listerwrites

The death of a king

Death was always seen as a women, they bring life into the world, it should only stand to reason that they should be the ones to collect life when it has run its course.

This is a scene that is part of something bigger. In theory it is the start of it, and thinking about all the mistakes writers do (so many blogs on this topic!), making it the beginning makes sense, to paraphrase the advice many have said, ‘start with the action… not describing a person’s day’.

So here is a scene where the passing on stability leads into what to do next?

Just to help make it make sense, the title ‘Utwelda’, roughly translates to King of Kings. It is meant to symbolise the unifying person who have had oaths of loyalty to from the different kingdoms of man.

As always, hope you enjoy and please share any comments.

—The Death of a King—

The clouds gathered around the tops of the mountains, slowly they marched down the slopping sides. An old saying is ‘a battle will come to end when one side has lost their troops’. It is not a very good saying, but as no one is able to show any reason why it is not true, it has stuck around. However, it is the battle with the weather that came to the mind of the dying Utwelda. He has seen armies rise, troops come at him with sword, axe and hammer with all failing. He was still there, breathing. Just.

Around him stood the myriad of people he had known for many years. Some were his close true friends, some were his council from the Kingdoms who advised him and others were those waiting to see who would respond but also felt a sense of duty to be there. The chill in the room was held a bay with the layers of animal furs helping to keep the Utwelda warm. By his side where his children and wife. His wife, who had long brown hair tied behind her, sat holding his hand. Her clothes were made of browns and yellows showing her modest side that had been with her all her life, all except for her necklace. This was a gift form her husband and the bright colours stood out as it hung in the air from her neck. With each breath the Utwelda took she held his hand, remembering how he had united the human Kingdom, but still had time to teach their children to ride a horse, drive a cart and wield the weapon of their choice.

They would never be able to marry someone who might be Utwelda, a blessing and a curse of being their fathers children, but one that had stopped any one family taking control of the Kingdoms of men should they be united. A decision their husbands took to not allow power to be within on family. But they were ready, they had been brought up to be in a world without their father should he have fallen in battle. But now, he was slipping away on a cold night to age.

The clouds, like the true enemy to life, continued its march down the hills. She was on her way. Death was always seen as a women, they bring life into the world, it should only stand to reason that they should be the ones to collect life when it has run its course. Men, end life early, often in battle but it is often seen as man’s duty to protect life but in doing so, often seen to end it before She can come to collect her children.

As the Utwelda managed to open his eyes he could see his wife and children there with those behind a blur. Those closest to him smiling and holding back tears. He had lived a long life. The goblin horde had been kept at bay when the winter pass opened across the sea. He held his wife’s hand, and with just his eyes managed to say how much he loved her, how proud he was to be able to be her husband and how happy he was to be there with her through it all.

To others he was the Utwelda, but to his wife, he was hers, no title was needed nor did a title change how they were with each other. Equal partners together. Slowly, she bent down and whispered into his eye, ‘You have one rule remember’.

The Utwelda coughed and the sign of yet more blood was quickly whipped away by the First Chamber Guard. Ever faithful soldiers who swore protection to the crown. They had stood watch for their King, and stayed when he was crowned Utwelda. They knew they would soon perform their last vigil together and it would be an honour so few had seen. How often do kings survive to see Her come to collect him? But those thoughts were for another day, another time.

‘Your one rule, in all of this’, the Queen continued to whisper just light enough so only he could hear. ‘You were not to die on me’.

The silence of the room broke as the Utwelda began to laugh, his body heaved with all the energy he had left. His smile came bright as so many had seen before. He looked at his wife in the eye and, unable to speak, gripped her hand.

Later She came to take the Utwelda away. The room filed out slowly as the physician checked for any final signs of life. Soon only the family and the Chamber Guard remained. Outside those who had been called to prepare to look after his body for the funeral waited for the family to leave.

However, for those who filed out to share the news of his passing, to begin each Kingdoms remembrance traditions, thoughts about who would, or who could, replace the Utwelda rose quickly. Some considering if one would even be needed if the period of peace within the Kingdoms of men was secure.

Eggs

Halvor couldn’t sleep. He knew that today was the day that the local shop would be getting the latest edition of The Loyal Citizen and he didn’t want to have to wait for the second delivery in the middle of the week.

This story was inspired when I was walking home after getting the paper from the local shop where my parents live. This is a lovely quiet area in North Yorkshire and the atmosphere seemed to make this idea jump out (Not sure this is a good thing though).

Hope you enjoy.

—//—

Each white picket fence around the cul-de-sac had the morning newspaper placed in the middle of its gate. All were freshly painted from the previous weekend as the neighbours came out to paint them on the relaxing sunny day. Group activities always helped to build a community within the cul-de-sacs, the young and old, all took part and congratulated each other on a job well done when complete. Today saw how the sun rise above number 3, bathing the houses in a warm glow for the day ahead.

Erik was collecting the paper for his father as 3 cars drove into the street and parked around the car already there by number 7. People in light grey suits got out to open the doors as the Trygg family appeared from the house with their bags. Erik naturally waved across the street as Sten, his father, briskly walked out to bring him back in with the paper. He calmly waved, greeted everyone a ‘Good morning’ but swiftly turned to walk back inside.

Once inside Erik looked up to his father with a smile. After the door had closed Sten looks down to his son, his young eyes beaming back to his, and spoke clearly. ‘It seems that the Trygg’s have been rewarded with a new house. I hope they enjoy their bigger garden and new community. Now let’s get ready for our day ahead so we can go get your comic, sorry, graphic novel, and have a nice day in the park’.

Outside, with the bags packed, 3 cars quietly pulled away. A remaining member of the group locked the house, closed the gate and got into the car which then droves off. Leaving the quiet cul-de-sac with the freshly painted fences and the newspapers in the middle of each gate.

——

Halvor couldn’t sleep. He knew that today was the day that the local shop would be getting the latest edition of The Loyal Citizen and he didn’t want to have to wait for the second delivery in the middle of the week. This would mean trying to avoid all his friends, who will no doubt have read it and want to discuss it in school on Monday. He also knew that he would not be able to get out to the shop when it opens if he didn’t do all his tasks first. Maybe, with a few extra tasks complete, he would be able to have enough money to buy some sweets.

As he walked outside he pondered an odd tradition in the cul-de-sac. No one wanted to be the last house to collect their paper, but to be first was looked equally frowned upon. Today, Halvor didn’t care. He was going to get each of his tasks done before his parents even got up to make breakfast. He had thought he heard his mother moving around at one point, but their door never opened so quietly continued.

As he skipped out of the front door to collect the paper, he was expecting a quiet, empty road in front of him with the newspapers sitting in the middle of their gate. Halvor had never seen who delivered them, but they were always there when people woke up in the morning. Today this was not the scene. Well it was, but there was something new.

In front of him was a cattle lorry. It was large, black and resembled his sports shirt after playing all afternoon on a muddy day. He was amazed that it was still able to be let out in public as his mother had always sent him straight to the bath when he got home from sports. Once, he was even threatened with being hosed in the back garden to save the carpet but, as he had stopped 3 goals that day, he was carried upstairs by his father like a champion. It was as he was looking at the muddy streaks he realised the two drivers hadn’t seen him while they were talking about how to reverse back to the main road. Then they noticed Halvor, standing there, and froze.

Gleefully he called out, ‘Good morning, are you lost?’

The two drivers stood and didn’t respond.

Halvor couldn’t tell what exactly happened next, but he did know three things happened pretty quickly.

From behind his mother, Thyra, appeared out of the door and heaved him back into the house. Halvor himself was pleased that he was able to hold on to the paper and hand it carefully over to his mother once they were inside. She simply looked down at the paper while Halvor walked off to find his next task, placing his shoes on the rack to keep the hallway tidy.

At the same time a black car appeared from around the corner and 3 light grey suits appeared, they seemed to quickly organised the cattle lorry to support it being driven away.

The final thing that he noticed was how the cattle had begun to wake up and started moving around inside. This created an awful noise for the early morning and Halvor wondered if anyone else in the cul-de-sac was woken up by the beasts.

Inside, Halvor had started to set the table for breakfast. As he placed the final fork his father, Ivar, and his mother entered the kitchen and saw Halvor standing proud of what he accomplished so early in the day. So many morning tasks complete and breakfast wasn’t even started yet.

‘I think it’s time we get our new eggs open’. Thyra glided across the kitchen patting her son on the shoulder. ‘After all, we need to reward the hard worker who started the moment the sun was up.’ Slowly she started breaking and beating the eggs together in a bowl while trying to whistle her favourite tune.

Normally an eggy breakfast was reserved for someone’s birthday or a national holiday, he read this as a clear sign that he was impressing his parents with all his hard work.

Before the pan could be started there was a knock at the door. Ivar calmly paused his son from running to open it and went to find out who it was. It was not long until Halvor was called to the hallway by his father where he was met with two people in the same light grey suits as those he caught a glimpse of before. Ivar guided them all to the front sitting room where his father proudly showed guests he wanted to impress. There were family photos, prizes and certificates on show that they had all won over many years. It was only ever used for guest and if Halvor was ever found playing in there he would be given specific tasks to remind him not to be there.

Halvor had noticed no one seemed to go to open the curtains. He was called over to the sofa next to where the two guests sat in the single seats looking at him carefully. It was odd, but they were apologising to him for the inconvenience caused by the cattle truck, but all Halvor could think of was to ask if they wanted any help in cleaning it. He explained how he was recently given the task of keeping his father’s car clean and wanting to get the practice of washing other vehicles too.

It seemed the only thing that would stop him from offering the different levels of cleaning and waxing he had learnt about was his father to promise that as he had been so helpful, they would go to get his ‘comic’ once the local shop opened. This made Halvor stop talking straight away.

The light grey suit with the notebook paused. Their voice was calm and warm to Halvor as she queried, ‘Do you have a favourite character in The Loyal Citizen?’.

Halvor had never really heard of an adult wanting to discuss his favourite graphic novel. But the other suit seemed to stop the conversation before he could go on about how he loved the recent developments and how the main character had to make a choice about their two best friends. The light grey suit simply asked if he was ok after seeing such a large cattle truck in his quiet cul-de-sac.

Halvor eagerly explained what he saw, how the two drivers seemed to have taken a wrong turn, the beasts inside were sleeping when he walked out but started to wake when his mother pulled him inside. He also apologised that he was not able to help more and give directions but he was proud that he kept hold of the newspaper as it didn’t get dirty or crumpled. He then began to list the tasks he completed in the house but he was stopped short. They only seemed interested in the disturbance outside.

With a side glance between the two suits, they rose. They shook Ivar’s hand and congratulated him on his house and the one with the notebook bent down to shake Halvor’s hand as well, thanking him for his continued effort to make his parents proud.

Outside, Thyra was in the corridor waiting to see what was happening, attempting to dust an already clean corridor when the door opened. The leading suit greeted her, repeated the congratulations on a tidy and organised home. Along with praise for a helpful and responsible son. As they shook hands the suit leaned in and wished her luck for making her eggy breakfast. Commenting ‘It is always good to reward those who have worked hard the moment the sun was up. Have a good day Mrs Trygg.’

Thyra smiled as she opened the front door to bid farewell to their guests and wished them a good day.

As the door closed Halvor was looking up at his mother. ‘Mum, there is something I don’t understand.’

Thyra paused and looked back at her son who was lingering in the kitchen doorway. His puzzled face staring back at her.

‘Mother, if that was a cattle lorry, why did I see some human hands appear from the truck?’.

Thyra paused in the hallway, standing there looking at her sons inquisitive face. Slowly she breathes in. Then out. His eyes beam up at her wondering why his mother is looking at him and wondering why his father behind her has a similar stunned face. He then notices his mothers hand begin to shake.

It was at this point a shadow fills the glass in the door, then a second, and then a third. Finally three knocks follow as a fist hits the door.

—//—

The Bus driver. Part 7.

The passage of time. Some authors are able to make a second last for pages, while others can move hundreds of years in a sentence. Today is my attempt at moving through a day without having to make it a step by step, hour by hour run through.

—The start of school—

When Andy was younger he decided that he would take the stance to not like net curtains, especially in the kitchen. They didn’t appear to do anything and would get in the way of having different things on the windowsill.

It didn’t take long for him to realise he actually liked the sun coming in through the patterned nets. They seemed to stop the bright sun coming into the kitchen in the morning during summer but did allow enough light to come in throughout the year. This didn’t change his mind on finding them being annoying at moving them during the day or limiting what he can have on the windowsill, so it was this small thing that stopped him admitting defeat to his dear wife. He would neglect to mention what he did like about them as, an idea they both shared, letting the other know they were right will only encourage them in the future. An idea he knew Agatha also shared and it was this that kept them on their toes with each other, while also being happy about it as he knew, that they both knew, when they had each won a small victory.

So it was today that he found himself looking at the patterns on the wall while considering what tea to get out while the fake bacon warmed on the pan. They had chosen a new set when they moved, this in turn required a discussion about the colours and size. Andy remembered the days of discussions and patterns they had, how their granddaughter came to help them make the final decision. Andy wanted to have a tree pattern with greens mixed in but, as was often the way, he was out voted to get the birds. Their granddaughter was right, as usual, and he stood there that morning looking at the patterns float on the walls with the morning breeze through the window. For a moment he remembered that day with a mix of emotions.

Before they could take over he jolted back into his morning question with the bathroom door closing firmly upstairs, not slammed though. He looked down at the drawer of tea. Black tea. Green tea. Herbal tea. Oolong tea. A wide variety of boxes had been piled into it and he wondered what some of the flavours even meant. But then he found what he needed. Mint tea. The box was bought a few months ago and was nearly empty. He had hoped he never needed to buy more but this morning, better to be safe to use the mint and risk it with the lemon.

The stairs were soft when Agatha descended for breakfast, Andy had all the pieces in place and was ready with his usual smile and, for once, had chosen to clean himself up for breakfast. The past month had flown by with the ease of the bus being used by a range of people, but today was to be different. The children of the area were to be using it and this was an unknown. Agatha didn’t do unknowns. She had spent a career trying to find out what was wrong and solving it. When an unknown was there her career had been to find the answer. This time, there was no one she could ask, no one who could tell her what to expect when they arrived. Andy could tell she slept badly by the bathroom light being turned on, at least, 3 times, while also being kicked, moved and prodded throughout the night.

When she walked in and smelt the tea from the door way she looked straight at him. ‘I am not that bad! I had a slightly unsettled night’s sleep that is all.’

‘Tell that to my left leg without looking out the window.’

Ignoring this, Agatha tucked into her sandwich and drank her tea, pausing slightly to breath it in but not allowing Andy to see how much she didn’t realise how nervous she was.

After a quiet breakfast she collected herself to be ready, kissed her faithful partner on his balding head, and set off to be at the bus ready for whatever the day brought. Albeit with an extra bag of sweets in her bag.

Strangely, Del was not found not in the bus as he normally was but in the office with Tom. As Agatha collected the float for the day she could see through the door they were having a heated discussion but the door muffled their voices so couldn’t tell what about without making it obvious she was listening. The tea station sat too tempting and so a quick cuppa was made to pass the time while she watched the clock tick closer to the time they had to leave.

Betsy, as Del often called their bus, had been left running in the in their space and so instead of awkwardly waiting, Agatha chose to sit in her seat and prepare for the day ahead. The change was ready, tickets in the right pocket and her normal routine for the day was complete. All except her ‘Good morning’ to Del followed by a usual grunt or similar expression.

With 2 minutes to spare, Del appeared. It was clear that there was to be no chit chat today and Agatha was starting to wonder if she should have brought her mint tea with her in a flask. But with the movement of the gear stick, Betsy pulled away and the day began. Albeit bumpier than normal.

—

What hurt more for Agatha was the complete lack of sympathy that was given to her when she got home that day.

In her mind, she would arrive, Andy would stop what he was doing, run a hot bath for her and sit on the seat in the bathroom and listen to how her day unfolded. Offer words of comfort and support while making her a nice drink to have while in the bath as the bubbles slowly burst with a scented candle flickering away in the corner filling the room with a nice aroma.

What actually happened was slightly different.

As she pulled into the drive of their home, she slowly got out of the car to be greeted with laughter from the fence. A job Andy had decided to start that day so to get a new coat of paint on in preparation for the autumn. Agatha trudged towards the door ignoring the not so quiet muffled giggle and comment about the lollipop stick that was dangling from her back. Comments about her new tail were not helpful as she tried to get the door open quickly which made it ‘wiggle’. The sight that met her when she looked in the mirror reminded her of each moment of her day.

Now the morning had started off well, children on the bus gave her hope for a good day ahead, new uniforms arrived, oversized blazers on the smaller ones with backpacks as big as those carrying them. However, the return journey did not go the same way. The signs were there, one student thought Agatha might be able to help them with their maths homework. On their third attempt to explain the question a smaller, if not younger, student jumped in with frustration to not only give the answer, but to also explain their workings. Later, she had at least 3 students cling to her in tears after their first day, this was how she suspected the lollipop for stuck to her. As Agatha attempted to remove it she was not convinced the students were really upset as they also seemed to get over their day so quickly.

Then came the older ones who had been to get coffee and other large drinks from the new shop that had opened up over the summer. With Betsy being driven rougher than normal, and teenagers not paying attention, at least 2 of these where thrown over her while one of the group bumped into her and landed on her foot. Breaking the small heal her left foot had while, she suspected, bruising at least one of her toes.

To end the day properly, one of the pots holes in the bus yard had filled with water after one had been washed which, naturally, covered her from behind when a bus drove in after she had ended her day. Del seemed to not try for any comments after this, but did appear to hand her a towel before she drove off quickly to the road to get home. Somehow she felt that the day had brought them a step closer and calmed him down from whatever had upset in in the morning. But, despite this, she had no inkling to explore this with wet clothes on.

It was after she reviewed her day through the mirror that Andy appeared via the back door. Leaving his buddy boots in their usual place so not to make a mess, she could see him considering passing a comment that she do the same, but made the judgement that turning on the kettle was the wise choice.

Once the giggling had stopped, a cup of tea made, Andy did then run that bath Agatha had been wanting, but instead of sitting with her he set to cleaning her dress and mending her shoe. What he didn’t always do in conversation, he made up for in his own way. Hearing him set the washing machine going was still a sound that made the candle and bath have a way to end the day.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow will be smoother and easier with them.

The Bus Driver. Part 6.

I find I can have an idea for a story, often this comes in the form of an idea for how it may start. Then I get the ending come to mind in some way, and if I am able to get to my note pad I can write it down and map the beginning and ending out. But I always struggle to get the middle pieces, or at the least get the middle pieces to map together to join a story together.

So like always, this story is mapped with the beginning, and the end already done. The middle is actually mapped out with a timeline but the little details, the days and changes between events are still being formed. But part 6 is finally set.

—The end of Summer—

The daily routine of going to work on the weekday, having a shift pattern with the only driver who seemed to work weekdays and not weekends, along with the one who could get away with not having to wear the official shirt, all seemed to come easily for Agatha. Once she had washed the fish smell out of the ‘uniform’ that is.

After the first week Del’s daily motions conversation seemed to flow slightly easier, there were quiet moments along the route that Agatha realised there would be no point in trying to break. But the hand requesting sweets still came. With each request she felt the warmth of the man in the driver’s seat slowly grow. Progress is progress, no matter how small it may seem.

Throughout the summer, the different plans that fluttered around Agatha seemed to take a shape of their own. The garden quickly developed into a series of beds, however, Andy had appeared to limit the size of some of them as by the end of summer new shoots of grass could be seen appearing in the soil. Why, after so many years, he suddenly had decided to slow down his own plans for the garden and vegetable beds was a mystery to her. She did decide that not going to comment, as he may start to think about it and change his mind. The pub quiz team that they found were steadily in 3rd place each week. Despite Agatha making sure that the sports section was their strongest, they seemed to struggle on topics such as pop culture and current music trends. In her new working life, the music choice of Del didn’t appear to help in this, 80s classic rock and folk style rock music didn’t appear to come up in the quiz.

But Agatha smiled each morning when she left for work, so by the time summer came to an end her routine was safely set, she had quickly found that after working for a month through the summer that her place in her new home was becoming settled after the past troubled year.

To Andy, anyhow, this change over the last month was seen differently. The 3rd place in the pub quiz, after Agatha winning the sports round each week, meant that he was having to find his own round to step up to in order to support Agatha. Sitting quietly, enjoying the company and the local beer was not going to be enough as 3rd place, although respectable, was not good enough. What his specialty was to be he still did not know, but one day he would have to find his thing to be bring to the team. The grass shoots that were growing up came from multiple reasons. The first was the not so subtle consequence of seeing the eyes staring at the beds each evening when sharing a pot of tea, along with comments about how much food one pair of elderly people could eat in a year. This was coupled with the growing twinge in his back. This was actually aggravated more from his efforts to try to hide his discomfort as opposed to the original cause of it. But the big change that made all the comments, sneaking off to the garden centre and the seeing his wife go to work each day after retiring pale in comparison, was the morning he noticed she didn’t sit there for breakfast and breath in her tea. To many this would have gone unnoticed. But Andy saw.

It was a tradition that she started about 15 years before, a small querk of her routine that started after they had a difficult period, and it only came back during times of stress or when she was unsettled. It was one that Andy always looked out for and could judge how she was. After 2 and a half weeks of working on the bus, she woke up, ate her breakfast and simply drank her tea. That was the day he decided to grass over some of the beds, sit back and rest. It was also on that day, that evening in fact, he was found on the garden sofa, sleeping. But for the first time Agatha saw him not lying there to rest his back, conked out from a hard day in the garden, but to simply enjoy the sun in the garden with a good book and half a beer drank, well more like one quarter drank at best.

So it was a quiet summer evening, early September, Andy and Agatha sat there eating their dinner together while the news was on in the background summarising the global, national and sports news. It wasn’t until the local headlines came up that Agatha realised something was about to happen.

‘Thank you Jill, we were at a local primary today seeing how they are getting ready to welcome back all the students after their long summer tomorrow.’

Agatha dropped her fork and knife as she realised that the bus would suddenly be crowded in the morning and afternoon with all the local children. On mass. Without their parents keeping an eye on them. She was used to meeting troubled children in the past, but this was in small groups if not just one. Not tomorrow. Thankfully they generally had bus passes that Tom had set up to make it easier for the local children to prepay and not carry money around.

But come tomorrow, all the children would be out, the good ,and the bad.

Continue the story with Part 7.

The Bus Driver. Part 5.

Attempting to bring in some of the different characters here and explore Agatha. This is my attempt to bring in some of the back story to her but not saying much at the same time. Who is this person and why has she taken this role? Hopefully the aim has come across.

—Toffee—

Today was a Wednesday. Agatha sat there at the dining room table with her cup of tea looking at the headlines of the paper, the spark was slowly going each day but it still gave the local news. The soft cushions Andy had added to the chairs didn’t distract her from noticing the developments in the garden, but the thought meant he would be given a day’s reprieve, for now. At least the sun seemed to bring hope to the day ahead as it bounced around the room, the cutlery shined, the picture frames reminded her of happy times and the breeze brought in the smell of cut grass with the summer weather.

‘How long you thinking of doing this job then as a bus conductor?’ Andy would appear to many to be showing support, but the tone resembled the same one that he used when Agatha had tried to take up growing flowers to sell online. 5 years, a lot of the garden taken over and a huge compost pile was the result. Some ideas just didn’t seem to get going after retirement. Something about this idea though was different, which unnerved Andy as he saw the look in her eye.

‘My new career will take as long as I am able’. The reply was as tart as the pie was for dinner the previous evening, but at least the pie had an ending. Andy wondered if this time it was worth trying to hide the new plants arriving at the door, 3 hours early, or just accept that today was not going to be his day.

The last thing he saw of his loving wife that morning was her trip to the door after the doorbell rang and the loud grab of her coat from the banister. He did feel bad, not only were the plants early, but the company sent all his orders in one go, sensible from their part, but having an already annoyed wife see 7 small conifers, 4 bushes, a flat pack table and chair set along with the assortment of flowers for 5 , albeit small, 5 different beds, all arrive at once and being unpacked onto their front lawn. It was going to be a long night after his long day.

He could understand why he was probably going to need to have a warm cup of tea constantly on the side with a new pack of éclairs on table just for the off chance she does come home that day.

Agatha left with thoughts of her husband disappearing for a discussion that would happen later as she pulled into the local shop for what was an undiscussed tradition. It Del would not really speak to her, then she would feed him her favourite sweets, while explaining why they were her favourite. All the ways she has found them across the country from different types of styles, sizes and combinations, to really show why she felt they would brighten up someone’s day.

Her arrival at the yard was much the same as yesterday. Although this time she made a comment on the fish smell to Tom and suggested that the uniform should be washed before given to new members of staff. His response, ‘Just make sure the pockets don’t shrink!’ seemed to suggest a different focus.

Never had Agatha ever met someone so obsessed about pockets. What difference would it make she began to wonder, however, she had a plan for the day and that mystery would have to wait.

Agatha strolled up to the bus, which, as the day before, was ready and the radio was on. The jeans were the same but to some surprise, the t-shirt was changed. Shortly after they pulled away, she turned to him to begin her plan for the day and began to share her sweets with him. This seemed to give no response apart from a hand appearing sometimes to collect a few more before pulling away for the next stop. Progress was progress, and it should never be ignored.

After some time, it was time for part 2 of her plan. ‘Del’, Agatha whispered, ‘how good are you at keeping secrets?’

To her surprise it was this comment that seemed to have broken the silence. Slightly hurt that he didn’t seem interested in the way people make toffee on the coast of Cornwall but pleased to have some when she first arrived at the bus. ‘Secrets are best kept if people don’t share them’. It may not have been words to write home about, but it was only 10.30am, already better than yesterday.

‘Well’, she continued, choosing to ignore the implied I don’t care in his tone. ‘I am starting to think that Tom has a point about the pockets. Once you get used to where each coin goes it is quite a good little system to keep order.’

The pause seemed to stretch as far as the last 3% on a phone battery. Agatha became increasingly aware that the bus pulled into the next stop in the usual ease and nothing was changing.

‘Tom has always liked order.’ To her surprise Del was now sitting facing her, eye to eye with a sense of warmth to his look. It was clear that Del took pride in describing Tom. ‘He has always liked to make things work, to add up. Don’t get me wrong, the guy is a complete nerd. No seriously, he collects figures, paints them and sets them out on display set distances apart. If you move one he won’t speak to you for a week.’

Del continued air of mischief, ‘if you really want to see him lose it, move 3 of them and turn one of those 3 around 45 degrees. However, because he can’t do things as odds, he will search until he has found a 4^th that is out of place. Which there won’t be’. Del sat back ready to pull away from the bus stop as the new passengers joined the bus. His smile seemed to show he had done this, more than once, and the response had never failed to impress him.

Agatha sat there, intrigued at what she had heard, she couldn’t work out if she was more shocked by the prankster Del had shown himself to be, that fact Tom was a collector as obsessed as her own brother, or that Del was talking. Either way she enjoyed the brief moment until he turned back to driving the bus and left her sat there on the front seat seeing the husk of a driver with all the mischief and joy drained away.

The new passengers were Jo and Tracy. Friends who appeared to have a very different dress sense to each other but were chatting the day away. It was again that Tom’s system seemed to work as the change came in and out so quickly.

The day continued much the same as the day before. Although, lunch was different. Yesterday, Del had driven back to the bus station and sat on the bus on his own. Today he found a spot by the local hills looking out. There was a quiet stream trickling past and a bench sat where the stream meandered round a boulder. Del sat there eating his sandwich without saying a word. Looking out to the view as the time ticked by. His thoughts looked out to the horizon, almost past what was there.

Agatha sat on the seat. For the first time since joining the bus she didn’t try to speak. With the sun high in the sky the water glistened under the clear sky. The space filled with the quiet spot and as she closed her eyes she began to remember the scene from years before. Memories merged with dreams for a moment, she was there again.

‘Agatha?’, the words shuddered her from her sleep as if she stumbled into the boulder outside. Del was standing there checking she was ok. She realised her packet of crisps was over the floor as she had fallen asleep in the moment. She quickly picked up her crisps and tried to quietly wipe her face clear in the chaos that had happened in the quiet moment.

The afternoon passed uneventful as both driver and conductor continued completing their jobs in silence. As the bus drove into the station Agatha told Del how many tickets she had sold and walked off the bus before Del even turned off the engine. She handed in her change to Tom and took the jacket home to wash. Neatly folded on the passenger seat she drove home on the quiet streets.

It was as she drove in that she found Andy sat on the floor planting the final shrubbery in the front garden looking tired and sweaty. He prepared himself for what he had been fearing all day. Knowing the chairs and table hadn’t even been unpacked and most of the flowers were still in their containers in the back. The washing up hadn’t been done as he had slept through lunch needing a midday nap and dinner was only just starting to defrost. Agatha walked over to him leaving the gate open, knelt down and hugged him.

There had been times when he knew that comments, pokes or silly actions were not needed. He didn’t need to worry about the soil covering his hands getting into her hair, messing up her top or the fact that he clearly had overdone it today, again. He knew he would be told off eventually. Right now he just hugged her back and waited until the right time to go run a bath and put the kettle on. He didn’t need to ask, he knew why she began to cry. He would never say ‘I told you so’, but this is why he feared he the moment would find he to say it.

Continue the story with Part 6.

The Bus Driver. Part 4,

It would appear no one wanted to know about the bus timetable. The fact that the B33 now leaves the Sicamore Road at 3.39 didn’t seem to be on any minds today.

This is my attempt at moving a story on, here I have tried to consider the difficulties of an experienced person, who was successful in their career, taking on a new role and not finding it all going to plan. The tricky idea of this story, for me, is the relationship between the bus driver and the conductor. I have the end goal mapped out, but moving from A to B, is what I have attempted to start with this piece.

All comments welcome 🙂

—The First Shift—

Throughout her career, Agatha has worked directly with local politicians, law enforcement agencies, education boards, charities and a myriad of others, all to help those within her care. Some from the poorest and deprived parts of the country to support them and get them the help they needed.

For some reason this had no impact on her handing out bus tickets to the general public.

There were only a few times that Agatha got a bit muddled, one parent got upset when her darling little child who appeared at least 7 years old with a mouth of sewage, yet the parent’s concern lay with that her little baby was not free, as he was a young child. Apparently quoting the sign next to her stating that “children under 4” go free did not appear to solve the situation. Eventually the mother paid the fare but was told that twitter would be hearing about this.

The other time was when a pensioner’s bus pass was out of date and, sticking to the rules, charged the customer the full price of their ticket, which they paid coupled with brief discussion about ‘pensioners together’. The ticket was paid for in silver coins, weighing a fish smelling ill fitting jacket even more to one side.

It would appear no one wanted to know about the bus timetable. The fact that the B33 now leaves the Sicamore Road at 3.39 didn’t seem to be on any minds today.

When the shift was over the bus pulled into the yard, Del got out his shift book to made note of all that had been happening today. Agatha quietly got her pieces together to be ready to get off the bus.

Then, for the first time since he had grunted in the morning, came the first words from Del all day. ‘How many tickets did you sell today?’

As soon as she had answered the door was shut and the driver had disappeared. Agatha sat there alone in the bus. Lights off with the engine creaking as it began to cool down.

Shift one was over and only 7 words had been spoken all day from her travel companion.

Tom greeted Del with a pat on the back as he came in and handed his book into the office. Del looked at his with the same face he had had stuck on all day and walked to his car to drive off. Agatha handed in her coins, filled in the paperwork, then set off home to find a cup of tea waiting for her with Andy stretched out on the sofa. Not that his back was bad, but he wanted to stay there for a few hours because the cricket was on and he found watching at that angle was better to gauge the distance that the ball was being hit. It was when Andy couldn’t name either team who were playing, or seem to realise it was a repeat from the 1980s that he had to concede he may have done too much in the garden. Waiting for the reply of attack he was surprised to see his wife felt like his back.

Agatha simply sat in her chair breathing in the tea and for the first time all day, enjoyed the silence of a person next to her not talking while she drank her tea. She thought about her day, the people she met, the driver she was now working with.

‘No’, she thought to herself, ‘Tomorrow there will be more than 7 words’. She was determined to start a conversation about something, anything. Even if it was to explore the new timings for the B33.

Continue the story with Part 5.

The Bus Driver. Part 3

Hopefully, I have them separated within this scene. A lecturer once said how each character should have a kind of theme tune when they come into play to help write how they would be. Just think of Darth Vader and how his music always comes on. One idea that has stayed with me when writing a character.

I found this an interesting one when editing, trying to catch mood and different characters sense of how they would interact. Dialogue is something that I enjoy trying to capture but having separate voices at the same time was tricky to make sure each was unique to their owner.

—Meeting Del—

Agatha followed the instructions to the letter. They were pinned inside the car with a map Andy had printed off to help. But all this was only back up in case her phone suddenly broke on the way sending her in a completely different direction. She had learnt over the years to put in the precise location of where she was going and not a general area. The story of how they went around Bristol Airport in search of the centre of a forest and not the car park 2 minutes down the road had be rehearsed, tested and perfected by Andy. Despite the protests from Agatha had made, both in private and in public.

The engine was turned off and, with the piece of paper in hand, she made her way to the main reception. From the interview Agatha couldn’t see why the job could cause confusion, people arrive, ask then where they are going, collect money, hand them a ticket. If a person has a pass, then they just show her the pass and don’t get charge. But to remember to check it is in date. This was something Tom, the manager of the buses depo, was very clear on. Apparently, there had been an old couple who had failed to renew their local pass as they didn’t want to pay for the stamp, but being of the elderly variety, the former, younger, conductor didn’t think to check the date, or was afraid to mention it.

‘2 years!’ Tom’s voice carried the way only a person used to being on stage for amateur dramatics could. ‘She let them travel for 2 years on her bus for free. I will not accept age as a reason to get away with stealing. You must check each date on the card Agatha’.

This was mentioned twice in the interview alone and there was a new poster outside when she made her way in. Of course the poster showed all ages, but it was clear that he didn’t want anyone to get a free ride.

When Tom had finished what could only be seen as a rant, he handed over her very own conductor jacket. It seemed to smell slightly of fish and was like her son’s jacket when he goes fishing. But the pockets were good for different types of change. Agatha had always looked good in green. Sadly today she had chosen to wear a bright red top, thinking it would make her visible. It will be worn with a practiced smile when she met parents who had failed to even tidy for her planned visit, let alone the drop-ins that were unplanned.

25 minutes of outfits to clash like this! A thought she would not repeat to Andy when she got home as she had learnt proving him right in their marriage only added to him feeling he knew best. Even if he was, it wasn’t helpful to support such ideas. Thoughts drifted to the sofa discussion after they moved. It was the sofa she had wanted. It looked good in the shop and was the right price. But one day she was sure a dog will come round that is teething and accidentally make a hole meaning she will let him buy the one he wanted. Which will probably be comfier, more supportive and generally be a better sofa.

Tom gestured with the ticket book worrying Agatha had stopped focusing on where all the change was to go. However, once Tom was happy that change and new ticket book had been placed in the right pockets, he began to make his way to the door. It was from here she was to first met Del.

Most drivers sat together having a cup of coffee or tea. Some stood outside smoking sharing stories of their evening. Del, who was already sat in his bus, had the engine running and the radio on. All the other drivers seemed to wear at least shirt and smart trousers. To Agatha’s surprise, there were even two who wore ties. Del did not. Del wore jeans and a t-shirt. There was a blue shirt that had an old company logo hanging behind him. It appeared to have seen better days and needed at least an iron. It not burning.

‘Del, turn that thing off, your new conductor has arrived.’ Tom smiled at Agatha waving towards the bus.

Slowly the radio got turned down, not off, just down. ‘You will find Del here is a quiet driver, but don’t let that stop you talking to him. He will fill you head with stories before long.’

The sideways glance made his mouth appear to fuse together. The soft tap on Del’s arm from Tom seemed to show the kind of friendship that would allow Tom to go so far but knew where the lines were so early in the morning. But still, professional or personal friendship, it was unclear. No words of kindness, no words at all, came from Del. The warmth showed by Tom froze the moment they hit the bus. It was a wonder that the slamming of the window didn’t remove a finger from Tom’s hand as the radio turned back up

Tom began to repeat his mantra from this morning while Agatha walked round to get on the bus. ‘Now remember what I told you…’

‘Always check the date of the bus pass’ Agatha butted in. ‘Keep the change in the correct pockets for ease of when it gets busy. Oh! and don’t accept any discounts without the proper documentation. I believe you covered all of those this morning my dear. I may be old enough to be your gran, but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like an old forgetful lady who needs to take her meds 5 times a day. I can still do my sums and on a good day, I might even remember names. Now off you pop as the bus needs to be getting along and Del won’t want to be waiting more than he must.’

Tom stood voiceless as the bus drove away. Agatha sat down in the seat at the front and waited for the first set of customers. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought there may have been a slight smile on Del’s face after her response to Tom. Although this could have been the silence that came across Tom, or the return of the radio being turned on with a new song coming through.

But she was sure there was something.

Continue the story with Part 4.

The Bus Driver. Part. 2

I have tried to use small items in the description to ‘show not tell’ about the morning, the imagery of what is happening and the two characters.

The main focus of this section is the relationship between Agatha and Andy. Their routine and trying to bring in part of the story about how they have come to be there without actually telling the reader why they are in this new area of the country.

I have tried to use small items in the description to ‘show not tell’ about the morning, the imagery of what is happening and the two characters. I have no doubt that their relationship is based more factually on a few people I know that I care to admit, but one that I have always admired between people.

—The First Day—

One of the benefits of retirement is not needing an alarm clock. The peaceful breathing that arose from the bed, the steady rise and fall of each chest with the occasional snore had taken place in their bedroom to a routine that can only develop with the ease of two people who have been there for decades. Thankfully even with the recent move, Andy and Agatha had settled quickly to their new home. This morning that would be one difference, Agatha was awake. She watched the clock tick by as the seconds passed by.

Tick. Tock. Tick Tock.

At one point she swore the second hand paused, moved backwards and then paused again. She was about to get up to check the batteries but then it moved forward and 3 minutes had actually passed.

Even with the knowledge of the alarm they both jumped up before their bodies caught them to drag their bones back to the creaking of joints and sleepy muscles. Agatha was in the ensuite room before she realised her slippers were on the wrong way round. Andy sat there wondering what day it was and if it was too early for sarcasm. He was about to say something, but the bathroom door closed so felt the answer with the shaking of the walls.

Realising that the alarm had been set for at least 30 minutes earlier than needed, he set himself the challenging task of seeing that there were no new messages on his phone from anyone and felt there was little excuse to stay in bed that would have kept him out of trouble.

Downstairs the kettle turned on and a few rashes of veggie bacon began there warming process. Andy refused to say cooked as the bloody slips never seemed to even change colour. He may not have supported his wife’s new career choice, but he was not going to let her go out without something resembling a good breakfast. His own breakfast would be cooked after she left as the real bacon would get him told off and he had enough plans for the garden for that without the discussion of bacon to add to it. Andy may have missed this year’s growing season, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him preparing and sorting out the herb garden and the seeds ready for Autumn and to the broad beans to overwinter.

After the third expletive to come from upstairs Andy decided to make his way upstairs to see if he could help, however, before he could get to the door the stairs were being pounded as if a dragon descended.

‘Well that hair drier does not have the same power than it used to’

Agatha rushed into the kitchen, her hair half finished with a look that generally meant hold back sarcasm. She was about to start rushing around the kitchen when she saw the table had been laid. A glass of orange juice, one cup of lemon balm tea next to a ‘bacon’ sandwich with extra brown sauce were waiting for her with a knife and fork set either side. All on top of a flowery place mat. Agatha leapt into Andy’s arms to give him a hug. From Andy’s perspective, this hug meant a wallop to the face of wet hair with an earing poking his nose, but the sentiment was felt, with a slight twinge in his back.

Before they knew it, it was time to go. Agatha took a deep breath and went to walk out the door. Andy’s parting words stuck with her as she walked out.

‘You don’t have to do this’.

He had stayed strong with his support over breakfast , but when he kissed her cheek with those words he was unsure if he was going for sarcasm, annoyance or his brain slipped it out after being on his best behaviour all morning.

He knew she could not resist nor would he have been able to really stop her. It was by chance that the advert was there, and by the same chance that she got the job.

With the closing of the garden gate the bacon was laid in the pan and as Andy poured on the brown sauce, the garden centre delivery van pulled up.

At least that didn’t arrive before she left.

Continue the story with Part 3.

‘Purple’

‘Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.’

This comes from a writing activity given to me when I was able to recently spend an evening a week on a writing course. We were given two descriptions of people (Will explore this activity to focus on your own writing skills in a future post), and then given a setting and a scene at random. As you can probably tell, the setting is was a ‘supermarket’ and if in doubt, the scene was ‘crisis’.

Outside of about 2 people, this was the first thing I had ever shared publicly, and was certainly the first (and only) piece I have read out loud in public.

I have attempted to play with inner monologue of the main character while also building on the description of surroundings. After multiple drafts, this is the one I am so far most happy with.

Please leave any comments below.

—Purple—

A red glow engulfs the car, matching the colour around his eyes. The colour taunts him at the end of a double. It envelops his space as the fog surrounds his car. This fog is getting thicker each morning.

As amber teases him with the potential of being released from the lane, Johnny hears the engine of a car next to him. The indicators flashing with a flapping driver looking at him. With a wave of his hand the car pulls out into the green fog, down the lane towards the shop.

Only one reason anyone would be out here at this time, just show me purple and I might get some sleep tonight.

The car park is nearly empty. A soft glow from the brake and reverse lights create patches within the dark. Who would go shopping this early? Most normal people are sleeping. The car was parked close to the door and Johnny trudged towards the entrance. The cold always made the doors stick. He tried to look down but caught his reflection in the glass.

This face used to be on covers? He surveyed the site. Touched his eyebrows that kept the shape they were made into each week. But stubble was showing. He began to count the late nights, early starts and broken sleeps with each line on his face. This was the sight that would greet his family when he got home. Where had the man gone from before? He touched his face to feel how the skin moved, the bone beneath felt almost separate. His clothes covered from the double shift at work. As the doors slid open, his reality was met with the rhythmic beeps and a shudder as the air conditioning met him. The hunt was on.

He began to recall a conversation, that felt so long ago, even though it was just that morning.

“The Purple one, don’t get the red one as it just comes back up straight away. But also don’t even think about trying to save money with the cheaper ones, they don’t work”.

No, I love you. Have a great day dear. Thanks for doing a double to help with the birthday party coming up. Nope. Just get the purple one.

Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.

Lettuce – £1.20

Steak – £4.59!

Oat milk – £1.75

Crisps – £2.05

“Excuse me, could you reach the packet on that shelf”.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

A shorter person stood adjacent to him nearly half his height, pointing at one of the items on the top shelf. Johnny reached for one but on seeing the expiry date, paused.

“Are you eating this today?”

“No, it is for the weekend”

Carefully, Johnny collected one from near the back and passed it to him. Ironic how shorter people will always be forced to collect the things with the shortest dates.

For a moment Johnny moseyed aimlessly through the aisles, taking in the different prices and offers with bright colours. Then he saw why he was there.

Hanging from the ceiling. Blue sign. Medicine.

Sleep was close.

Johnny first caught sight of the floral women as she floated through the aisle clutching two brown paper bags. These bags were not from here. Showing everyone the other shop. Johnny didn’t go to that part of town. They were out of his way, but also buying bread there would mean dinner would simply be, a slice of bread. Johnny saw how her dress held its form as she wandered down the aisle. Her hair lightly bounced. Had he been awake he may have noticed that she had similar lines to his, although far less in number.

The redness around his eyes had grown from the lights, however, there was a momentary reprieve as he caught sight at the last remaining bottle of purple liquid on the shelf. Placing it in the basket he could feel sleep calling her faithful tune.

‘Oh is that the last bottle?’

Oblivious, and with the hunt complete, Johnny began to walk down past the floral pattern dress, heading straight for the automatic tills. The beeps had become a countdown to a baby crying followed, hopefully, by sleep.

‘Oh drat it is. Excuse me sir, could you spare a moment’.

The light touch on his arm broke the spell of the beeps for the floral women to be met with red eyes, trimmed eyebrows and a face that showed more shifts than sleep.

He was met with a this is why I don’t come to this part of town smeared across her face.

‘I see that you have the last bottle available. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to let me purchase it for my little one’.

Johnny will be crying through the night.

‘No’.

‘But you don’t understand, my little one is so very poorly and our baby sitter won’t work over the weekend.’

‘There is the red one over there’.

‘Oh thank you so much, I will get that for you and swap’

‘What? No. Wait? That’s not what I meant’. Rubbing his eyes to try to stop the piercing luminous bulbs. ‘I mean there are red ones you can use instead’.

‘Oh, well, little Billy doesn’t like it and can make an awful mess. We like to get him the other one so we can sleep easier at night’. She passes the red one to Johnny.

His hand quivers vacantly over the basket.

The Bus Driver. Part 1.

This is the opening part to a short story inspired from sitting on a bus watching the conductor and the bus driver. From a short bus ride I thought of different ways that they may know each other, work together along with why the may be there. Short of it simply being a job and that their shift was together today.

What if they worked together all the time? What if one of them took the job for another reason? Do they get on? What is it like to work together on a bus all day with the public?

I normally struggle to think of the ending but this story seemed to flow. Still writing the middle parts but very proud to have each section planned out even with a timeline for the whole story, before the scene below and up to the end.

—The Advert—

It can often be the simple things that catch our eye, for Agatha it was a small ad in the paper. It read:

“Local bus service requires conductor for daily shift.

No experience required.

All may apply”

This reflected a slow degradation in the paper that had been noticeable, for those that paid attention, over the last few months. She placed the paper down onto the table and picked up her cup of tea. A wry smile appeared as she breathed in the tea before drinking it. The smell of herbs was a small delight before the battle about the garden or whatever project was to be today’s ‘plan’. Peppermint. This normally came out when a big project was being subtly planned.

Andy, who sat on his chair opposite on the table wearing his morning dressing gown, with his pre-shower hair, a common sight since retiring, looked at her as he had done so for the past 45 years knowing that he can protest all he wants, but will end up giving in trying to comment. He simply put his own mug over the top of the advert.

‘We don’t need the money you know’.

The words trailed off into the kitchen and he turned to look out of the window to their new garden. They had not lived their long, but it was clear the last owners didn’t spend much time in there. The different sections were quickly forming along with the brand-new shed that stood pride of place in the corner. Next to the now three overflowing pallet compost piles. It was with each day he was being reminded of his age and that he was a pensioner so couldn’t do what he had done once. A reason Agatha was more than keen to remind him each day when suggesting they grass over some of the beds he was planning.

Andy stretched out his back, slowly becoming aware of the muscles that used to stretch more 20 years ago. He would tell Agatha, but trying to hold his bacon sandwich together without falling apart was making his hand ache. He didn’t need to do the third veg bed yesterday but he was ahead of schedule so thought he would try to stay that way. The bacon slipping out between the brown sauce and bread told him how clever that decision was.

‘It will get me out of the house for a bit and be good to meet some more of the local people’.

There are many things Andy, as a good and loyal husband, has been good at. Pretending to be interested in sports was one, he still didn’t care for football but Agatha did. It seemed to rile her when people assumed he was the reason they were there. Especially as he would repeat to everyone down the pub all the comments he had been listening to over breakfast that morning. He also was an expert at appearing to be a loyal supporter of vegetarianism while sneaking off to a local chain when at work, joint paid up members of Green Peace and of Amnesty International, but still couldn’t stop the intrigue about what shark fin soup might taste like. One thing however, that Andy had not been able to develop through their happy marriage was to hold back a laugh when the moment came. That comment was one of those.

The look was well rehearsed, and after years of marriage the conversation was down to a look each way and a final movement of the eyebrows. Andy simply went to refill her tea with a thought pick your battles lad being played on repeat.

So that was that. Agatha would apply for the job and to both their surprise, she was called in for an interview the next day with an offer on the spot. Neither one was shocked at the acceptance and the following Monday, back out of retirement as a Youth Worker, Agatha was to be a Bus Conductor. Her clothes and uniform were hung up and had been neatly pressed. Andy, the ever-supportive husband, got the tea mugs ready for the morning, lemon for a new start. The kettle was filled halfway and he turned the light off with a sigh while Agatha lay in bed as she read the local bus time schedule.

Apparently, this would help her in public relations.

Continue the story with Part 2.