Happiness at the New Year’s Rate
“Thanks, Mum,” murmured Edward, stretching as he pushed back from the table. “I’ll just take the car out for a bit. Don’t worry—I’ll be careful, and the roads are quiet this time of night.”
“You’ve done nothing but drive since you bought that car. It’s high time you settled down. They say a man’s first love is his motor, and here you are proving it.”
“Mum, please, not this again,” Edward sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You know how long I dreamed of having my own wheels. Let me enjoy it a while longer, and then I’ll think about all that. Promise.”
“Fine. Nearly thirty and still playing with toys.” She ruffled his hair. “Go on, then.”
Edward stepped out into the frosty evening, brushing fluffy snowflakes from the windscreen. He’d had his license for years—his dad had let him borrow the old Austin until he’d written it off. He knew how to drive. But the thrill of ownership still hadn’t worn off.
He’d scrimped and saved, researched for months, and now he spent his evenings cruising the city, sometimes venturing onto the motorway. If he saw hitchhikers, he’d pull over, never asking for a penny.
Settling into the driver’s seat, he turned the key, smiling at the engine’s purr before tuning the radio and easing out of the estate.
Snowflakes glittered in the headlights, sharp and bright. Winter had come early this year, piling drifts high in just days. Edward meandered without real purpose until he spotted a woman with a small boy waving by the kerb. He turned the radio down, pulled over, and rolled down the passenger window.
“Could you take us to Elm Street?” she asked, leaning in.
She was young, pretty.
“Hop in,” Edward nodded to the seat beside him.
“How much will it be? It’s quite a way,” she said, still hesitant.
“Don’t worry. I don’t charge pretty girls.” When she flinched, he backtracked quickly. “Ten quid do you? Come on, I don’t bite,” he laughed.
She opened the rear door, ushering her son—about five—inside before joining him. Edward merged back into traffic.
“How many horses does it have?” the boy piped up.
“Horses?” Edward chuckled. “No idea.”
“How d’you not know?”
“See, when I picked this car, I cared about how it looked, how it felt. Not the engine specs. You know your stuff, though, eh?”
“I do,” the boy said, dead serious.
“What’s your name, then, car expert?”
“Ollie. You?”
“Well, aren’t you polite? I’m Edward. Sorry, mate—can’t shake hands while driving.”
“Ollie, enough. Don’t bother the man,” the woman chided.
“Let him talk. Bright lad, this one. Ollie the clever clogs—sounds like a rhyme.” Edward caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and something warm flickered in his chest.
The city glittered—shop windows, streetlamps, Christmas trees already twinkling outside shopping centres. A month until New Year’s, but the air hummed with anticipation.
“Just here, please,” she said.
“Want me to drop you at the door?” He glanced back, but she was staring out the window.
She stepped out, holding the door for Ollie.
“Hurry up, love.”
“You’ll pick me up tomorrow?” His voice wobbled.
“Sunday. And don’t cry, you’ll block your nose. I’m going to be late.” Her tone sharpened.
Ollie dragged his feet until Edward got out, too.
“Here.” She held out a tenner.
He folded it carefully, pocketing it. “I’ll keep this for luck.” Then he offered his hand to Ollie. “See you.”
“See you.” The boy’s small fingers curled into his palm.
“Come on. Gran’s waiting.” She tugged him away.
A few steps on, Ollie turned back. Edward waved—just as a man stepped from a parked car, kissing Ollie’s mum, then offering his hand. The boy jerked away.
*Date night. And the kid’s not keen on Mum’s new bloke*, Edward thought with a smirk.
Back in the car, he turned up the radio. Elton John crooned, “*Your Song*.” The scent of perfume lingered. He checked the mirror—empty.
The thrill of driving faded. The song grated. He switched stations, but the woman’s face stuck in his mind. Pretty, ordinary. Why did she haunt him?
Years ago, he’d fallen for an older woman with a daughter. Proposed, even. Brought her home.
*She’s got baggage. You’re young, handsome—find someone your age*, his mum had pleaded after she left.
Later, Mum blamed herself for ruining his chances. No one since had stirred him like Emily. Then her ex came back, and she remarried him.
Tonight, though—
Edward drove past Ollie’s gran’s estate often, even the street where he’d picked them up. Never saw them again. He knew the house number. Could ask around. But what would he say? Maybe things were fine with that bloke waiting in the car park?
So he kept driving, scanning pavements, hoping.
New Year’s Eve dawned. Mum bustled in the kitchen, the tree sparkled, *Love Actually* played on telly, and—miracle—the 31st fell on a weekend. Edward slept in, helped chop veg, dug out the good china. But as dusk fell, restlessness pulled him outside.
“Mum, it’s snowing—like a fairy tale. I’ll take a quick spin, or I’ll doze off before the Queen’s speech.”
“Now? It’s nearly midnight!”
“One loop around town. Plenty of time. Taxi’s scarce tonight—let the drivers enjoy their break.” He pulled on his coat.
Snow dusted the car. He cranked the heat. The streets lay hushed, just stragglers hurrying to parties. Lights glowed in windows—last-minute table settings, popping corks.
A burly man in an open overcoat flagged him down. Bottles clinked in his bag. At his stop, he pressed £50 into Edward’s hand—far too much.
*Holiday generosity. New Year’s rate*, Edward mused, pocketing it. Next, a bickering couple. He refused their cash. Giddy with relief, they thanked him profusely, strolling off arm in arm.
Then he detoured past Elm Street, eyeing the flats, wondering which window framed her, Ollie, *him*.
The usual route to Ollie’s gran’s. Firecrackers popped in the estate.
And suddenly—there they were. Walking toward him. He knew her by the beige coat, the white pom-pom hat. Ollie lagged behind, miserable. Edward’s pulse jumped.
He braked, stepped out. They halted, wary. *They don’t remember.*
“Need a lift? Special New Year’s fare—free of charge.”
They approached. Edward offered his hand.
“Hiya, Ollie.”
The boy glanced at his mum before slipping his cold fingers into Edward’s.
“Forgot your gloves? You’re freezing. Get in quick.”
They settled in the back.
“Don’t you remember? I drove you last month.” Edward met her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. “Where to?”
“The train station,” she whispered.
Ollie sat silent.
“Less than an hour till midnight. No trains now. Whatever’s happened—no crying tonight, eh, Ollie?”
“We went to Gran’s, but Mum and her had a row,” the boy mumbled.
“Ollie!”
“Listen.” Edward cut her off as she reached for the door. “Think about him. He’s frozen. Don’t ruin his night.”
“What’s it to you? Just drive.”
“Mum’s cooked enough for an army. We’ll go to mine. Fancy that, Ollie?”
“Yeah!” The boy bounced. “Can we, Mum?”
“Come on. Leave the tears in this year. Start fresh.” He turned up the radio—*Your Song* again. His heart thumped in time.
*Fate. The same tune. And they say miracles don’t happen.*
At his building, he herded them inside.
“Quick—we’re cutting it close!”
“Yay!” Ollie sprinted ahead.
Edward flung the door open. “Mum! Guests! Starving and half-frozen. Ten minutes to go!”
His mother gaped from the kitchen.
“This is Margaret. And Ollie, and—” Edward glanced at the woman, now hatless, fragile and lovely.
“Lily,” she murmured.
“Mum, get them seated!” EdwardAs the clock struck midnight and laughter filled the room, Edward caught Lily’s eye and knew this was the beginning of something extraordinary.
