Then the bus pulled up, the woman boarded, and the scent of mint faded back to diesel. Roy Stuart stood a moment longer, then smiled—a real smile, the first in years—and walked on.
The woman was hunched on a bus-stop bench, wrestling a stubborn pram wheel. She had the same small, bird-like bones, the same way of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a huff of frustration. For ten seconds, time stopped. roy stuart glimpse 10
It was the scent that stopped Roy Stuart mid-stride on the rain-slicked London pavement. Not the usual city brew of diesel and damp concrete, but something greener—wild mint and rain-soaked ferns, a ghost of the Derbyshire hills he’d left twenty years ago. Then the bus pulled up, the woman boarded,