Happiness Under the Bench
Christine stopped by the shop after work. Only four days remained until New Year’s Eve, and her fridge was still empty. She hadn’t had time for anything—not even decorating the Christmas tree.
The icy wind howled. After a brief thaw, the wet snow on the pavements had frozen into treacherous ruts. And, as luck would have it, she’d worn heeled boots. Now she shuffled along carefully, trying not to slip. The streetlights, as usual, weren’t all working, and in the early winter dusk, the path was barely visible. The heavy shopping bags dug into her palms, making her fingers ache. Her legs burned from the strain. *Why did I buy so much? I could’ve gotten half of this tomorrow*, she scolded herself.
Christine reached the bus stop and dropped the heavy bags onto the narrow bench. She rubbed her numb, stiff fingers, then sat beside the bags to rest her tired legs, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. The wind still nipped at her here.
As she watched the cars go by, she imagined how lovely it would be to sit in a warm car on a night like this. She’d long dreamed of owning one but hadn’t wanted to take out a loan. Now she regretted it.
A bus pulled up with a hiss, its doors sliding open. A few people stepped off, heading home without so much as glancing at Christine.
She was about to get up when she heard a faint groan. Glancing around, she saw no one—until, moments later, the sound came again, much closer. Christine stood abruptly. The headlights of a passing car illuminated something dark huddled in the corner behind the bench.
Her first instinct was to run. But then she thought—what if nobody found him by morning? In this cold, he could freeze, especially if he was drunk.
Pulling her phone from her handbag, she switched on the torch and shone it into the shelter. A black overcoat and polished leather shoes caught the light first—this wasn’t a homeless man.
She directed the beam to his face. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed shut. He was young, well-groomed, dressed smartly. Leaning closer, she noticed no smell of alcohol.
“Hey, are you okay? You’ll freeze out here,” she said, nudging his shoulder.
No response.
Without hesitating, Christine dialled 999. A weary female dispatcher took the details. “Wait there,” the woman instructed.
Christine tucked her phone away, shoving her hands back into her pockets, hunching like a sparrow. She was freezing—how much worse for the man on the ground? She considered leaving but worried he might be robbed. Who knew when the ambulance would arrive?
Her teeth were chattering by the time a paramedic van pulled up. A man and a woman in blue uniforms stepped out.
“Over there, in the corner,” Christine pointed.
They crouched beside the man just as another bus arrived. A couple stepped off, lingering to ask Christine what had happened.
“Clear off, don’t interfere,” the paramedic snapped at the onlookers.
He returned with a stretcher. “Give us a hand,” he called to them.
They vanished instantly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Christine asked anxiously.
“Likely a heart attack. You found him just in time—he could’ve frozen. Here, write your number down. Just in case.” He pulled a notepad from his bulky jacket.
“Am I needed any longer? I’m freezing,” she said, handing it back.
Watching the ambulance drive off, Christine gathered her bags and trudged home, her stiff legs barely moving beneath her.
Under hot water, she thawed her frozen hands before unpacking the shopping. All evening, she replayed the scene at the bus stop. What had happened to him? How’d he ended up there? She regretted not asking which hospital he’d been taken to—she’d have called tomorrow to check.
Two days later, an unknown number flashed on her phone. Snow fell outside, blanketing the icy roads, brightening the world. She hesitated, then answered.
“Christine?” a warm male voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“You saved me. Called the ambulance when I was at the bus stop…”
“You’re alive?” she gasped. “How are you?”
“Fine. I rang to thank you. You left your number.”
“What happened?”
“Hard to explain over the phone. I could visit when I’m discharged—give me your address.”
“Oh, no need!” Christine protested.
Silence. She faltered. She knew nothing about him…
The call ended before she thought to ask his name.
She’d dated a man for four years, lived together for two. No proposal came. The relationship fizzled out. A year passed before she healed. New love terrified her—she feared more loss.
Her friends weren’t faring better. Rita was divorced, Tanya’s boyfriend had died in action. They’d drown their sorrows over wine, watch New Year’s specials, cry on each other’s shoulders. Misery loved company.
On the 31st, Christine lingered in bed. Midway through chopping salad vegetables, the doorbell rang. Too early for the girls.
She opened the door to a handsome man holding flowers and a bag.
“Christine?” He flashed a bright smile. “Came to thank you.”
“You…?”
“I convinced the doctor to discharge me.”
“How’d you find my address?” she blurted, forgetting to invite him in.
“Easy enough with your number. May I come in?”
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
He stepped inside, handing her the bouquet.
“And this.” He passed her the bag—inside, a champagne bottle and a pineapple peeked out.
“You shouldn’t have!” Christine flushed.
He was strikingly handsome—the kind you’d see in films.
“Without you, who knows what’d have happened?” he said, eyes locked on hers.
“Please, come through,” she murmured, hiding her face in the roses.
He shed his coat and followed her to the kitchen, looking like he’d stepped from a magazine.
“Expecting guests?” he asked, noting the chopped vegetables.
“My friends are coming.”
“What are you making?”
She shrugged. “The usual: prawn cocktail, roast beef…”
“Let me help. I’m Max. Work at The Old Tavern. Know my way around a kitchen. Got an apron?”
Surprised, she handed him her floral one.
Max chopped deftly, soon arranging elegant salads on the table. Meat marinated in a dish. Together, they set the dining room. Casually, they slipped into first-name terms.
“How’d you end up at the bus stop?” Christine asked.
Max explained: his restaurant’s Christmas party. His girlfriend was there—kissing another man.
“I confronted them. Made a scene. Stormed out. Drove aimlessly. Hurt like hell. Thought she loved me…” His car had skidded twice; he’d nearly crashed. Then his chest tightened—he couldn’t breathe.
“I pulled over, got out. Sat on the bench. Next thing I knew, I woke in hospital. They said Christine saved me. Gave me your number.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Dunno. She never visited. Doesn’t matter now.”
Somehow, his words thrilled her.
“Like a restaurant. I could never do this,” she said, admiring the spread.
“Plenty of time. When are your friends arriving?”
“An hour. I should change.” She paused halfway. “Will you stay? For New Year’s?”
“If you’d like. That’s why I’m here.”
She agonised over dresses, fussing in the mirror. *Who’d let a man like him go? Handsome, cooks…*
A stranger had her flustered like a schoolgirl. Nothing would happen. Just one shared night.
When she reappeared, Max rose from the sofa. His gaze was soft, earnest. Awkward silence fell—shattered by the doorbell.
Her friends arrived, arms laden.
“Blimey!” Rita gaped at the table. “Since when do you cook like this?”
“I didn’t.” Christine blushed.
Max emerged from the kitchen.
“You kept a boyfriend secret?” Rita eyed him brazenly. Unfazed, Max charmed them both.
They drank, laughed. Rita demanded details.
“Found him on the street. Behind a bench,” Christine joked.
“Pull the other one!”
“I passed out at the stop. Christine called help. Saved me,” Max said, refilling their glasses.
“Brb, checking every bench now,” Rita declared.
“More likely you’ll find a drunk,” Tanya muttered.
They laughed. Max danced with each girl. Christine noticed how he gently rebuffed Rita’s boldness. Her stomach twisted—soon, he’d leave.
By 4 AM, Tanya dragged a tipsy Rita home. Max offered to drive them. Christine masked her jealousy with a smile.
Alone, she changed, cleared up. Sleep wouldn’t come. Her thoughts clung to Max. She feared solitude yet dared hope heShe turned to find Max still standing in her doorway, his quiet smile holding the promise of a new beginning.
