“Don’t you get it? You’re supposed to go on the green, not sit there!” the elderly lady tapping the edge of her leather handbag with her fingertips shrieks from the back seat.
“I’m sorry, but there’s a car stopped ahead, I can’t just plow through it,” the driver says calmly, eyes forward.
“I have to be on time for my daughter’s appointment! Take a different route!” the passenger insists.
“You can see it’s a traffic jam. Let’s just be patient,” the driver replies, glancing at the rear‑view mirror.
“Lord, this is a nightmare!” the woman sighs heavily, slumping back. “Everything always goes wrong. First the argument, now I’m going to be late…”
The taxi crawls along a busy London street. Jacob Parker, the driver, watches his passenger through the mirror. The plump woman in her early sixties, dressed in a neat light‑grey suit with a tidy bob, fidgets with the clasp of her bag. Her lower lip trembles slightly.
“Sometimes the most important meetings are delayed a little. Fate gives us a moment to collect our thoughts,” Jacob says unexpectedly.
The woman turns her head toward the driver’s seat.
“Is that you?” she asks.
“Yes,” he replies. “You mentioned the argument. Maybe this jam is a chance to think about what you’ll say to your daughter.” His voice is deep and steady.
“I didn’t ask for advice,” she snaps, then lets out another heavy sigh. “Fine… I did argue with my daughter. She wants to leave the country. She says there’s no future here. And I’ll be left alone.”
“My name’s Jacob,” he offers. “People often share their stories with me. Maybe it will help you too.”
Something in his tone softens her.
“Eleanor Smith,” she says. “It’s not a story at all… My daughter thinks she’ll have a better life in Canada. What’s Canada got that I don’t? I sit at home knitting hats for my grandchildren that they’ll never wear.”
Jacob stops at a red light and, after a moment’s thought, answers:
“My son moved to Canada ten years ago. I was against it at first.”
“How did you cope?” Eleanor asks, genuinely interested.
“At first I was angry. I ignored his calls. Then I realised I was wasting precious time. Life’s short, and holding a grudge is like carrying a stone in your pocket – it only hurts you.” The taxi lurches forward into the flow of traffic.
“That’s easy to say,” Eleanor sighs. “Does he even call you?”
“Yes, we video‑chat every week. I see my grandchildren regularly. They call me Granddad Jack. I even flew to Canada last year – my first trip abroad.”
“Weren’t you scared, being alone in a foreign land?”
“Of course. But when I see my son’s happy face and the kids’ bright eyes, the fear disappears. The world isn’t as big as it seems; distance is mostly in our heads.”
Eleanor looks thoughtfully out the window.
“I just don’t get why she’s so unhappy here. She has a good job, a nice flat…”
“Did you ask her why?”
“What?”
“Why she wants to go. Really ask, without blame or accusation.”
She falls silent as the city’s spring buzz continues outside.
“No, I think I just started telling her she’s ungrateful, that she’s abandoning her mother…” she admits.
“Maybe start with questions instead?” Jacob steers around a pothole. “I became a cab driver after I retired. Before that I spent thirty years as an engineer on the factory floor. Over the years I’ve learned that people need to be heard, not judged or advised.”
“You really help people that way?” Eleanor asks with a hint of irony.
“I’m not sure if I’m helping, but I often see passengers calm down by the end of the ride. Just last month I gave a ride to a nervous young man who’d forgotten his engagement ring. We turned back, retrieved it, and he called me later to say she said yes.”
Eleanor smiles despite herself.
“You have an interesting job, Jacob.”
“People are interesting,” he corrects. “We’ve only known each other fifteen minutes, yet I can tell you’re a loving mother afraid of ending up alone.”
“You say that so easily…” Eleanor pulls a handkerchief from her bag.
“It’s natural to fear solitude. It’s even more natural to want your children happy, even if their happiness doesn’t match our expectations.”
Tears well up in her eyes.
“How did you know your son was better off in Canada?”
“I didn’t ‘know’; I just accepted his choice. And you know what? When I stopped trying to pull him back, we grew closer. We now talk about everything. I know what’s on his mind, and he knows mine. That never happened before.”
The taxi stops at a red light, and Jacob finally turns to face Eleanor. He’s a sixty‑five‑year‑old man with a neatly trimmed grey beard and attentive blue eyes.
“Eleanor, forgive my bluntness, but it sounds like you’re trying to convince your daughter to stay rather than to reconcile. Am I right?”
She lowers her gaze.
“Probably. I’ve rehearsed a whole speech about family traditions, about how you never abandon your parents…”
“What if you simply listened today? Ask why Canada, what draws her there. Maybe she fell in love, or got an amazing design job? She’s a designer, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she has a friend there from university. She says the conditions for her profession are better.”
“And what do you know about Canada?”
“Honestly, not much—just maple syrup, hockey, snow.” She shrugs.
“Then maybe you could learn a bit together, show you respect her choice. Even promise to visit?”
“I’m terrified of flying. I’ve never been abroad.”
“I was too, until I was sixty‑two and finally boarded a plane. I thought, ‘What’s there to fear? Life’s only once.’ The scariest part is imagining the fear; once you’re up there, it’s manageable.”
Eleanor watches the trees and houses whizzing by. The spring blossoms line the road in white.
“What if she never comes back?” she whispers.
“What if she does? Or what if you end up visiting her and spending part of the year there? Life is full of surprises, Eleanor, especially when we’re open to them.”
“You’re remarkable, Jacob. A philosopher‑taxi driver.”
“Just a man who’s made many mistakes,” he says calmly. “When my wife was alive we argued a lot. After she died five years ago from cancer, I realised how wasteful those fights were. I now spend my time on love, not grudges.”
The cab turns off the main road onto a quiet lane lined with oak trees.
“We’re almost there. May I give you one last piece of advice?”
“Please,” Eleanor nods.
“Give your daughter a tight hug, no words needed. Then ask how you can help, not how you can stop her. Feel the difference.”
The taxi stops in front of a cosy café with a terrace draped in climbing vines.
“We’ve arrived,” Jacob announces. “All the best for your meeting.”
Eleanor pulls out her wallet, pays, and lingers at the doorway.
“Jacob, you’ve helped me more than all my friends have this month. May I have your number? I might need more than a ride sometime.”
He hands her a card with his number printed.
“I’ll be glad to help. Now go, don’t keep your daughter waiting.”
She steps out, turns back, waves, and Jacob nods lightly.
The rest of the day passes calmly. After dropping Eleanor, Jacob ferries a silent businessman to the airport, a young couple loaded with building supplies, and a noisy group of teenagers to the shopping centre. Near evening, a request comes from the Magnolia Shopping Centre.
He pulls up to a woman pacing nervously by the curb. She looks like Eleanor—same brown eyes, same habit of fiddling with her bag.
“Good evening,” Jacob greets her. “Where to?”
“Linden Street
