Im the sort of bloke who likes to watch the world go by from the drivers seat, so when I saw Victoria pulling out of her little Kent cottage late one evening, I knew a story was about to unfold. Shed set off just as dusk was settling, deliberately taking the longest loop around the outskirts rather than the shortcut home. If she didnt have to be at work the next day, she probably would have just stayed the night at the cottage.
Why was she dragging her feet? Simply put, she didnt feel like getting back to the houseshe didnt want to see her husband at all. A voice inside her had long warned that the roof they both shared wouldnt hold much longer; the chill between them had grown into regular arguments and a cold, nervous tension.
She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, mulling over their cracked marriage, when the bypass slipped through a tiny village. She eased off the accelerator as she always did, and at a bus stop, illuminated by her headlights, she spotted an odd old lady. The woman was clutching something wrapped in a cloth, pressed close to her chest as though it were a newborn, and she stared at the approaching cars with a hopeful gaze. Victoria didnt think twice; she hit the brakes.
She stepped out of her hatchback and hurried to the stranger. Near the womans feet was a little wheeled basket.
Why are you standing here? Victoria asked, a hint of worry in her tone. Do you need a hand? Whats that youre holding a baby?
A baby? the lady blushed, looking embarrassed. No, its not a baby its a loaf of bread
Bread? Victorias eyebrows shot up. What sort of bread?
Just a homebaked one, fresh from the oven I sell it, the woman replied.
How do you sell it? Where do you get it?
I bake it myself. My pension is small, so I make a few extra quid when I can. Some people buy it; they say it brings a bit of happiness.
Happiness, you say?
Im not sure why. One gentleman always buys a loaf and swears it makes him feel lighter. Maybe itll work for you. Want a slice? Its still warm.
Bread for me? Victoria realised the woman probably needed the money, so she nodded. Yes, Id love a loaf. How much?
£2 a loaf, the old lady said cautiously, watching her reaction. Is that alright?
How many loaves do you have?
Ten at the moment. Nobodys bought any yet today; I just arrived. How many would you like?
Ill take them all, Victoria declared, ready to head back to the car for cash.
No! I wont give them all away! the lady cried, startled.
Why not? Victoria was puzzled.
Because I know youre buying them not because you need bread, but because you want to help me, the woman explained, her eyes wide.
And?
What if someone else needs it later? What if that gentleman comes back and Ive run out?
Victoria felt a pinch of embarrassment at the naïveté.
Alright then, how many are you willing to part with?
I could let you have five, the woman said, hesitating.
Could you do more?
No that wouldnt be right, she shook her head. Youre buying out of pity. This bread is meant for eating, straight from the oven.
Fine, Victoria smiled, grabbed five fresh loaves, tucked them into a bag, and went back to her car.
A minute later she was back on the road, and the intoxicating scent of warm bread filled the whole cabin. It was impossible not to tear off a generous piece, pop it into her mouth, and swear shed never tasted anything better.
Just then her mobile buzzed. She glanced at the screen, grimaced, and pressed it to her ear.
Emma, her husbands irritated voice crackled, pop into any shop and bring some bread home.
What? Victoria glanced at the loaves resting on the passenger seat. Why are you suddenly thinking about bread?
Because weve got none! Not a single slice! And, as luck would have it, your friends have turned up!
What friends? she said, more surprised than anything. At this hour?
Youll find out yourself. Just get the bread. Three of your university mates are camped in our kitchen, sipping tea and waiting for you.
Bloody hell she muttered and slammed her foot on the accelerator.
She pulled into the driveway about half an hour later, stepped inside, and let the heady aroma of the fresh loaves drift through the house.
Emma, you smell amazing! her friends shouted, the same girls shed studied with at university, throwing their arms around her.
Her husband, catching the scent, lunged for the bag, snapped off almost half a loaf, held it up to his nose, and stared at her in disbelief.
Where on earth did you get such cracking bread?
Where I got it, its gone now, she shrugged.
He retreated to the bedroom with his stolen bite, while Victoria stayed in the kitchen with the girls. They stayed up till midnight, enjoying wine, nibbling the unbelievably tasty bread, and venting about their husbandseach admitting, with a sigh, that the men theyd married werent quite the dream theyd once imagined. When it was time to leave, Victoria handed each of them a fresh slice of the grandmas loaf.
After the guests left, she closed the front door, slipped past the bedroom where her husband was already dozing, and climbed onto the sofa in the lounge to try and catch some sleep.
Morning brought something odd. No sooner had she opened her eyes than her husband, still in his nightshirt, plopped down beside her on the sofa and, with a halfsmile, said, Emma, I think I overindulged in your bread last night and it gave me a revelation. Were both fools, you know.
Excuse me? she blinked, halfasleep.
Were complete idiots, love. We need to sort ourselves out. Im taking you out tonightsame restaurant where I proposed, remember?
Why now?
Because I think theres still a chance to fix this. Im heading to work, but Ill be waiting for you at six oclock. Come then.
He left, and Emma felt a strange brightness in the morning light, as if the world had shifted from late autumn to early spring. She found herself actually looking forward to that evening date.
A ring sounded again. One of the girls from the night before called, breathless with excitement.
Emma, can you believe it? We patched things up with our partners last night! We were set to divorce, and then we stayed up till three a.m. eating your bread and making up. Thank you, love!
What do I have to do with that? Emma asked, bewildered.
Later, the second friend called, then the third, each telling her how things at home had miraculously turned around. Theyd all been such fools, cursing their husbands, and now they were smiling.
Emma drifted into the kitchen, pulled out the halfeaten loaf from the bread box, inhaled its lingering scent, and took another small bite. This time the taste carried a subtle hint of something beyond ordinary flouran undercurrent of love, a gentle warmth that seemed to reach out to everyone around her.
