THE NIGHT VISITOR
She hurried along, her heels clicking against the deserted pavement. Above, the moon leered down, smug and bright. The city melted into the night haze, its buildings occasionally caught in the cold, haughty glow of the streetlamps. Here and there, the lights clawed back patches of the street from the darkness. Windows glinted like spectacles perched on the faces of the houses.
Up ahead, a tram blazed like a Christmas tree, rattled around a bend, and vanished into the night, dissolving like a spectre. The tapping of her heels quickened, fracturing against the walls. Noshe had missed the last tram. The moon snickered overhead.
She had stayed late at her friends, then stubbornly refused an escort, certain the tram would come. Now her steps slowed, then stopped. Exhausted, she sank onto a bench and wept in frustration. Suddenly, brakes screeched, and a voice from the car sang out, drawling, “Fancy a ride?” She shrank back, wishing to disappear. Adventure was the last thing she wantedhome was all she longed for. A man leaned out. “Dont be afraid. Ill take you wherever you need.” The passenger door swung open, and she hesitantly slipped inside.
The leather seat cradled her, warm and welcoming, scented with something indefinably pleasant. On the back seat, a child slept curled against a massive dog, whose hot breath stirred the curls at her neck. She froze. The man chuckled. “Dont worryAlmas gentle as a lamb. Wont harm a soul.”
“William,” he introduced himself, offering a hand. She forced out, “Eleanor Whitmore.” He burst out laughing. “Whitmore? Youre far too young for such a name.” In the rearview mirror, she caught her own reflectiona frightened face smudged with mascara, lit by the dashboard. Hardly recognising herself, she muttered, “Thats a matter of opinion.”
“Schoolteacher, then?” he guessed. She stayed silent, lost in thought. “Were out late too,” he offered. Gradually, her fear ebbed. An odd familiarity settled over her, as if theyd known each other for years. William handed her a handkerchief. Peering into her phone, she wiped away the smudges and smiled gratefully. He appraised her. “Youre quite lovely, you know.” The compliment lifted her spirits. They joked and laughed, while Alma gave a soft, admonishing barkquiet now, youll wake the boy.
Then the car turned down a dark alley. Her heart lurched. “Just popping into the chemist,” William explained, seeing her tense. “Promised my mother her medicine. No time later.”
It was long past midnight, and tomorrowor rather, todaywas her day off. No one waited for Eleanor at home except a stack of schoolbooks, so they drove through the sleeping city, the car slicing through the night like a phantom. Eventually, William invited her back to his. She wasnt surprised.
His flat was on the seventh floor. He carried his sleeping son gently. In the dim lift light, they stole glances at each other, then laughed like mischievous children. William was tall and broad-shouldered, his sun-kissed skin accentuated by fair hair. Even in heels, Eleanor stood half a head shorter.
The flat was immaculate, every item in its placea home kept with care. William tucked his son into bed; Alma settled on the floor beside him. They drank tea, listened to classical music, their tastes perfectly aligned. Strange, how at ease she felt in a strangers home so late at night. That earlier sensation returnedas if theyd always been family, and little Oliver her own.
In the kitchen, they spoke softly over wine. William grew wistful, confessing his wife had passed three years agoa difficult birth. Shed insisted the doctors save their long-awaited firstborn. His mother helped raise Oliver now, stepping in when work kept him late.
He asked Eleanor to stay till morning. She agreed, whether from the wine or some deeper pull, she couldnt say.
Dawn found her asleep in his bed. A tiny whisper roused her. “Mummy,” the boy practised, patting her cheek. Alma lay heavily across her feet. Tears welled as Eleanor clutched him. “Mine,” she murmured. William edged in with a steaming breakfast tray. “Getting along, I see,” he grinned. Then, abruptly: “Marry me.”
The words stunned her. “You dont even know me,” she said weakly.
“I know enough. Lifes longwell learn the rest. Oliver and Alma have chosen you. Youll be a wonderful mother.”
Outside, the first pink rays crept through the curtains. Eleanor lay with closed eyes, replaying the strange dream: wandering a city that sought to swallow her, saved by a stranger whod asked for her hand.
She blinked sleepily. Beside her, her husband William dozed, their son Oliver nestled between them. Almas weight pinned her feet. The dog cracked one eye, yawned, and slumped back into sleep. The alarm was hours away. Eleanor began planning her next lesson, then drifted off as the sun chased the last shadows away. High above, the moon winked down at her dreams.
