I turned away from the grave with tears pouring down my face. My best buddy Ken put an arm round my shoulders and handed me his, thankfully clean, handkerchief. Whomever it was that said men didn't cry was entirely wrong in my case. I teared up at emotional stories. And now I was weeping for my loss. We'd been married for nearly forty years and best of friends. It was doubly hard, because we'd planned a very special fortieth celebration, and I had to cancel. It wasn't that I minded missing it. I minded missing it with her.
Life goes on. I went back to work. I was lucky to have a part time job I loved. I rattled around in the house a bit. It crossed my mind to sell it and move, but was conscious of the received wisdom not to make changes too soon. Most of all, I was lonely in the house.
The life insurance meant that the house was paid for with a substantial sum besides. I'd given away a tithe of it (ten percent), something we'd always done. Some of it went to a charity we'd supported for years that is run by a good friend in a town quite a way from us. It is a town centre coffee shop for mothers and pre-school children. It's deliberately in the bad end of town, and serves not only proper coffee shop coffee, but also dirt cheap instant, as it's aimed at destitute mothers. You probably wouldn't believe some of the things our friend told us. Mums come in and when she asks whether they'd like a drink, they refuse, as otherwise they wouldn't have enough money for food for their evening meal, And in the winter, several of them come in as soon as the coffee shop opens, and leave when it closes so that they're not at home in the cold -- heating's too expensive.
Why have I told you all this? Well, it explains what happened to me about six months later. I was driving home from the airport late after a long business trip. It was a bitter evening, and I had the heater turned right up. As I drove past a bus stop, I saw this dejected looking figure hunched up on the seat with bags at their feet. I'm ashamed to say that I drove on. Well, you know what they say about picking up strangers. But things started bothering me. First I realised that the figure I had seen must be frozen stiff -- no coat. Then I realised that there were no more buses that evening. Then those coffee shop mothers flitted through my brain.
I swore, and turned round. What was the point in supporting my friend's charity helping people in a town far away if I wasn't prepared to put myself out for local people? As I drove back, I was turning over in my mind the best approach. I knew it would be kind of scary to be approached in the dark by a stranger.
I drew up before the bus stop, figuring that it was less intimidating if the car was a way away. As I walked towards the figure, I could see that my approach was causing a certain amount of tension, but the figure remained hunched up. Nearer, I could see long dark hair -- not necessarily female, but likely.
"Excuse me." I stopped several feet away to try to reduce the tension.
"It's OK. I'll move on."
The voice was despairing, and female. I wasn't trying to move her on. She started to get up, and I was shocked and suddenly aware of why she was hunched. She was trying to protect a baby from the cold. Her coat swaddled the baby, and she was shivering.
"Excuse me, miss. I'm not trying to move you on. I'm offering help."
She snorted. "I don't need your kind of help."
I was at a complete loss to understand what she meant. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm not a prostitute. Please leave me and my baby alone." She whispered.
I was shocked. It hadn't even entered my mind that she might think that. "I ... I ... I didn't mean to upset you. I ... well I just wondered if you needed a lift, as there aren't any more buses tonight." I stuttered. "I couldn't leave you out in the cold with no coat." I could see that I'd surprised her.
"Listen, I've got a blanket in the car. If I can't help you in any other way, at least let me give you that."
"You'd give me that?"
"Of course I would. Then at least you'd have a chance to survive and look after your baby."
Very tentatively she asked, "What else would you do if I was prepared to accept your help?"
"Well, I could take you somewhere to find shelter. Or you could use one of my spare rooms and I'd make a hot meal for you."
She blinked at me. "What are you? Some sort of angel?"
"No, just a lonely old man who lives in a big house and wants to help someone in need rather than just driving by."
"I can't believe you're for real, but I'm so fucked that I'm prepared to give it a chance."
I was slightly offended by the swearing, but given her apparent situation, she was right. She got up slowly, and I reached to steady her as she almost fell. Her arm was so cold, I thought she must be numb.
"Let's get you and the baby into the warm car, and I'll come back for the bags."
She really was numb with cold, and I virtually carried her to the car, settling her in the back with her baby. When I came back with her bags, she was shaking so badly her teeth were chattering as the heat warmed some of the numbness.
"Hold on sweetheart, we'll be there in ten minutes." I was appalled, and wondered what had led up to her attempting to find shelter for the night at a bus stop. I was so glad that I'd stopped. I wasn't sure if she'd have survived the night.
When we got home, I carried her bags and my bag in first then, after I'd turned on a few lights and the fire in the sitting room, went back to help her in. I settled her in front of the fire and got my first look at my impulse guest. She was pale, very pale, from the cold, with hectic spots on her cheeks where the car heater had started making an impression. Her hair was lank, she had dark circles under her eyes and looked incredibly vulnerable. It was obvious that she hadn't been able to wash for a few days. There were smudges of dirt on her face and hands, and her clothes were rumpled. But under all that she was obviously a lovely young woman. Fine bone structure, slim figure, although too slim at the moment, and incredibly petite. Suddenly I understood why she had suspected me of hitting on her. With those looks, she'd probably got nothing but. Suddenly I was ashamed of my fellow man. A steely determination built in my heart to help this overburdened soul reclaim her life.
First we saw to the baby's needs. As we went on, I took note of what she might need so that I could buy it when I visited the store tomorrow. Two nappies left. Wipes. Formula milk (I had to get a bit of paper then to note the brand surreptitiously in the kitchen). I wondered why she paid for formula rather than feeding herself. A few moments later I smacked my forehead in stupidity. Of course she couldn't feed the baby -- she wasn't getting enough to eat and drink herself. She had precious few clothes for the baby, so I resolved to buy at least one item until such time as I could persuade her to come with me and choose what she wanted. I also noticed that most of her bags were things for the baby. Virtually nothing for herself.
I didn't have much in the house, having been away, but I did have eggs and cheese. I went back into the sitting room to ask if that would be OK for her, and stopped short with my cheeks flaming. She obviously fed the baby as much as she was able and used formula to supplement her meagre supply. Clever girl. My reddened cheeks came as a result of her baby latched onto the most perfect swell of B-cup I had ever seen in my life. I immediately turned and quietly went back to the kitchen.
