Emily worked at a little wellness centre outside Bath, the kind you reach by a commuter train from Reading. The journey was a pain, but the pay was decent and the hours were flexible enough to juggle a parttime nursery. Summer was fine, but in winter the walk to the station felt like a scene from a gothic novel dark, empty, and the car parks were still full of snowblocked cars. Yet the car that stopped wasnt by the car park at all; it idled right at the platform. A big black estate car rolled up, the window rolled down, and a man with a shaggy beard asked:
Fancy a lift, love?
Emily had never been called a beauty, and in any other circumstance she might have blushed. But her old boots were frozen solid, her nose was dripping, and she still had seven minutes to catch her train. More than anything she just wanted to be back in a warm, heated home. Who would heat it for her anyway? A halfhour on the train, a dash to the nursery, a quick shop run, then back to the house to stoke the coal stove and whip up dinner. She had enough on her plate to worry about, let alone chat. So she went with the flow:
Alright then, Im as pretty as a picture for you!
She trotted down the frosthardened footpath. The estate car sped past, braked again, and a different man no beard, tall and burly hopped out, helped her into the back seat with surprising ease.
The bearded fellow, still grinning, shouted from the drivers side:
Youve caught my eye, so youre coming to dinner with me.
Emily instantly realised the driver was three sheets to the wind and wasnt used to being turned down. She started to sob.
Please, let me go! My little girls waiting! Im thirtytwo, not exactly a knockout, and I cant even hold a conversation. Youre not looking at my coat a neighbour gave it to me out of kindness. Under it Im wearing an old sweater and trousers. What dinner could you possibly expect?
The burly guy who had helped her in leaned over and whispered something to the bearded man. The bearded one shook his head and said:
Dont cry, love. Im giving you a lift from the wellness centre, didnt you see your sweater? You look just like my mum used to be she always dreamed of being taken out to a nice restaurant. Come on, dont be a spoilsport. Want me to buy you a new dress?
I just want to get home, Emily hiccuped. I need to fetch my daughter.
How old is she?
Four.
And the father?
Hes left.
So am I. Going to another woman?
No. His mother claimed the child isnt real. We did IVF. He agreed at first, then she said babies born that way have no souls. Hes a good lad but easily swayed. Emily, oddly protective of her exhusband, tried to explain.
So not real, is it? the bearded man said, stretching the phrase. Alright, lets go. Tell me where the crèche is, or whatever you call it. Dave, off you go.
Emily sank into the seat, her mind racing for a way out. It was clear the bearded fellow wasnt going to release her easily. She clung to the hope that the big, burly man might feel a flicker of sympathy.
When they finally arrived at the nursery, the caretaker, a few bewildered parents in matching onesies, and a gaggle of kids all fell silent and stared at Emily. Shed never been the centre of attention before. Little Charlotte, her daughter, wasnt scared of strangers at all she promptly asked if the bearded man was Father Christmas and whether anyone had seen her dad. She asked everyone about her father; Emily, now used to the question, answered without embarrassment. When they got back into the car, Charlottes curiosity turned to the steering wheel, and she announced she could drive too.
The bearded man chuckled:
Cheeky little thing. You call yourself not real, do you want some ice cream?
Yes, please! Charlotte squealed.
They shuffled off to an icecream parlour, then to a supermarket where the bearded man piled a basket with oddities: salted cod, exotic fruit, and blueveined cheese. Emily would have preferred chicken and pasta, but you dont argue with a man whos just bought a whole lot of nonsense.
They dropped them off at Emilys modest terraced house, and the bearded gentleman, now a shade sober, lingered for tea. While Emily stoked the stove, he stared wideeyed and remarked:
I thought my childhood was rough Do you really have a toilet outside?
Indeed, Emily replied with a wry grin.
She no longer feared him; she realised he was harmless, just a bit offkilter. His assistant, the burly fellow, turned out to be a decent chap hed slipped some milk, bread, decent cheese, and childrens curd into the basket. Perhaps he had kids of his own.
Once the unwanted visitors finally left, Emily felt a sudden tremor. She burst into tears, frightening Charlotte, but she couldnt stop the tears just kept coming, the first time since the day her exhusband packed his bags and went back to his mothers house, leaving her heavily pregnant in the brandnew home theyd just bought. Hed said, Even if the child isnt real, the house stays yours.
The next morning, the same black estate car waited outside the wellness centre. The bearded man was gone; only his driver, Dave, remained.
Hop in, he said. Ill take you back to town.
Why? Emily asked. Do I look like your mother?
Dont be silly, Dave snapped. Im heading that way anyway, thought I might give you a lift.
Fine, Emily sighed. Wheres your boss?
Hes napping. Dont be angry, hes a decent bloke. Yesterday was his mums birthday well, if she were still alive. He doesnt drink.
Emily nodded. It didnt matter. She sat down.
At first they rode in silence; Dave wasnt much for small talk. Then he finally asked:
So the child really from a testtube?
Yeah, thats the truth.
People will be anything, huh?
Do you have kids?
Not really. Ive got three younger siblings and theyve driven me mad. Ones enough for me.
Right, Emily agreed.
Charlotte cooed at the car and asked if theyd go back to the icecream shop.
No, Emily protested, weve no money for treats.
Come on, lets go, Dave said, waving a hand.
Its not in my budget, Emily replied.
Ill treat you, he offered.
On the way back, Charlotte fell asleep. While Emily wrestled with how to get her daughter out of the seat, Dave scooped the little girl up and carried her toward the house.
Little one, he murmured, youre a tiny, perfect thing.
Emily didnt see Dave for a few days. Then she ran into his car again, this time with a fresh beard.
Victor, he introduced himself. Sorry about the other night I was out of sorts. Id really like to invite you out for dinner at a restaurant. Not today, of course whenever it suits you.
Emily first wanted to decline, but then thought, why not? She could even find a dress. The only problem was who to leave Charlotte with.
Dave stepped in.
I can watch her.
Leaving her daughter with a stranger felt risky, but Dave seemed trustworthy. Emily suggested the playground; it was easy for him and meant Charlotte wouldnt be alone with a random man.
The dinner turned out to be rather amusing. Victor was chatty and a touch selfabsorbed, yet somehow charming. Emily hadnt felt like a woman in ages. When he suggested a gallery visit the following week, she said yes.
Charlotte loved the playroom and Dave. When he brought home a bag of groceries, Emily thought it was a bit much, but Dave said:
Theyre from Victor.
The deliveries kept coming every few days, and Emily wasnt sure whether to thank Victor or politely turn them down. She earned enough to buy a loaf and butter, as the saying goes, but the constant gifts felt a little overthetop. Victor started to court her more seriously taking her to restaurants and occasional cultural events, which felt more like dates. Dave, by default, became the unofficial nanny, and everyone seemed content.
One afternoon Dave blurted out:
Looks like Victors fallen for you. Hes even thinking about proposing. The kid scares him hes still a stranger, after all.
Emilys cheeks flushed.
Marriage? Really? Im not even holding his hand, she snapped. And a kid that isnt mine
Im dying to marry you, Dave said, suddenly serious. Hes rich, youd be safe as a rock.
I dont need a rich rock, Emily replied.
What do you need then?
She shrugged. She remembered her exhusband she definitely didnt want anyone like him.
Im not sure, she admitted honestly.
Dave suddenly stepped forward, pulled her close, and planted a kiss. Emily jumped back, startled, and Dave turned red too.
Sorry, I dont know what Im doing, he muttered, then fled. Emily couldnt tell if shed enjoyed the surprise or not.
The next day Charlotte fell ill with a high fever. Emily had to call in sick the wellness centre didnt like that. Victor was upset; theyd been planning a night at the theatre.
Maybe Dave can look after her?
I dont want her catching anything, Emily hesitated.
Come on, what could happen? You wanted the show, didnt you?
She reluctantly agreed. By evening Charlotte felt better, and Emily managed to squeeze into the theatre. When Victor bragged about a skiresort getaway, Emily snapped:
Listen, you buy me groceries and a theatre ticket, thats fine. But Im not going on your ski holiday.
What groceries? Victor asked.
The ones Dave brings.
Ah, I get it Daves a good soul. But the resort, no thanks. My mum loved skiing, maybe shed have liked an invitation.
A sudden clarity hit Emily. She took Victors hands and said:
Your mum would be proud of you, Im sure. But dont try to force things. Find someone you truly love. Ill always be me, just like my mum would have wanted. And I think I love someone else.
Victor, hurt, let a tear slip. He complained he didnt understand women, but he drove her home anyway, promising hed leave the resort plans to Dave.
Later that night Charlotte fell asleep clutching the teddy bear Dave had given her. Dave himself dozed in his seat. Emily tiptoed over, leaned down, and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. He woke up, bewildered. Charlotte giggled:
You ran off too fast yesterday. I didnt expect it. Scared, you know?
She kissed him again, and this time, nobody was afraid.
