**Diary Entry**
*October 12th*
*”Has your bus come yet?” asked a man in a hurry.*
*”Excuse me, lovedo you know if the last bus has already left?” A breathless man rushed to the stop, his face flushed. A proper bloke, well past fifty, in a worn-out jacket and joggers, a battered satchel slung over his shoulder. A plain face with a moustachethe sort Dorothy Whitaker had never fanciedbut she turned away without answering.*
*”Love, is it so hard to tell me? Youre waiting for a bus, arent you?” The man caught his breath and dropped his heavy rucksack onto the bench beside Dorothy Whitaker.*
*”Im not waiting for anything,” she snapped, but then reconsideredit was late, and who knew what sort he was? So she softened. “Some bus left about five minutes ago. Didnt pay attention.”*
*”Blimey!” The man flopped onto the bench so hard Dorothy feared it might collapse. She jumped up.*
*”Did you miss yours too?” The man was relentlessdownright annoying!*
*Dorothy straightened her coat and decided to walk home. It was late, anyway.*
An hour earlier, shed felt an odd urge to step outside. The walls had closed inlonely, stifling, though shed never been one to feel that way.
All her life, Dorothy Whitaker had lived alone and been perfectly happy. Friends married, had childrennever her thing. She remembered her mother back in the village, popping out one baby after another, then packing three off to boarding school. Dorothy, the eldest, fled to the city. Trained as an accountant, worked her whole life at the *Golden Age* cafélively music, decent grub!
Started as a junior, worked her way up to head accountant, stayed till retirement. Weddings, anniversariesnever bored. Good wage, nice flat, holidays abroad. Never wanted more.
Then, a year ago, the new owner said Dorothy didnt *understand modern methods*, wasnt up to scratch.
So they pensioned her offthough she hadnt planned to leave.
At first, she hunted for work. Then realisedwhat was offered didnt suit, and what she fancied wanted youth.
Gave up. Had her little nest egg, small but enough. And just like that, she was retiredfree as a bird.
At first, it was brilliant. No alarms, no schedules, day trips, even tried Nordic walking in the park.
Then, suddenlyexhaustion. Tonight, she just walked out and sat on a bench at the bus stop.
Cars rumbled past, streetlights glared, people chattered. She sat there, feeling invisible, like the city lived its own life and hers meant nothing.
No one needed her. Not a soul in the whole wide world.
And thenthis man.
*”Nowhere to sleep either, love? I kipped here last nightcaught the first bus home. Live out past Croydon, worked the late shift. Nights were warm, but its nippy tonight! Still, got sandwichessausage, fresh bread. Here, take one. Dont be shyIll fetch the thermos. Hot tea, sugarwarm you right up.”*
Just like that, his tone shifted, pressing a sandwich into her hands. Dorothy meant to refusethen realised she was starving. Skipped dinner, barely touched lunch. Took a bite*heavenly!* She hadnt bought sausage in yearsalways dieting. But thisfresh bread, rich meat*mm!*
The man chuckled. *”Good, eh? Herecareful, the teas scalding. Whats your name?”*
*”Dorothy Whitaker,”* she mumbled through a mouthful.
*”Dorothy! Im Uncle Davewell, David Thompson. Used to work at the factory, got laid off. Now securityodd hours. Pays the bills. Mums poorly, needs medsgot to keep at it. Had a family once. Wife left, son grew up. Just me now.”* He sighed, smiledbut his eyes turned sad.
*”You far from home, Dorothy? Need taxi fare? Not for meno cabs out my way after dark. Double rates, empty pockets. You take it.”* He grinned.
Suddenly, she remembered a boy at schoolTommywhod shared his sandwiches when she was hungry. Same lookkind, teasing. Felt like a girl again, before the café, before the pension.
She finished the sandwich, gulped the sweet tea, then blurted*”Come to mine, Dave. Cant have you on a bench. Flats just there. Behave, thoughIve a heavy hand, old or not!”*
He gaped at her, at the building, then back. *”Then why were you sitting out here?”*
*”Wasnt waiting for anything. Nowcoming or not?”* She turned, marched off.
Dave grabbed his bag. *”Course! Ill take the floorgone by morning. Cheersbit parky tonight.”* He followed, shaking his head.
Next morning, clattering woke her. Davealready upwas fiddling with the loo. *”Cistern was leaking. Fixed it. Earned breakfast?”*
She stared. A stranger in her kitchen, damp-haired, sleeves rolled up. Andoddlyher chest felt warm.
*”Right thenscrambled eggs and tomatoes? Ohand the washing machines acting up. And”*
Dave stayed till his next shift. Called his mumshe was fineso he lingered.
Now they live together. Dave works nights; Dorothy cooks dishes from the old café menu. He kisses her hand. *”Knew you were waiting for me. Fate, love. Couldnt leave you lonelynever knew I could love like this!”*
They visit his mumnearly eighty, still sharp. Dorothy feels like a girl beside her.
And as for his sonwell, Margaret Thompsons chuffed. Her Daves happy at lastsomething worth living for.
