Igor, the Boot’s Open! Stop the Car, the Boot’s Open! – Marina Shouted, But Knew It Was All Lost! Their Gifts and Treats—Red Caviar, Smoked Salmon, Festive Meats—Scattered Across the Busy Motorway as They Drove to Igor’s Grandma’s Village for the Holidays, While Behind Them, Drivers Obliviously Passed by, and the Kids Burst Into Tears Watching Mum’s Disappointment

Author Emily TaylorReading 7 minViews 1

James, the boot! The boots come open, slow down I shouted, but before the words even left my mouth, I knew it was hopeless. Our things were tumbling out onto the A1, likely scattered across the tarmac, and the cars behind us were probably oblivious.

There went the presents and treats wed saved up for over two months! The Christmas cake, the salmon, the special roast beef, and all the bits we’d only ever allow ourselves on special occasions. Wed packed the bags with all those luxury foods and gifts on top, so they wouldnt get squashed. We had plenty we were off to spend the holidays at Jamess nans place in the village, and wanted to make it special.

The traffic on the motorway was dreadful, with everyone desperate to flee the city. Cars bunched up bumper to bumper, and even though no one was speeding, no one could just stop at a moments notice. Anything that slipped from the boot was as good as lost.

The kids in the backseat grew uneasy, watching my face fall and quickly bursting into tears themselves. I managed to comfort them, while James pulled over close to the hard shoulder, finally bringing us to a stop. There was just a sliver of hope maybe the bags had somehow rolled into the verge. We walked up and down, but it was useless. Nothing to do but waste time searching.

Dont dwell on it, love, whats done is done. Well get by, or maybe pick up what we need in town, James said gently, when he saw how miserable I felt. Theyre just things, after all. Come on, lets get back in. Look, the snows picking up, and its getting dark.

For the rest of the journey, I said very little. What was the point in blaming James for not shutting the boot properly? The cars an old banger, and the lock barely holds at the best of times. I tried not to think about what had happened, but then the tears came again. I couldnt help it. Id pinched pennies for months to squirrel away those treats, and now they were gone. Why do things always seem to go wrong for me? I know there are worse things, but it still stings. Most of all, I remembered the cosy, beautiful throw wed bought for Jamess nan also lost with the rest and my heart ached even more.

We finally rolled into the village long after midnight. We figured Nan Mary must have gone to bed. But her porch light was blazing, and as soon as we stopped, out she rushed with her neighbour, Mrs. Green.

Oh, thank the Lord youre here! Nan threw her arms around us one by one. Emma, James I was so worried! My dears, where are the little ones? There they are! Oh, my darlings, thank goodness youre all safe.

Its alright, Nan, dont fret so much, James said, slinging his arm about her. Come inside, the snows coming down and its freezing. Youll catch your death in just that old coat. Whats brought all this on?

Nan waved a hand, Mrs. Green and I have been praying for you half the night, and dont you laugh! Strange things sometimes happen, you know. I had a vision this afternoon just nodded off after lunch and dreamed your car went careening off the road, clear as day. Woke up in a cold sweat. I couldnt shake the feeling. Mrs. Green popped over her sons familys already here but I could hardly speak, just blurted it out to her. She says, Thats not good, Mary, lets light a candle and pray. So we prayed and prayed to God and Saint Nicholas that youd all arrive safely. Didnt know what else we could do but beg and barter with Heaven. And now, here you are, safe and sound! What a relief.

Youre right, Nan, James and I agreed. And if someone else got our hampers, then let them enjoy them. Maybe they needed it more than we did.

We saw in the New Year with half the village crammed around Nans table, groaning beneath the food shed laid out. Her own home-grown potatoes, homemade pickles, and of course, her famous mince pies. The little ones, Sophie and Edward, hardly strayed from the big pot of warm pasties beside the range; they wanted for nothing more. In the daytime, they joined the neighbours children for sledging down the hill till their cheeks were scarlet and their mittens soaked. By evening, their eyes were drooping, but they managed to stay up, eager to see Father Christmas leave something under the tree at midnight.

Nan Mary beamed and hugged everyone close, not just her own, but Mrs. Greens great-grandchildren too. She kept saying, This is real happiness, all my loved ones around me. Its the best thing in the world.

Meanwhile, in a tiny, long-forgotten village three houses down, two elderly sisters Hope and Faith and their neighbour, Mr. Thomas, huddled around a meagre table. Life hadnt been kind to them. Theyd scraped by however they could: planting vegetables in summer, shivering through the winter evenings alone. But at least they still had each other, and that was something. Mr. Thomas had brought them a little fir tree, and for lunch there were only basic things bread, a wedge of cheese, maybe a bit of stew if they were lucky.

Towards afternoon, Mr. Thomas trudged off to the woods to gather firewood to heat the little house. He bundled up some dry branches onto his old sledge, but as he turned to leave, something glinted by the edge of the lane. He went closer and tugged it was a bag. Inside: all manner of wonderful things posh salmon, a slab of beef, even proper red caviar! Right at the bottom, a snowy white throw, soft and warm. Mr. Thomas looked around, but not a soul was in sight. He loaded it all onto his sledge and took it home. They spread the throw out before the fire, got the kettle on, set out their feast.

I honestly never thought Id taste food like this again, Faith said in amazement.

Nor did I ever believe wed see such a miracle, Hope agreed.

I reckon its a blessing from above, said Mr. Thomas quietly. Maybe a reward for a lifetimes faith. Well carry on for a while yet, and see what else God has in store for us.

Theres no point despairing over things lost. Sometimes, a bit of misfortune spares us from far worse. Rather than mourning what slipped away, its better to treasure what matters most the people and moments you still have.

Couldn’t Find Room for Love —Girls, fess up, which one of you is Lily?—The young woman eyed me and my friend, mischief glinting in her look. —I’m Lily. What’s up?—I replied, baffled. —Letter for you, Lily. From Volodya.—The stranger pulled a crumpled envelope from her jacket and handed it to me. —From Volodya? Where is he?—I asked in surprise. —He’s been moved to an adult care home. Waited for you like a godsend, Lily—watched the door, hoping you’d come. He even showed me this letter so I could check for mistakes—didn’t want to embarrass himself before you. Well, I’ve got to run, lunchtime soon. I work here as a carer.—The girl glanced at me reproachfully, sighed, and hurried off. One summer, my friend and I wandered onto the grounds of an unfamiliar institution, sixteen and hungry for adventure in the holiday heat. We settled on a comfy bench, laughing and chatting, and didn’t notice two boys approaching. —Hi girls! Bored? Fancy a chat?—One held out his hand.—I’m Volodya. —I’m Lily. This is my friend Sue. And what’s your quiet mate called? —Leonard.—The second lad answered softly. They seemed almost old-fashioned, very proper. Volodya remarked, businesslike: —Girls, why such short skirts? And Sue, that’s quite a low neckline. —Hmm…Boys, don’t be cheeky! Eyes might wander off if you’re not careful.—Sue and I laughed. —Can’t help it, we’re lads. You smoke too?—Volodya pried with upright persistence. —Of course, but not properly!—We joked. It was then we noticed their difficulty walking—Volodya barely managed, and Leonard limped on one leg. —Are you here for treatment?—I guessed. —Yeah. I had a motorbike accident; Leonard took a bad dive off some rocks.—Volodya rattled off his practiced story.—We’ll be discharged soon. We believed their ‘accidents,’ but didn’t realise—they were children with disabilities, living in a closed care home, each rehearsed a story for outsiders. Volodya and Leonard were clever, well-read, wise beyond their years. Sue and I began visiting most weeks—not just out of pity but because we learned so much from them. We laughed, shared stories, and over time, little rituals emerged—Volodya brought me flowers from nearby beds, Leonard shyly handed Sue his origami handiwork. Together, we’d sit on that bench, Volodya beside me, Leonard, back turned, focused entirely on Sue. It was clear she enjoyed his gentle attention. The lazy, warm summer faded into a wet autumn. School resumed—final year for Sue and me. Caught up in studies and life, we forgot about Volodya and Leonard for a while. Exams behind us, prom night over, we found ourselves again at the home, hoping to see the boys, expecting flowers and origami—but we waited two hours in vain. Then, from the doors, that same carer approached and handed me Volodya’s letter. “Dearest Lily! My fragrant flower, my unreachable star! I fell for you at first sight, and every meeting was life itself. Half a year spent watching the window, hoping for you, but you forgot me. I’m grateful to know real love, but our paths diverge. I remember your velvet voice, enticing smile, tender hands…I wish I could see you just one more time. I want to breathe, but there isn’t enough air… Leonard and I turned eighteen, soon off to another home. Unlikely we’ll meet again. My soul’s in tatters! Hope I recover from loving you. Farewell, my precious!” Signed, “Forever yours, Vladimir.” Inside was a pressed flower. Shame and regret flooded me—I couldn’t change the past. That old saying rang in my head: “We are responsible for those we tame.” I never realised the passion Volodya felt. I simply couldn’t love him back—only friendly curiosity, nothing more. Yes, I teased, flirted a little, stoked the embers of his crush, but had no clue it’d become a burning love for him. Years have passed. Volodya’s letter has yellowed, the flower crumbled to dust, yet I remember innocent meetings, carefree talks, his laughter. There’s more—Sue was moved by Leonard’s difficult fate; abandoned by parents because of his difference—one leg much shorter than the other. Sue qualified as a special needs teacher, now works at the home, and Leonard is her beloved husband. They have two grown sons. As for Volodya, according to Leonard, he spent his life alone. Decades later, at forty, his mum visited, tears streaming as she saw her forgotten son—rekindled lost love and took him back to her village. After that, he vanished from their lives…

Towards a New Life: “Mum, how long are we going to be stuck in this backwater? We’re not even in a proper town – this is the middle of nowhere!” groaned my daughter as she walked in from the coffee shop, humming her favourite song. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Masha: this is our home, our roots. I’m not going anywhere,” Mum replied, stretching out on the sofa with her legs propped on a cushion – her so-called ‘Churchill at rest’ pose. “Oh, you and your roots! Give it ten years and you’ll have wilted, with another hopeless fella turning up for you to call Dad.” Stung, Mum got up and checked herself in the built-in wardrobe mirror. “My roots are fine!” “Well, they are for now. Another year or two and you’ll have to choose: turnip, pumpkin or sweet potato – pick a vegetable you fancy as a chef.” “Darling, if you want to leave, go. You’re old enough to do anything that’s legal. Why do you need me?” “For my conscience, Mum. If I leave for a better life, who’ll look after you?” “I’ve got my insurance, a steady wage, broadband – and I’m sure I’ll end up with some bloke, as you point out. It’s easy for you to move, you’re young and modern and teenagers don’t drive you nuts yet. Me? I’m halfway to Valhalla already.” “Ha! You joke like my mates, and you’re only forty…” “Why say it out loud? Ruin my day, why don’t you?” “In cat years, that’s just five,” Masha grinned. “You’re forgiven.” “Mum, let’s just go before it’s too late. There’s nothing holding us here.” “I fought to get our surname spelled right on the gas bill, and our GP surgery is round the corner,” came Mum’s final protest. “You can register anywhere, and we don’t have to sell the house. If it doesn’t work, we can come back. I’ll show you how real life is lived!” “The sonographer did warn me you’d never let me rest. Thought he was joking – no wonder he won bronze on Britain’s Psychic Challenge. Right then, let’s go. But if it doesn’t work out, you promise you’ll let me come home with no drama?” “Scout’s honour!” “Your co-author in the registry office gave me the same line – and you two have the same stubborn streak…” *** Masha and Mum skipped the nearest city and headed straight for London. Draining three years’ savings, they rented a studio flat wedged between a street market and a bus station, paying four months upfront. The money ran out before they knew it. Masha was calm and full of energy. Instead of unpacking, she threw herself into city life – creative, social, even nightlife. She was instantly at home: quick to make friends, picked up local slang and dress codes, and acted as though she’d never lived anywhere else. Meanwhile, Mum rode a daily cycle of calming tea in the morning and sleeping pills at night. Ignoring Masha’s pleas to explore, she plunged into job hunting, only to find London’s wages and rent were a bad joke. A quick calculation (no clairvoyant needed) told her they’d last six months, max. Sticking to what she knew, Mum got work as a cook at a private school, then evenings as a kitchen porter at the local café. “Not this again, Mum! Chained to the stove as always – what’s the point of the big city? You could retrain – be a designer, a sommelier, a brow-tech! Ride the tube, sip posh coffee, live a little.” “I’m just not up for retraining, Masha. You don’t worry, I’ll settle in eventually. Just make sure you do.” Masha sighed about her mother’s lack of ambition, but got on with ‘settling’ herself – hanging out in cafés on others’ tabs, forging mental and spiritual bonds with the city like some Instagram runes guru advised, chasing circles of people who talked of ‘success’ and ‘making it’. But she didn’t land a job or a boyfriend: girl and city had to suss each other out first. Four months in, Mum was paying rent from her earnings, quit her evening job, and started catering for another school. Masha had dropped a few courses, tried out for local radio, acted in a student film (payment: pasta and tinned beef), and had brief dalliances with two “musicians”: one was a total donkey, the other a tomcat with more kids than sense. *** “Mum, fancy pizza and a film tonight? I’m wiped – can’t face going out,” Masha yawned, doing her best impression of Churchill-at-rest while Mum powdered her nose. “You order it, I’ll transfer the money – don’t keep any for me, I doubt I’ll be hungry when I’m back.” “Back from where?” Masha sat up, frowning at her mum’s back. “I’ve been invited for dinner,” Mum giggled, suddenly shy. “By whom?” Masha scowled. “Some bloke from the school inspection team. I fed him your favourite chicken burgers, he asked to meet the head chef, we shared a laugh – head chef at a school! Anyway, we had coffee, and now he’s having me round for dinner.” “Are you mad? Going to a strange man’s HOUSE? For DINNER?” “Why not?” “Don’t you get it? He’s not after your food!” “I’m forty and single, darling – he’s forty-five, clever, not married. Honestly, whatever he’s after, I’ll enjoy it.” “You sound like a hopeless small-towner, as if you’ve no choice.” “I don’t recognise you! You dragged me here so I’d live, not just exist.” You can’t argue with that logic. Masha realised they’d switched places, and it threw her. She ordered a giant pizza and spent the evening comfort eating. Mum returned around midnight, glowing in the dark hallway. “Well?” Masha grumbled. “A lovely guy, nothing like a potato beetle, proper local,” Mum giggled, heading for the shower. Mum started dating: theatre, stand-up, jazz concerts, a library card, a tea club – even a new GP. In six months, she’d enrolled in upskilling courses, earned certificates, and mastered new dishes. Masha didn’t sit idle either: she tried for top companies, but the ‘dream jobs’ chewed her up and spat her out. Friends vanished when she stopped being fun-for-free. In the end, she became a barista, then a night bartender. Life blurred into exhaustion and rings under her eyes. The punters chatted her up, but none were likely candidates for ‘true love’. It all grew unbearable. “You were right, Mum. There’s nothing for us here. Sorry for dragging you along. We need to go home,” Masha blurted after another tough night. “Go? Where to?” Mum was packing a suitcase. “Home! Where they spell our name right and the GP knows us.” “I’m settled here now, love – don’t want to leave,” Mum replied, searching Masha’s teary face. “But I’m not! I want to go back. All this – the rubbish tube, overpriced coffee, snobby bar customers – it’s not for me. At least you’re packing…” “I’m moving in with Eugene,” Mum casually revealed. “What do you mean? Moving IN?” “I figured you’re grown up, have a job, can handle the rent. I’m giving you a gift: life in the capital, beautiful and independent, with everything ahead of you. You’ve given me so much! If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be wilting in that dump. Here, life’s in full swing. Thank you!” She kissed Masha’s cheeks, but Masha wasn’t ready for thanks. “Mum, what about ME? Who’ll look after me?” cried Masha. “You’ll have your insurance, your pay, the Internet – and maybe meet a nice guy,” Mum quoted herself. “So you’re just leaving me?” “Not leaving, just holding you to your no-drama promise.” “Fine… House keys?” “In my bag. But one thing: Gran’s thinking of moving, too. I’ve sorted it with her – can you help her pack?” “Granny’s coming to London?!” “Yep. I sold her the London dream just like you did me. There’s a post job going, and your gran knows mail better than anyone – she’ll risk it before her ‘roots’ give up.”