Happiness Beneath the Bench
Emma stopped by the shop after work. With only four days left till New Year’s Eve, her fridge was still empty. She hadn’t managed to get anything done. Not even decorated the tree.
The wind cut like ice. After a brief thaw, the wet snow on the pavements had frozen into treacherous, slippery ridges. And of course, she’d chosen heeled boots. Now she shuffled along, taking tiny steps to keep from falling. The streetlamps flickered unreliably, casting uneven light over the early winter gloom. Heavy shopping bags dug into her palms, their weight dragging her arms down. Her legs ached from the strain. *Why did I buy so much? I could’ve left half for tomorrow*, she scolded herself.
Emma reached the bus stop and set her bags on the narrow bench, rubbing her stiff, frozen fingers. She sat beside them, letting her exhausted legs rest, and tucked her hands into her coat pockets. But the wind found her even there.
She watched the cars drive past, imagining how lovely it would be to sit in a warm car on a night like this. She’d dreamed of having her own for ages, but hadn’t wanted the burden of a loan. Now she regretted it.
A bus hissed to a stop. The doors wheezed open, people spilled out and hurried home. No one even glanced in Emma’s direction.
She was about to stand when she heard a groan. She looked around—no one else was at the stop. Then it came again, much closer. Emma leapt up. The headlights of a passing car illuminated something dark behind the bench.
Her first instinct was to run. But what if no one found him by morning? In this cold, he’d freeze—especially if he was drunk.
She fished her phone from her bag and turned on the torch. A black overcoat and polished designer shoes caught the light. Not the sort of thing a rough sleeper would wear.
The beam shifted to his face. His eyelids flickered but didn’t open. Young, well-groomed, expensively dressed. Emma leaned closer but smelled no alcohol.
“Hey, are you alright? You’ll freeze out here.” She shook his shoulder.
No response.
Without hesitation, she dialled 999.
“Wait there,” said the tired voice on the other end.
Emma shoved her phone away, buried her hands in her coat pockets, and hunched like a sparrow. She was freezing. What state must he be in, lying on the ground? Should she leave? But no telling how long the ambulance would take, and someone might rob him…
Her teeth were chattering by the time the ambulance arrived. A man and woman in blue jackets stepped out.
“Over there, in the corner,” Emma pointed.
The paramedics crouched beside him. Another bus pulled up. Two passengers stepped off and hovered, pestering Emma for details.
“Step back, give us space,” the medic snapped.
He returned with a stretcher and the driver.
“Help us lift him,” he said to the gawkers.
They vanished like smoke.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emma asked anxiously.
“Likely a heart attack. Found him just in time—another hour and he’d have frozen. Here, leave your number. Just in case.” The medic pulled a notepad from his bulky jacket and handed it to her.
“Do you need me anymore? I’m frozen stiff waiting.” She scribbled her number and handed it back.
Emma watched the ambulance drive off, gathered her bags, and trudged home. Her legs were so numb they hardly bent.
At home, she thawed her hands under scalding water, then unpacked the shopping. All evening, she thought about the man at the stop. Wondered what had happened, how he’d ended up there. Regretted not asking which hospital he’d been taken to. She’d have called to check on him.
Two days later, an unknown number flashed on her phone. Snow fell outside, burying the icy roads, making the world brighter. She hesitated, then answered.
“Emma?” A warm male voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“You saved me. Called the ambulance when I collapsed at the stop…”
“You’re alive?” Emma brightened. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I wanted to thank you. You left your number.”
“What happened to you?”
She felt a pang of guilt for not calling the hospital herself.
“Hard to explain over the phone. Maybe I could stop by when I’m discharged? What’s your address?”
“Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself,” Emma backpedalled.
Silence. Then, awkwardly, he said goodbye and hung up. Only then did she realise she hadn’t even asked his name.
She’d dated a bloke for four years, lived together for two. But he never proposed. Things fizzled out. Took her a year to move on. Now she was terrified of new entanglements, of loss, of disappointment.
Her friends were the same. Lily was divorced; Sarah’s boyfriend had died in service. They’d drink, chatter, watch New Year’s specials, cry on each other’s shoulders, dream… Misery loved company.
On the 31st, Emma lazed in bed. As she chopped vegetables for salads, the doorbell rang. Too early for the girls.
She opened the door. A handsome man stood there, holding flowers and a bag.
“Emma?” He flashed a bright smile. “Came to thank you properly.”
“You—?”
“Yep. Convinced the docs to let me out.”
“How’d you get my address?” She’d forgotten to invite him in.
“Not hard. Phone number lookup. May I?”
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
He stepped inside, handed her the bouquet.
“And this.” He passed her the weighty bag.
“You shouldn’t have.”
Pineapple leaves poked out, along with the neck of a champagne bottle in gold foil. And he was unfairly attractive. *He could be in films*, she thought.
“If not for you, who knows what’d have happened,” he said, eyes locked on hers.
“Take your coat off, come through,” she murmured, hiding her face in the roses.
He complied, hanging his coat before following her to the kitchen. He looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.
“Expecting guests?” He nodded at the chopped veg.
“My friends are coming.”
“What are you making?”
Emma shrugged. “The usual. Prawn cocktail, beef Wellington…”
“Let me help. I’m Oliver. Work at The Savoy. Know my way around a kitchen. Got an apron?”
Surprised, she handed him her floral one.
Oliver worked deftly. Soon, perfectly arranged dishes covered the table. Meat marinated in a dish. Together, they set the dining room for the party. Somehow, they’d slipped into first names.
“How’d you end up at the stop?” Emma asked.
Oliver explained: his restaurant’s New Year party. His girlfriend was there. He’d caught her kissing someone else.
“I couldn’t ignore it. Made a scene, got told where to go. Drove off, no direction. Hurt like hell. Thought she loved me…” His car had skidded twice. Then his chest seized. First time it’d happened.
He’d pulled over at the stop, stepped out. Must’ve sat on the bench. Next thing he knew, he was in hospital. They’d told him a girl named Emma had saved him.
“And your girlfriend?”
“Never came to visit. Doesn’t matter now.” The words, oddly, pleased her.
“This looks restaurant-grade.” She eyed the spread. “Should we start the beef?”
“Plenty of time. When are your friends coming?”
“An hour. I should change.” She started for the bedroom, then paused. “Will you stay? For New Year’s?”
“If you’d like. That’s why I’m here.”
Emma agonised over her dress, preened before the mirror. Wanted to measure up. *What idiot would let him go? Dream man. Gorgeous, cooks. Dad helped Mum in the kitchen—my ex couldn’t even fry an egg.*
A stranger, and she was giddy as a schoolgirl. Nothing would come of it. Just one New Year’s together.
She returned to Oliver.
He stood when she entered. His gaze was soft, sincere. An awkward silence fell—shattered by the doorbell.
Her friends arrived, armed with cake and bags.
“Blimey!” Lily gaped at the table. “Since when do you cook like this?”
“I don’t.” Emma flushed.
Oliver emerged from the kitchen.
“And you hid him from us?” Lily eyed him brazenly. He didn’t flinch—used to attention.
Sarah was subtler but just as intrigued.
They ate, drank. Lily grilled Emma on where she’d “found” him.
“On the street. Collapsed behind a bench,” Emma laughed.
“Pull the other one!”
“Car trouble. Stopped at the bus stop, passed out. Emma called an ambulance,” Oliver said, refilling their glasses.
He didn’t drink.
As the clock struck midnight and fireworks lit up the sky, Oliver leaned in and whispered, “Funny how happiness can find you when you least expect it—even beneath a bench,” and Emma knew this wasn’t just another New Year’s Eve, but the beginning of something beautiful.
