Just before the turn of the old year, Michaels wife dealt him a blow hed never imagined in his darkest dreams. It was a dismal surprise one youd struggle not to cry over. Two decades of what he had thought a happy marriage lay behind him, a beautiful daughter married with a young grandson already calling them Gran and Grandpa. What more could a man want? He had every reason to count himself lucky, to enjoy the sunset of a peaceful life.
Yet happiness is often only skin-deep. Michael had always toiled for his family, spending long months away as a lorry driver, returning home only when the road allowed, determined their home would never lack for anything. He had never begrudged them that. He sent his wife and daughter on holidays, bought a reliable car, redid the flat, and threw his daughter a wedding straight from a fairytale. Every trip, hed come back with gifts, phoning home several times a day, longing for his family even as he drove through rain and snow on distant motorways.
But it turned out his beloved wife had kept another life behind his back for years, weaving lies over the phone: I miss you, come home, my pillows soaked with tears without you It ended, as it always does in stories you think dont happen to you the husband came home a day sooner than expected, and reality crashed in.
He didnt raise his voice, didnt break things or scream. Instead, he gathered his clothes, important papers, climbed into his car, and left in silence. On the motorways edge, he finally pulled up. His hands shook on the steering wheel. He simply couldnt fathom how it had all come to this.
Everything hed done, hed done for the family for her. Hed sent them on seaside holidays, bought them comfort, lavished his daughters wedding with English roses and laughter. Every journey brought gifts, every day brought fond calls. Yet behind his back, his wife spun her own romance. Where was the justice in that? He had heard old men say, Dont trust a woman, mind you! but he had paid them no heed.
Of course, men are hardly saints. Many of his fellow truckers kept a mistress at a motorway services, but Michael had always held himself above that, cherishing his wife and keeping faith. It seemed like it had all been for nothing.
He switched on the ignition, yet had no idea where to go. His mind was a jumble, thoughts swelling with hurt and bitterness. In the end, he pointed the bonnet north and set off to his childhood village a solid two hundred miles away from his old home, or what now was simply his former home with his former wife.
His phone wouldnt stop ringing: missed calls stacked higher and higher, his wife first, then his daughter. He switched it off. He couldnt hear them just now. Their betrayal was cold water down his back, shocking and painful.
Scenes from his life whirled before his eyes their wedding day leaving the registry office, him carrying his baby girl from the maternity ward, holding her hand for her first day at school, her big smile as he returned from a trip with flowers in hand All those good, luminous moments. How had he missed what was happening behind it all?
His late mother-in-law, God rest her soul, had warned his wife more than once. Moneys not everything, darling. Youll lose your husband, mark my words. Cant have him away months at a time families fall apart that way. The old girls in the village had dropped hints too, but Michael hadnt believed them. Hed never suspected, never felt a thing was amiss.
He didnt even know if the old family house still stood. He hadnt been back in a decade; who knew what the village looked like now? But he drove on through the winter, through swirling snow, just before the New Year. A magnificent present from his wife not one hed ever expected.
At a village shop, he bought provisions as if heading into the wild, stacking his basket with bread, cheese, tea whatever he fancied, as if shops didnt exist in the countryside. Turned out, it wasnt far from the truth. When he left the main road for country lanes, he saw how the land had changed villages that once bustled now lay in ruin, only the rare glow of a lamp in the darkness.
He remembered the way well hed always loved his old village. His mother, bless her heart, had never left the place, content to live her last years where shed grown up. She was his only child and had doted on Michael, refusing to leave what was familiar and dear. Id wither away in your city. Better to let me be, shed said, and so shed stayed behind. Hed watched her to the very end.
Now, the blizzard was thickening as he reached the village, the lights of the houses fewer and farther between. Snowflakes howled around the familiar bend, and soon he was on his old street, struggling up the lane he once knew so well. Many windows were boarded shut, many homes abandoned. Only one or two by the road glimmered with life. His own family cottage stood listing, the fence sagging, windows boarded, but it was all still there somehow. Trudging through the snow, he found the hidden key where his mother always left it. Few people ever locked up in villages except when leaving for good. The enormous padlock looked oddly out of place on the flimsy door, but it sprang open in his hand as it had always done.
Torch in hand, Michael stepped inside. Everything was dustier and chillier than he remembered, but otherwise untouched. The Russian stove, a relic from his childhood, stood cold in the centre of the kitchen.
He fetched logs from the woodshed, just as hed done as a boy. The dry wood caught almost at once, the firelight chasing shadows from the old house, warming the corners. He filled the kettle, fetched water from the pump that still, miraculously, worked despite the years, and brewed up a strong tea in the warmth from the flames. In forty minutes, the place smelled clean again. He laid out supper bread, sausage, cheese, a tin of stew, and a fried egg. The old clock chimed eleven.
Soon itll be the New Year, he muttered. Time to begin again. As Mum would say, the dawn brings wiser thoughts. Ill decide what to do in the morning. For now, Ill see out the old year.
He reached for the bottle hed bought, but before he could pour a glass, a sharp knock rattled the window, making him start.
If someone was knocking, then someone must still live here. Michael stepped to the door. A woman stood there, brushing snow from a knitted shawl, fear and tears in her wide blue eyes.
Im sorry to bother you; I dont know your name. Ive only lived here three months. My boys very ill theres no nurse left in the village, barely a dozen houses lived in, but I think its his appendix. I saw your lights and came over hes getting worse by the minute.
Michael was already shrugging on his coat and hat. Dont waste a moment. Well go. Well need a shovel, though the lanes likely drifted over.
The wind was easing off. Michael carried the feverish, whimpering child to the car, and they set out at once. They reached the main road just but it was still a battle getting to town. Twice he had to dig the car out.
At last, after over an hour, they reached the hospital. The womans fears were right, and the little boy was whisked off to surgery just before two in the morning.
Well, Michael said quietly, so the New Year begins
Im so sorry, ruining your holiday like this.
Dont fret about that. Lets just hope the little one pulls through.
They sat in the waiting room, the woman weeping quietly, barely able to take her gaze from the operating theatre door. Time passed, minute by slow minute, the tension mounting. At last, a doctor emerged, tired but smiling.
You brought him in just in time. A little longer Well, its done. Now go home and get some rest.
Oh, please, well stay here until morning its such a long way back.
As you wish. Happy New Year. Youll see your boy soon.
They sat outside the ward all night until, at last, the woman whose name was Catherine, as Michael learned was allowed in. Her son, Robbie, gradually came round.
Catherine stayed on with him, while Michael returned to the village. He stirred up the fire, had a bite to eat, and slept. Come afternoon, he went to check on his new acquaintances. Robbie was smiling again, though sad hed missed Father Christmas and hadnt caught him leaving presents.
He comes every year, Robbie said forlornly, always leaves a present under the tree. I know he comes in through the door, not down the chimney Im not a little kid, I know that. But I didnt hear him last night. Mustve missed me. House was all locked up. I think he just went away. No fire engine for me this year.
Dont be so sure, Michael said. Not long before dawn, I passed your house and saw big footprints in the snow. There was a blizzard, so those werent ours. Maybe Father Christmas dropped something off for you somewhere else, hidden he used to leave mine on the porch or in the shed. Youll need to check all the nooks and crannies when you get home.
Robbie managed a faint smile. Maybe I was good all year, right Mum?
Catherine nodded, unable to speak.
Robbie, the doctor says you cant stay; best you let your mum head home for a while. Its all right there are other children in the ward. Youll be fine.
I will, Im big now. Mum, please look for the present if you dont, the snowll bury it!
Catherine and Michael headed out together.
Thank you for making up that story, Catherine said. Truth is, I couldnt buy him a present this year. Moneys so tight. We left the city in a rush. My partner well, we werent married went off on a binge again, started hitting me, even Robbie. We fled in the night. Were living in my aunts old cottage. She died and left it to me, though my partner doesnt know hed have forced me to sell it for drink. So were starting fresh out here, from scratch.
Michael pulled up at the village shop. Time to get the lad his fire engine we cant have him losing faith in Father Christmas.
He bought a bright red engine and some sweets, and they set off together.
Catherine was young, perhaps ten years his junior. She tried to refuse the gift.
Its too generous we cant take so much from you. Robbies not your son.
Please, said Michael gently, let me have the pleasure. If I can bring happiness to anyone at New Year, Id like it to be him.
He spent a week in the village, never feeling lonely. There was always something to do: clearing snow, stacking firewood, helping Catherine with chores, checking in on Robbie, who was staying alone in hospital for the first time.
Robbies wounds healed well. Soon, he was discharged, eager to look for his present and disappointed only that the snow had blurred any footprints. But the fire engine was cunningly hidden in the shed, and Robbie squealed with glee when he found it.
See! he cried to his mother, Father Christmas didnt forget, and I told those boys on the ward he was real. Mum says she couldnt buy it for me its too dear.
And Michael smiled, for there is a quiet joy in giving.
To welcome Robbie home, Catherine invited Michael for supper.
Thank you, Catherine. It means so much to have a bit of warmth and hospitality just now.
And what about your family?
Gone, now. Its a long story. Lets speak of it another time.
The evening passed softly; Robbie fell asleep after a feast, and Michael stayed longer than hed intended.
Truth be told, I hate the thought of leaving, but I must be on my way soon another delivery to make.
Will we see you again? Robbie will ask after you tomorrow morning.
Tell him I said hello. I dont know if Ill come back my worlds all topsy-turvy. But I like it here, and I like you both. Goodnight, Catherine.
Michael headed off and was gone for weeks, lost in work and his thoughts, but the memory of Catherine and Robbie tugged at him. After dropping in to see his daughter and grandson in the city, avoiding his old home and telling his wife hed filed for divorce, he set out again for the village, drawn by longing.
Robbie was waiting on the lane as if expecting him, shaking his hand firmly.
You were away ages, Michael. Mums been waiting for you.
Did she say so?
No, but I know. She gets quiet every time a car goes by, always glances at the window. Go in, talk to her Ill play outside. Im not daft, you know.
Michael stepped inside. Catherine greeted him, turning quickly to tend a bubbling pot on the stove.
I didnt think youd come back. Whats a man like you doing all the way out here in the wilds?
I needed time, thats all. After twenty years, you cant just snap one story closed and open another. But I found myself thinking of you. Catherine could you see yourself letting me stay?
She looked up, searching his face, and instead of answering, simply clung to him and sobbed.
So they began a new life together. That summer, Michael fixed up his mothers old house piped water, mended the bath house, made it a home again. They bought a few hens, a goat, set a corner of the field to potatoes, and let out Catherines old cottage to city folks wanting country peace. Gradually, life blossomed once again. Robbie glued himself to Michaels side, soon enough calling him Dad with pride.
Oh, lifes a twisty old thing. You never know whats around the next corner, what surprises wait in the new year. As the old folks would say, lifes no flat meadow its full of hidden paths, bold turns, and, if youre lucky, a new beginning just when you least expect it.
