallway, yearning for sleep. Go to the bathroom, I nod toward the narrow corridor, while I look for something to lend you. Whats your name, by the way?
Michael, he replies, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door.
A few minutes later, water rushes from the tap. I sigh, realizing my brief respite is over. My brother lives in Manchester, but his old clothes are still in my wardrobe.
Nothing to worry about, I mutter, gathering the spare garments and heading back to the door. When the water finally quiets, I tell Michael that Ive placed the clothes on the sideboard in the hallway.
I heat up some soup in the microwave and sit back down, mind wandering. If my mother arrives now, shell misunderstand everything. And what will she think if Im heating food while a stranger is bathing?
Lord, let Mum be delayed at the shop or with a friend, I whisper to myself, though the heavens remain silent. The lock clicks at the front door.
Emily, are you home? my mothers voice calls from the kitchen. I peek out, surprised. I thought that was you in the bathroom. Who else could be there? She squints, trying to make sense of the situation.
Mum, dont shout. The man missed his train. Hell sort himself out and leave, I try to explain gently.
Did you give him Alexs coat? What happened? she asks, anxious.
I told you he missed his train. All his things are gone, I repeat.
Good heavens. And you brought him home? You dont even know him! Mum exclaims, now frantic. Should I call someone?
Dont talk nonsense, Mum. Hes been everywhere, waiting for the next service. Hell clean up and be on his way, I say more quietly.
The bathroom is silent now. The water has stopped. The door opens and closes again.
I took the clothes, Michael guesses, looking relieved.
Mum sits facing the doorway, waiting.
Soon after, Michael steps into the kitchen, a little awkward and apologetic. Its clear he heard our conversation.
Tell me, how could something like this happen to such a strong, healthy man? Mum asks, eyes fixed on him.
Im sorry for intruding. I was heading to my daughters wedding in London. Now Ive lost my phone, my documents, my money, he gestures helplessly.
So what brings you to us? Were not exactly near a station, Mum questions.
Please, give the man something to eat. Stop interrogating! I snap, trying to keep my temper in check. Sit down, Michael. Ive warmed some soup for you.
Its funny, when I was a child I used to rescue stray cats and puppies from the streets, and now Im ushering men into my home I mutter, moving aside to make room at the table.
Eat, Michael. And be carefulif my mother likes you, you wont be leaving anytime soon, I add, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He chuckles. You work all day, no personal life. Youre nearing thirty, its time to settle down. How can I not worry about you if youre not settled?
Mum, stop it. Michael might think were going to marry him, I joke.
Dont worry, I reassure Michael. Well sort this out.
Mum waves her hand and retreats to another room. Shes serious, Michael remarks, setting his plate down.
My brother raised us alone. She just worries Ill end up on my own with a child, he explains.
Got it. Where do you work? I ask.
In a flower shop, like yours. And how will I buy a ticket without a passport or money? he looks bewildered.
Someone promised to help. May I have your number? Ill call your daughter to tell her I cant make the wedding, and maybe a friend I say, reaching for my phone.
I leave the room to fetch it. At that moment, Mum rummages through a jewelry box, pulling out a gold ring and some trinkets.
Quiet, she hisses. If he Ill give this to Aunt Margaret, she mutters, disappearing down the hallway.
I let her be; theres no point in stopping her.
I place the phone on the table for Michael and move to the window. He dials his daughter, and I see the disappointment in his eyesshes upset that he wont be at her wedding.
He then calls someone else, asking for my address.
The driver will be here soon. I shouldnt have travelled at all. My wife didnt want me meeting her new boyfriend, so my daughter invited me. It was all for naught, Michael says, looking dejected.
Who are you, if a driver is coming for you? I ask, surprised.
He begins to like me. In his brothers suit, he looks respectable, though a bit smallstatured.
We run a tiny electronics repair business with a friend. Its a modest partnership. My friend convinced me not to drive, said I didnt know London well enough and that a wedding wasnt the time for a road trip.
He sighs. I should have taken the train. A plane would have been better. Please bear with me a few more hours and Ill be on my way, he pleads.
I watch him and think how right Mum isif I came home, Id be greeted by a man, children waiting, a life with purpose. Im almost thirty, living with Mum, with no clear prospects.
There was once a Leon, a lover whose plans for marriage fell apart when he was caught with my friend. I lost both him and my friend.
Youre kind. Everything will be alright, Michael says suddenly, breaking my reverie.
And you? Why are you alone? You even have a business, I ask.
Yes, I went to the wedding solo. It didnt work out. Im divorced. My life isnt as neat as yours, he admits. Modern women are cautious, men the same. Youre tired after work and I didnt give you a chance to rest. Im sorry for imposing.
We talk for a while longer as darkness falls. My phone rings.
Its Sam, probably, Michael says, taking my handset.
Hell be here soon, and Ill never see him again, I think, as the monotony of my days stretches ahead.
The car is waiting downstairs. Thank you ever so much, Michael says, placing the phone down and standing.
Ive written down my number, just in case you need anything. Ill return your clothes, dont worry. Say sorry to your mother for me. She probably thinks Im some shady character, he says, eyes glistening, and I feel a tear well up.
A complete stranger, yet I didnt want him to leave. Who am I, and who is he? I smile faintly.
Dont end up in situations like this again, I say.
No more trains for meonly cars or planes, Michael jokes, smiling.
I watch him disappear down the narrow stairwell, stop by his car, wave from the window, and think, Thats it. Tomorrow he wont even remember me.
Mum asks from the doorway, Did you let him go? I try not to show how upset I am. He was a good man, thats clear.
Why did you hide the jewellery? she asks, flustered.
Because I was foolish, she sighs.
Three weeks later, on the eve of New Years, Michael seems like a dream I keep turning over.
Im working the last shift on December 31st. The shop owner apologises profusely, promising to help me personally because the customers are few today.
I glance out the window and, to my amazement, see a reallife Father Christmas by the shop, shouting merrily at passersby, handing out sweets, and marching straight toward the entrance.
The doors fling open and there he isredtrimmed coat, Santa hat, white beard, a huge sack over his shoulder. He talks to the owner, his voice oddly familiar.
Finally, Father Christmas approaches me.
I know you work here, so I thought Id give you a little lift, bring some cheer. Does it work? Michaelno, the strangerlooks at me with hopeful eyes.
It works, I laugh.
The owner sighs dramatically, Looks like Ill have to work alone today. Go home, Emily, and enjoy the holiday. Ill manage. He doesnt need convincing.
I dont have to argue with him.
A month later I quit the flower shop and moved to Manchester, to join Michael.
Mum was overjoyed. Your daughters settled, now we can finally breathe. Children will come, and who else will help but Grandma?
People often call misfortune fate and good luck a stroke of luck. In truth, theyre two sides of the same coin.
Emily.
