Happiness at a New Year’s Rate
“Thanks, Mum,” Rodion said, pushing back his chair and stretching. “I’m going for a quick drive. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful—hardly any cars out this time of evening.”
“Ever since you bought that car, it’s all you do. Time to settle down, don’t you think? They say a man’s first love is his motor.”
“Mum, please,” Rodion hugged her. “You know how long I waited to get my own car. Let me enjoy it a bit first, then I’ll think about a family. Promise.”
“Fine. Nearly thirty and still playing with cars,” she ruffled his hair. “Go on, then.”
Rodion stepped outside, brushing fresh snowflakes off the windscreen of his car. He’d had his licence for years—his dad had let him drive the old Rover before he crashed it. Plenty of experience. But he still savoured the thrill of owning his own wheels.
He’d saved for ages, carefully picked the right one. Now, he drove around town every evening, sometimes venturing onto the motorway. If he spotted a hitchhiker, he’d give them a lift—never took a penny.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, he turned the key, smiling at the engine’s purr. He turned up the radio and rolled slowly out of the car park.
Snowflakes glittered in the headlights as he meandered through the streets, no particular destination in mind. Then he spotted a woman with a child, thumbing a lift. He turned down the radio, pulled over, and lowered the passenger window.
“Could you take us to Builders Street?” she asked, peering inside.
She was young, pretty.
“Hop in,” Rodion nodded to the seat beside him.
“How much will it be? It’s quite a way,” she said, still leaning in.
“Don’t worry. I don’t charge pretty girls.” When she flinched, he quickly added, “Ten quid sound fair? Come on, I don’t bite,” he laughed.
She opened the back door, ushering her son—about five—inside before joining him. Rodion merged onto the main road.
“How many horses does it have?” the boy asked.
“Horses?” Rodion chuckled. “No idea.”
“How can you not know?”
“When I bought it, I cared more about how it looked and how comfy it was. Not the engine specs. You know your stuff, huh?”
“I do,” the boy said seriously.
“What’s your name, then, car expert?”
“Ben. What’s yours?”
“Well, Ben, I’m Rodion. Sorry, can’t shake your hand right now.” He grinned at the boy’s earnestness.
“Ben, stop bothering the man,” the woman said.
“Let him talk. He’s a clever lad. Ben the brainbox.” Rodion caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Something warm flickered in his chest.
The city glowed with shop windows and streetlamps. Outside shopping centres, Christmas trees twinkled with coloured lights. A month till New Year’s, but the festive buzz was already in the air.
“Stop here, please,” she said.
“Want me to pull up to the door?” Rodion glanced back, but she was looking away. He stopped at the start of a long block of flats.
She got out, holding the door for her son.
“Come on, Ben, hurry.”
“Are you picking me up tomorrow?” he whined.
“Sunday. And stop crying, you’ll get a cold. I’m in a rush—out you get.”
Ben shuffled reluctantly toward the door. Rodion got out too.
“Here.” She handed him a tenner.
He folded it neatly, tucking it into his jacket. “I’ll keep this as a lucky charm.” He offered his hand to Ben. “See you.”
“Bye.” The boy’s small, warm fingers curled into his palm.
“Come on, Nan’s waiting.” She tugged Ben along.
A few steps away, Ben looked back. Rodion waved. Then a man stepped out from a parked car, kissed Ben’s mum, and offered his hand to the boy. Ben turned away sharply.
*Mum’s got a date, and the kid’s jealous. Doesn’t like her new bloke,* Rodion thought, and the idea pleased him.
Back in the car, he turned up the radio. Elton John sang *”Your Song”*. The faint scent of perfume lingered. Rodion checked the mirror—just empty seats.
Suddenly, he didn’t feel like driving. The song grated. He switched stations, but the woman’s face stayed in his mind. Pretty, ordinary—so why couldn’t he forget her?
Years ago, he’d fallen for an older woman with a daughter. Proposed, brought her home.
“She’s older. Has a kid. You’re young, handsome—can’t you find someone your age? Don’t make a mistake, son,” his mum had pleaded after she left.
Later, Mum regretted “ruining his happiness.” No other woman had touched his heart like she had. Then her ex came back, and she remarried him.
And now today…
Rodion often drove past Ben’s nan’s street, even the spot where he’d picked them up. Never saw them again. He thought about them often. Knew the block number—could’ve asked around. But what would he say? Maybe things were fine with that bloke who’d met them.
So he kept driving, hoping for another chance.
New Year’s Eve arrived. Mum bustled in the kitchen, the tree sparkled by the window, *Love Actually* played on telly, and the 31st fell on a Saturday—a day off. Rodion slept in, helped prep salads, dug out the good china. But as night fell, something pulled him outside.
“Mum, it’s snowing—proper fairy-tale stuff. I’ll take a quick drive, or I’ll doze off before the Queen’s speech.”
“Now? It’s almost midnight!”
“Just a spin around town. Plenty of time. Taxi’s scarce tonight—let the drivers enjoy their break too.” He grabbed his coat.
Snow dusted the car. The heater struggled as he pulled onto quiet streets. Late stragglers hurried home to their celebrations.
A burly man in an open coat hailed him. Rodion stopped. The man wheezed into the back seat, clinking bottles in a bag. At his stop, he handed Rodion fifty quid for a short trip.
*New Year’s generosity,* Rodion mused, pocketing it. Next, a bickering couple. He refused their money. Grateful, they thanked him endlessly, leaving hand in hand, reconciled.
Then he drove past the quiet street where he’d picked up Ben and his mum. He studied the lit windows, wondering which one hid her, the boy, *him*.
Familiar route to Ben’s nan’s. Kids set off fireworks in the estate.
Then—there they were. Walking toward him on the pavement. He knew her by the beige coat, white bobble hat. Ben trudged beside her, miserable. Rodion’s heart leapt.
He braked, got out. They stopped, wary. *They don’t remember me.*
“Need a lift? Special New Year’s rate—free,” he blurted.
They approached. Rodion offered Ben his hand.
“Hi, Ben.”
The boy glanced at his mum before slipping his cold fingers into Rodion’s palm.
“Forgot your gloves? You’re frozen. Get in quick.”
They settled in the back.
“Don’t remember me? Gave you a lift a month ago.” Rodion caught her eye in the mirror—red, puffy. “Where to?”
“The station,” she said.
Ben stayed silent, subdued.
“Less than an hour till midnight. No trains now. Anyway, why go? Don’t know what’s happened, but no crying on New Year’s, eh, Ben?”
“We came to Nan’s for the party, then Mum and her had a row,” Ben mumbled.
“Ben!” she snapped.
“Listen,” Rodion cut in as she reached for the door. “Think of Ben. He’s freezing. Don’t ruin his night.”
“What’s it to you? Just take us to the station.”
“Mum’s cooked enough for an army. Tastes brilliant—trust me. Come back with me, celebrate. Fancy that, Ben?”
“Yeah!” Ben tugged her sleeve. “Mum, please?”
“Come on. Where’ll you go tonight? Mum’ll be chuffed. Leave the tears in this year—start fresh with a smile.” He turned up the radio. Elton’s *”Your Song”* played. His heart thumped in time.
*Fate. Has to be. Same song, too. And they say miracles don’t happen.* He parked outside his block.
“Out you get—we’re late!”
“Yay!” Ben bolted for theThey stepped inside just as the clock struck midnight, and amidst the cheers and clinking glasses, Rodion knew this was the beginning of something far greater than luck.
