In days long past, on a chilly autumn evening, a breathless man hurried up to the bus stop where a woman sat alone. “Excuse me, madam,” he panted, “has your bus already come?” He was no young lad but a proper gentleman, well past fifty, dressed in a worn jacket and casual trousers, a tattered satchel slung over his shoulder. His face was ordinary, with a moustache that Margaret Whitmorefor that was the womans namehad always rather disliked. She turned away and did not answer.
“Madam, surely its no trouble to say? Has the last bus gone or not? Youre waiting for one yourself, arent you?” The man caught his breath and dropped his heavy rucksack onto the bench beside Margaret Whitmore.
“Im not waiting for anything,” she snapped, but then reconsideredit was late, after all, and who knew what sort of man this was? So she softened her tone: “Some bus left about five minutes ago. I didnt pay much notice.”
“Well, thats that!” The man flopped onto the bench so heavily that Margaret feared it might collapse, and she nearly leapt to her feet.
“Did you miss it too?” The man was relentless, almost bothersome!
Margaret straightened her coat and decided to walk home. It was late, and the night air bit sharper than shed expected.
An hour earlier, shed felt a strange urge to step outside. The walls of her flat had seemed to close in, though shed never felt such loneliness before.
Margaret Whitmore had lived alone all her life and been perfectly content. Her friends had married, had childrenbut shed never wanted any of that. She remembered her mother in the countryside, bearing child after child before handing three of them off to boarding school. Margaret, the eldest, had fled to the city. Shed trained as an accountant, worked all her days at the grandest tea house in townThe Golden Crown, with its cheerful music and fine fare!
At first, she was just a clerk, but in time she became head accountant, staying until retirement. Weddings, anniversariesshe never found them dull. Good wages, good food, a flat of her own, holidays abroad. Shed wanted no other life.
Then, a year ago, the tea houses new owner declared that Margaret didnt grasp modern methods, that her work no longer suited.
He pensioned her off, though shed had no plans to leave.
At first, she searched for another position. Then she realised what was offered didnt please her, and what did required youth.
So she shrugged it off. She had her nest eggsmall but enough. And just like that, she entered the freest stretch of her days.
At first, it was splendidno alarm clocks, no schedules, guided tours, even Nordic walking in the parks.
But then, quite suddenly, it wearied her. Tonight, shed simply stepped out and sat on this bench by the bus stop.
Cars rumbled past, headlights glaring. People walked and chattered, while she sat there feeling as though she didnt exist at all, as though the city lived its own noisy life, and hers meant nothing.
She was needed by no one. Not a soul in all the wide world.
And thenthis man!
“Nowhere to sleep tonight, madam? Ive spent a night or two on benches myself. I live out past the suburbsworked the late shift, missed my ride. Nights were warm before, but theres a bite to the air now! Still, Ive sandwichessausage, if youd like. Dont be shy. Here, the breads fresh, the sausage proper. And Ive a thermoshot tea, sugar and all. Warm you right up.”
Out of nowhere, his tone shifted, and he pressed a sandwich into Margarets hand. She meant to refuse, but suddenly realised she was ravenous. Shed skipped supper, barely touched lunch. She took a biteoh, how good! She hadnt bought sausage in yearsalways watching her dietbut this bread, this meat!
The man chuckled.
“Good, eh? Here, mind the teahot as the devil. Whats your name?”
“Margaret Whitmore,” she mumbled through a full mouth.
“Margaret, is it?” The man grinned. “And Im Uncle Johnwell, John Wilson, really. Used to work at the factory, got laid off, now in securityday shifts, mostly. Its all right. My mums poorly, see, needs medicine, so I work for that. Had a family once, but it fell apart. Son grew up, wife ran off. So here I am!” He sighed, smiled, but his eyes turned sad.
“How far to your place, Margaret? Fancy a taxi? Too far for methey wont run past the suburbs at night, not without double fare. But youll manage.” He looked at her kindly, still grinning, and Margaret suddenly remembered a schoolmate, Tommy, whod always brought sandwiches to share. Hed looked at her just like thisamused, warm. She felt like a girl again, as though none of her life had happenedno Golden Crown, no pension.
She finished the sandwich, sipped the sweet, scalding tea, and thenwithout meaning tospoke.
“Come home with me, Uncle John. Cant have you on a bench. My flats just thereno need for taxis. Grab your bag and come, but behave yourself, or Ill box your ears, old as I am!”
The man stared, then at the building behind her, then back.
“Then why were you sitting here? What were you waiting for?”
“Nothing. Theres nothing left to wait for. Well? Coming or not?” Margaret turned and walked off. John Wilson hesitated, then shouldered his bag.
“Suppose so. But Ill take the floor, mind. And Ill be off first thing. Thank youits right cold out.” He followed, shaking his head in wonder.
In the morning, Margaret woke to odd clattering. She found John already uphed slept on the kitchen sofaand fiddling with the toilet cistern.
“Your loos leaking, Margaret. Fixed it nowearned my breakfast, have I?” He stretched and grinned. She stared. Here was a stranger in her flat, shirt rumpled, hair half-grey and dampmustve just splashed his face. And yetwarmth bloomed in her chest, though she couldnt say why.
“Come on then, Uncle John. Youve earned it. Fancy eggs and tomatoes? Ohand the washing machines acting up, leaves suds. And theres”
So John Wilson stayed till his next shift. Called his mothershe was welland stayed longer.
Now they live together. John works every third day. Margaret waits, cooking dishes from the old tea house menu. He kisses her hands.
“My wild rose,” he says, “I knew you were waiting for me. Wasnt an accident, me being latefate, thats what! Forgive me, leaving you so lonely. Lived my whole life not knowing I could love like this. Fancy that!”
They often visit his mother, near eighty but still spry. Around her, Margaret feels like a girl again.
And as for his sonoh, how Mary Wilson rejoices! At last, her Johnnys found happiness. Something to live for.
