“He needs to get to the hospital,” said the shivering woman by the roadside, clutching her child close.
The frosty morning air was sharp, the sky still pale and cold, the road glistening as if dusted with powdered sugar. There was something crisp and quiet about the hour, the kind of stillness that made the world feel slower, softer.
Alex Thompson, the bus driver, felt right at home behind the wheel. Twenty years on this routehe knew every bend, every pothole. It wasnt much, just a stretch of road between a little village and the nearest town, but to him, it was familiar as the back of his hand.
Today, the bus was quiet. A couple of students sat in the back, lost in their headphones. An elderly man flipped through a newspaper, adjusting his glasses every so often. A young couple dozed near the front, bundled in thick coats. The bus rolled smoothly, barely rocking on the turns, the heater humming softly.
Then, on the next bend, something caught Alexs eye.
A woman stood at the roadside. She wasnt waving or signalling for helpjust standing there, rigid. She wore a thin coat, clearly no match for the cold, and in her arms, she held something wrapped tight. At first glance, he thought it was a bundle of clothes. Then, as the bus drew closer, he saw the childpale, too still.
“Blimey,” Alex muttered under his breath, slowing down. He rolled down the window. “You alright, love?”
The woman hesitated, as if surprised to be noticed. She stepped closer, eyes downcast. “II need a lift,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“A lift? In this weather?” He almost laughed. Who waited out in the cold like this? But something in her expression stopped him.
“Theres a bus service, you know,” he said. “No need to freeze.”
She shook her head slightly. “My boys poorly. Got worse last night. Ive no money for a taxi, and the buses dont run early enough.”
Alex glanced at the child. Too pale, too quiet.
Without another word, he waved her in. “Hop on. No sense waiting around.”
She climbed aboard carefully, holding the boy close. The warmth of the bus must have been a reliefher coat was rimed with frost. She murmured a quiet thanks, settling near the heater.
The other passengers glanced at her, then away. No one spoke. No one asked why she was out here, why she hadnt called for help. Londoners knew when to mind their own business.
After a moment, she turned to Alex. “Im Emily. Thank you. I didnt know what else to do.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “Dont fret. Just focus on getting him seen to.”
She swallowed hard, watching her sons shallow breaths. She didnt need to say moreAlex could piece it together. Single mum, no family nearby, scraping by. Hed seen it before.
The journey to the hospital felt endless. Every minute stretched. When they finally pulled up, Alex stopped right at the entrance.
“Go on. Ill wait,” he said.
Emily blinked. “Youyoull wait?”
He gave her a small, steady smile. “Where else would I go?”
The other passengers filed out without complaint, some heading for a cuppa, others just stamping their feet against the cold. No one minded the delay.
Alex stayed in the bus, sipping strong tea from his thermos, remembering a time years ago when hed been the one desperate for help. A stranger had driven him and his wife through a snowstorm to the hospital. Some debts, he figured, you paid forward.
An hour and a half later, Emily reappeared, her son swaddled in his blanket, but her shoulders lighter.
“All sorted?” Alex asked.
She nodded. “They gave him medicine. Hell be alright.”
Alex exhaled. “Good. Now lets get you home.”
She started to protest, but he cut her off. “No arguments. Bus is going back empty anyway.”
The return journey was quiet. The boy dozed, then woke, peering at Alex with wary eyes.
“You alright, mate?” Alex asked.
The boy buried his face in his mothers coat.
Emily smiled faintly. “Hes shy.”
She talked on the way backabout raising a child alone, about the village with no proper chemist, how hard it was to get help at night. Alex listened. Sometimes, that was all people needed.
When they reached her stop, she turned to him. “Thank you. I dont know how to repay you.”
Alex shook his head. “Just take care of the little one.”
A few months later, on the same route, he saw her again. This time, she stepped onto the bus with a small bag.
“For you,” she said, handing it over. “Fresh eggs, milkfrom our garden.”
Alex tried to wave it off, but she insisted. “You helped us. Let me do this.”
The boy, peeking out from behind her, whispered, “Thank you, mister.”
Alex grinned. That was payment enough.
As the bus pulled away, he felt lighter. Good deeds had a way of coming backeven when you least expected it.
