Always: You'll Never Walk Alone by Keith Whiting

as far as Guildford, where we’d stop for the night. He said he’d been driving coaches for forty-five years and had travelled across all of England. His weather beaten face was testament to his years on the roads and as we continued along the road he told me stories of his travels and adventures, of being held up by highwaymen and of being stuck in mud and staying out all night waiting for someone to come and help him out. He’d been married once but his wife never got used to him being away so much, and he hadn’t seen her in forty years or more. As he continued with his stories the sun sank down behind the hills and as its last rays disappeared the temperature quickly dropped. Jim reached down behind me and pulled a heavy blanket out, telling me to wrap it around myself. He pulled his heavy coat over his shoulders. The horses were getting tired, but as we reached the outskirts of Guildford they picked up their pace, knowing they would soon be home for the night.
    “’Nother half-hour and we’ll be there, and not a moment too soon. By the look of that sky we could be in for more snow tonight.” Jim was scanning the sky like an old man of the sea. As if reading my thoughts he started talking, and at first I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or just to himself. “I thought about going to sea when I was a boy of about your age. I would like to have seen foreign lands, but it’s a hard life and I’d heard tales of floggings and scurvy and such. So I decided to see England instead. It hasn’t always been an easy life, and there’ve been times with the snow in my face and the wind howling around my head that I’d have given anything to be somewhere else, but I can’t complain and lookin’ back, it’s been a good life.”
    It sounded like he was expecting his life to end and I looked up at him wondering if he had some premonition, but he just kept staring straight ahead scanning the sky as the first snowflakes fell.
    By the time we reached the coach stop we were in a full-blown snowstorm. I helped Jim unharness the horses and lead them into the warmth of the stable. He gave them their feed, brushed them down, spoke to them both softly and made sure they were comfortable before clapping me on the shoulder and leading me into the hotel.
    There was no sign of Mr. Mortimer or the Chisholms, so presumably they’d gone to their rooms. The innkeeper welcomed Jim like an old friend and I realized that after all the years of driving he probably had these friends all across the country.
    “This is my friend Stephen. He’s been keeping me company on the drive from London. Stephen, this old highwayman is Black Bob. Make sure you hold on tightly to your money or he’ll have it off you before you know you even had it.”
    Bob smiled and put out his hand. “Nice to meet you Stephen, take no notice of this old fraud. He’s getting so old he doesn’t know what he’s saying or where he’s going half the time. If you want to get to Cornwall, I suggest you stay up front with him while he’s driving or he’s likely to forget where he’s going and you’ll end up in Sheffield or worse. It’s just lucky the horses like it here so much that they know their own way or you wouldn’t even have got this far.”
    “The only reason the horses like it is because they get better food than the customers. Talking of which how about serving us some dinner? It’s been a long cold drive and we’re so hungry even your food’ll taste good.”
    “Go sit down by the fire, I’ll get Jen to bring you something.”
    As we sat down, Mr. Mortimer and the Chisholms came down the stairs, took one look at us and sat as far away as possible. Jen came over and brought two big plates of stew. It smelled so good my mouth started to water and my stomach growled.
    “You are hungry.” She smiled and set the plates in front of us.
    We wolfed down the food without another word then washed it down with a couple of beers. Our hunger satisfied