Victor found himself driving through a fog-cloaked country road, winding aimlessly past hedges and old oaks, when something caught his eyea girl, standing solitary at the edge of an empty lane. The hour was late; not another soul in sight, only the call of an owl echoing somewhere unseen. He brought his lorry to a gentle halt.
Fancy a lift? the girl asked, her voice trembling like distant church bells.
Of course, Victor replied, surprised by the hush around them. Theres hardly a car about tonight. Have you been waiting long?
Yes, she sniffled, and suddenly tears spilled down her cheeks. Victor stared at her, bewildered, the world trembling and blurred as if seen through rain on a windowpane.
Victor had set out that day in his battered lorry, his mothers warm potato pasties wrapped in greaseproof paper and stuffed in a tin on the passenger seat. The cab was thick with the scent of pastry and potato, memories of Sunday lunches in their little kitchen. It was a bank holiday, but work could not waithe had deliveries to make.
He reached for a pasty, devoured it with relish, and, humming along with a cheery tune on the radio, felt his spirits float up, weightless as dandelion seeds in spring.
Night thickened as Victor drove through a small villagename half-forgottenilluminated only by the lorrys headlights sweeping across peeling paintwork and deserted bus stops. There, by the bus shelter, he saw the girl, hand raised timidly for a passing ride.
She hopped towards the lorry when he stopped, her breath turning to clouds in the chilly night.
Do you mind? she asked, shivering.
No trouble at all, hop in, Victor beckoned. Its latemust have been ages out here?
Yes, ages, she replied, and then, quite suddenly, broke into sobs, her words garbled and watery.
Victor, uncertain, asked quietly, Has something happened?
Between hiccuping breaths, the girl began her tale:
My name is Harriet. You know tonights Old Christmas Day, the old folks tradition. Got a long weekend ahead. Colleague from work invited me to her cottage in the next village for a little doChristmas leftovers, roast, mulled wine, the lot. Said her husband would be lighting the barbecue, and to ring when I got off the bus, shed trot down to the stopits right by the old corner shop.
Harriet caught her breath, words slipping and sliding. I was glad to accept; only last week my boyfriend and I split up. Didnt fancy moping at home.
So, I got on the bus supposed to go to Ashfield. Got off, called her like shed asked. She said, Pop into the shop, Ill be five minutes. Looked aroundthe place might as well have been the end of the world. Village a ways off, the street swallowed by hedges.
And then, when I glanced at the bus as it drove away, I saw the signKingswell. Wrong village entirely. Ashfields out the other direction. But by the time I realised, the bus rolled off into the darkness I called after it, but he didnt hear. And then, two hours later, realised it was the last bus for the night.
Barely a car in sight, nothing going to the city. I thought of walking to the village, but stayed, hoping for a kind soul to pass by.
Ive been here nearly three hours. If you hadnt come by, goodness knows what wouldve become of me. Thank you truly.
Victor smiled, saying lightly, Suppose we can drop the formalities now.
Harriet nodded, returned his smile, her mood brightening like the first rays of dawn.
Victor found himself drawn to Harrietopen face, lively eyes, not a hint of pretence. Clearly someone who could manage herself. He parked the lorry at a lay-by shaded by ancient yews.
Warmed up yet? Time to eat. My mums pasties are pure magic, potato and all.
They shared a supper between themHarriet produced a little parcel of cold meat, cheese, and a slab of dark chocolate from her bag.
Later, they arranged themselves to sleep: Harriet on the bunk above, Victor stretched out on the lorry seats. As the world faded and stars pressed close against the glass, Harriet’s voice drifted down.
Victor, are you married?
No, he replied softly.
How come?
Well, I only just met the girl whos caught my eye, but havent quite got around to telling her yet.
I see, came the reply, shy as a mouse.
Right. Best get some sleep, Victor said. Have to be up early to deliver the goods.
The rest of the journey passed in a blur, laughter and odd stories weaving through the cab. Harriet joked it was her first real adventure, that fortune or fate must have sent her the wrong way.
All through the return, Victors certainty grewthis was no accident, but the peculiar logic of dreams drawing her to him.
When they neared the city, golden dawn warming the rooftops, Victor asked for her number.
And this girl you like? Harriet teased, head tilted.
I meant you, Victor chuckled, cheeks flushed. Cant bear to let our strange meeting end here, not if you feel the same.
I do, Harriet said, eyes bright. Havent met a truer gentleman in ages. Would be a shame to let him slip away.
In April, Victor and Harriet wed under the apple blossoms. Sometimes, when people ask how it happened, they only laugh and saywell, the oddest dreams are sometimes the ones that come true.
