fiction – Page 2 – S J Lister. Author

GSC – Security for those that matter

Joan counted the till for a second time. She knew it could be counted a third, but the result would be the same. It was the same result from when she did a quick count of some of the supplies in the store room. Things were low. Every week Joan counted the receipts, looked at the deliveries, did a random spot stock check. They did not add up.

Sam appeared at the door behind her, his ability to quietly move around was a quality that had often supported him in the past, but Joan sighed as she did not want to ask what she needed to. She trusted Sam, always had since she hired him. The thought of having to swing on her chair to ask him with the numbers fresh and the consistent gaps worried her.

‘Have you seen these figures for the week?’. She placed her pen down next to the computer having ticked off each of the receipts.

Sam looked at Joan straight in the eyes. He did not shy away from difficult conversations by nature. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but no one here is the reason’.

Joan held his look, it was an odd feeling, but she was able to tell he believed he was telling the truth. She could never explain it, but when people lied to her she felt a warmth in the ears every time. She simply replied ‘I never said it was’. The pause felt longer than it was, it was only by counting to 5 in time with the second hand on the clock that managed to keep the weight of it come down on her.

‘I’ve checked each day, spoken to each of them on the floor’. Sam was always calm when he spoke. You would never know what happened to him outside of work. Good or unwelcome news, he was consistent in how he applied himself when he arrived. ‘No one has seen the money go or the stock disappear.’

Joan picked up the pen and hovered it over a pad of paper, bouncing the end of the pen on the paper. What could she write. No one knew anything. No one’s appeared to see anything. There was no point questioning what Sam had been told. Where others saw an issue in having him work in the shop, Joan saw it as a comfort.

‘I have to ask Sam’.

‘I know. I would worry if you did not.’

‘Have you seen anything that is a concern to you?’ The words fumbled out.

‘No. No one on the floor is a concern.’ He looked at the pen hovering over the pad. ‘I also haven’t taken anything either.’

‘I never suggested you did!’ Joan dropped her pen and jumped up, looking Sam in the eye.

‘Joan, calm down.’

The cushion on the seat is not a new one. Held together by more gaffer tape than thread. It was as Joan sat down in disbelief of the conversation some of the tape lost its grip in the struggle to hold it together.

Sam lent against the door frame, looking at the pile of bills pilling up next to the computer. Some were starting to come in with a range of phrases that all meant the same thing, pay up. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

The silence was finally broken when Olivia brought in a business card for Joan, passing it to Sam to bring to her.

‘Odd couple of guys wanted me to bring this to the Manager. Seemed shifty but nothing to write home about.’ With Sam’s thumb and finger holding the card Olivia drifted back out. Tapping the railings in the stock room as she walked out.

‘”GSC – Security for those who matter” Looks to be some security card’.

Joan took the card from Sam, it was a plain card with the name across the middle. The back was blank and all that was on the front, apart from the name, was a thin line around the margin squaring it out.

‘Looks like word is out for people to know we are losing something’.

Sam never liked the idea of someone taking advantage of him or his associates. If he ever felt threatened the bulk of him was a reminder that he would not take it lying down. As he straightened up the door frame was a reminder to where he was standing with a bump.

‘Sam, now you need to calm down.’ Her cheeks always showed a dimple when she smiled. It amused her how it could make Sam giggle when he saw them. At first it made her self-conscious, but then she realised the impact it had. There was a time and place for a calming note.

There was a knock on the door again and Sam swiftly moved out of the office doorway, a well-practiced motion for someone who has become accustomed to supporting the person in charge.

The business was still in Joan’s hand while she found herself waving it side to side. Normally, there would be a name, a number, or some form of contact detail for her to use, or chose to not use, pending who the card was from.

“For those who matter. What does that even mean?” Joan placed it above the pad of paper, which was next to the keyboard on one side, and a pen parallel to the pad on the other. Order. Through order you can be ready for anything. Joan collected her thoughts as she reviewed the items on her desk. Unlike the business outside of her office, all was as it should be.

The Bus Driver. Part 8

With her shoes fixed, dress washed and hanging to dry along with a cheeky takeaway of fish and chips for dinner, the storm of the day calmed as it soaked away in her bath. Agatha eventually explained her day to Andy, who held back his giggles throughout, supported and comforted her after what was a clearly testing, although amusing for him, day.

Despite the worry and chaotic nature of the first day of going back to school, Agatha was pleased to see that even the new rush in the morning and afternoon soon fell into routine. With a regular hand appearing for more sweets back in full swing. As September sailed on, Agatha was pleased to see that the local children were, in general, a lovely group to have on the bus with only one incident that caused Del to stop the bus and get involved. To Agatha’s surprise, the child that was being rude quickly apologised and took their seat. Del, who seemed to have done very little, took control quickly and with what appeared to be very little effort on his part.

The change of leaves was always a good time to be on a bus, driving through the village lanes and seeing the watching the trees go by each day with the hints of orange, yellow and reds coming through. It was a joy that Agatha kept having to jump out of when the bus stopped at the remote stops to pick up passengers going to and from town. The bus was the connector to these parts and Agatha did enjoy meeting the different people, with some recognising her at the different pubs she and Andy would find themselves in. She was even once surprised when she was once offered a drink. Flustered, and out of an in built politeness, she accepted warmly and nearly forgot to go find Andy waiting for her in the car. It wasn’t until he came in to find her sitting at the bar sharing a half with another man, that she remembered where he had gone. Then when she introduced her husband to Nigel, she realised that the sadness that appeared in his eyes was probably from him thinking that, like him, she was a widow and looking for some company. Instead of what she was actually doing which was paying the bar tab from lunch.

Overall, with the flow of children each day, the weekly pub quiz and the growing number of friends they had both met, Agatha was, feeling at home in the new village. Tom had even, twice, tried to explain his different hobbies to her. She had made the mistake of doing the same routine that she does with her brother which was to remember details of what they said last time and then ask questions about it. This, unfortunately for her, gave the impression that she was interested. She was not. The rules of rolling dice, movement of little models and the significant of certain colours being used as paint was made all the more boring when pictures on the computer were used to help explain what they were talking about.

It was on a windy October morning that Del, having realised that Agatha had been caught by Tom by the glint in his eye, came in to save her from the conversation and suggested they needed to get moving as Betsy didn’t like to be kept waiting. Agatha was naturally polite, too much on occasion. Del was not.

‘She doesn’t want to hear about the latest rule changes and whatever you think about the value of a roll of a 4 on a dice.’ Carefully nudging Agatha to the door out of his office. ‘Besides, I am sure you really do have better things to do while in the office and a work schedule needed to get the buses all washed and serviced.’

Once they were out of the door and part way down the hall, Del paused. ‘You really need to stop letting him tell you about his hobbies. The best way, stop asking questions’. He paused, then abruptly turned to go to the bus. He walked off, leaving her behind but waited at the end of the corridor holding the door open while she collected herself.

Most buses had orange pumpkins on them with spiders or other such decorations stuck on them. Betsy didn’t. It was the one bus in the fleet, probably the county, that didn’t appear to express any awareness of the upcoming festivities. Agatha eventually asked about this the day before.

‘Betsy is not a party bus. She is not here to highlight a holiday or pick a football team.’ He managed to become more droll with each word that she was worried if he was able to speak softly to her again. ‘Also, when you decorate the bus, it only attracts more attention and I don’t want silly string in the seats again.’

Two ideas came mind, the first was the idea that there had been silly string sprayed all over the bus once and wondered how bad it got. The second, would this mean should couldn’t wear her elf costume to work when it gets close to Christmas. She might need to build up to that one though.

For now, Agatha was content in knowing that the bus system was working, her change system worked and she felt confident that with the addition of using a card machine soon will work smoothly now that the connect problem had apparently been solved so all cards could work. Well, all except American Express according to Tom.

13th November – Him

He comes in many forms.

He represents many things to many people they say. Some consider Him to have always been there. Some consider Him to just be a figment of our imagination. Some say He is a new invention to keep those at night on their computers searching for something that may be found, but He will always be out of hand while you search for something else.

The truth is, He is all things yet none of them.

It can be said that He has been around in all cultures around the world since they started. From the first man, as in human being who was conscious of such thought, He was there. In some ways He has come to them give comfort, but to also give them the painful truth, it is time.

For those who fear Him, they have tried to find a way to hide. Stories have been told of ways that people could have a shroud to hide beneath. Others have suggested that He is part of a wider family to take on different roles to look after, to watch over, all human beings.

There are those who sit there on their computers, late into the night, searching for ways to beat Him, to find a way to control Him and meet Him on equal terms. But this is where He is actually in power. Where He is able to have power over the people who are searching for a way to flee.

Throughout the human record, scholars, archaeologists, historians and philosophers (to name some) think they have tracked Him down and found how He works. In pits they think they have seen His work. In the graves next to churches, they believe they can feel His presence permeating throughout the fields. But He is not there. They do, often, find His finger print, if He have had fingers to give a print, throughout the human record. But many, most, really all, fail to realise what they are seeing and therefore miss it when they give the credit, in lacking another word, to the wrong figure.

Who is He? Many have come to name Him, or Her as gender is really a human being identity issue, as the Banshee to the Gaelic, as King Yama and his whip to some of those from India, or as the young boy in Greece called Thanatos. Another common name can be said to be as the Grim Reaper when in certain parts of the modern world. But he is not them, or it. The being that collects souls comes to them, greats them, and sets them on the path that they are to go on next.

But that being is not Him. No, He is far worse, He comes to those before the other one arrives. He is the hope for those who fear to meet their end. He is the hope that something, or someone, will save them from their gruesome end. He comes in the form that the individual believes will save them. But He will watch and do nothing. Why He does this no one knows. It is believed he may not even know.

But he will come to you one day, maybe you can ask when he comes, you will just need to look back when the other one comes to collect you.

5th November – Just one more Figurine

‘Its eyes follow you around the room.’

‘Don’t be silly Miranda.’ Mark stood there trying to not catch her eye. He didn’t mean to buy things that gave her the creeps. Miranda described it as an instinct to find them. He leaned in for a closer look at the item he had put on kitchen table. ‘For one, it doesn’t have any eyes so how can it follow you around the room’.

‘It hasn’t got eyes? That is your defence for trying to say that this thing isn’t creepy.’

He paused before he said he next comment. He wished that he had paused to contemplate her thoughts, feelings and her own points about his new acquisition. But he knew that the pause was really about his looking at how the tubes connected from the two cannisters on its back, to the mask on the front. He wished he was thinking about how he could say the right thing and come to quick conclusion following his brief two minutes of shopping unaccompanied. But he was wondering if the two tubes were an in-out system or just that they used two cannister to breathe from.

Josh chose to not share these pondering thoughts with Miranda. Instead he attempted to calm the situation in the hope of keeping it out in the house. ‘We don’t have to have it on display on the table like this’. As soon as he spoke he realised he chose poorly in his phrase.

‘Was that what was going through your mind? Keeping it on the kitchen table.’ This was not a new tone, this was not the first time Josh had bought something that they disagreed on. This was not the first time he wanted to display it for visitors to see. Josh also knew that in about 3 hours’ time Miranda’s parents were going to arrive and there were still many jobs on his list to complete. ‘Why do we need to have this conversation every time you go to the market in town.’

Calmly, but steadily and with no attempt to look back, Miranda left the room. Josh was standing there, staring and still wondering about the pipe work on the figurine. Was this a space suit? Was this something to go underwater with?

‘Well I guess it is just you and me for now. Got a good place to hide you away until she calms down’. Josh picked up his new piece to place looking at it wondering if it will end up in his room of stuff. It was a room most visitors didn’t get shown on the Grand Tour. But it was his.

It was probably the detail the artist used that drew Josh into buying it. The mask on the figure reminded him of the gas masks that he had seen in old World War One films. The cannisters on its back were something out of scuba diving but the outfit that seemed to cover the individual and a more material cloth type look to it, apart from the straps holding the cannisters on its back. It was posed as I standing but on the way to move with its legs not quite straight. The suspense of it intrigued Josh and thought it could be a good conversation piece in the hallway. So far it had made a brief encounter with Miranda and that ended quicker than he would have liked.

Eventually, Josh turned off the light to head up to bed. As he left the kitchen he placed the figurine back on the table wishing it a good night, while quietly mumbling about how it wasn’t that creepy as he walked up the stairs.

Half an hour before Miranda’s parents were to arrive Josh raced downstairs as a scream permeated through the walls. As he ran down he almost tripped over a pair of socks before he found Miranda in the lounge pointing at the figurine with the gas mask on the side cabinet. He was unsure what the problem was however through the screams it was clear that Miranda felt that the figurine was staring at her when she came in.

His reaction to this was not what Miranda wanted. He giggled at the thought of Miranda turning to new ways to worry about her parents coming to visit. This seemed to happen every time he thought. Are the windows clean? Has the bed, which they won’t even be using, got clean sheets? Has the lawn be mowed? Is there washing out to show the garden being used? Is the washing packed away to keep the side table tidy? Once Miranda joked about sticking tomatoes on the plants to make them looking better than they were. Despite her attempts to laugh it off Josh was never quite sure how far the joke would have gone.

However, Josh chose to make a cup of tea ignoring the outburst. As Miranda eventually followed she found Josh had poured two cups of tea and was making a clear attempt to try to move the conversation on to a more pleasing topic.

‘Do you think we should paint the Kitchen that green colour you found last week?’

‘This is not the time for painting, you know that. My parents are coming in an hour. Besides…’

‘I am not meaning we paint it now obviously. But next weekend I will be home when you are away. I could do it then.’

‘Josh, stop this. I want that thing go. It looks odd, even for your collection. Why can’t you just see that it creeps me out.’

‘Why is it, when your parents come round I clean the lounge. Then you clean it again. We put up your pictures and put out things that you want. But when I want to put out something of mine, we need to have a full discussion over it and agree a compromise?’

Miranda paused. Her parents were going to arrive in 63 minutes and she still needed to get the washing away, clean the bathroom and hope to sort out an outfit for their arrival. Josh just needed to make sure the dinner was ready to be reheated.

‘Why must we do this every time you randomly choose something. It is as if you are wanting me to fight with you when you do this. This is how it feels.’

‘That is a bit far, I just saw something that I liked and thought it would make a good addition to the querkiness of our house.’

‘…Why…must…our house…have a querkiness level at all? If this is the way you are still thinking then maybe we need to have a different discussion when my parents have left.’

Miranda left without touching her tea. Josh waited to see what would happen next but simply heard the vacuum cleaner start and clean the lounge, a room he had already gone through since they got back. The muttering that came through the sweeps of the machine around the room did not invite him in to continue the conversation.

It was then he realised that Miranda had brought into the kitchen the very figurine that started the conversation.

‘Well it is just you and me for a bit buddy’. Josh turned to make sure that the dinner was all prepped and ready to be heated for the evening. He was not going to let her parents see him fail in the kitchen again.

The time for Miranda’s parents to arrive came quickly and it with seconds past that time which brought the chime of the doorbell rang. They arrived at precisely 5.07pm as they had said they would. Miranda’s father always liked to give what to many would appear to be a random time. Why stick to multiples of 10? Josh always said it was this sort of pedantisms that made Miranda the way she was.

With no sign of the door being answer Miranda rushed downstairs as she didn’t want to leave her parents outside in the cold. She welcomed them in and directed them to the twice hoovered lounge with the pumped up cushions reserved only for guests. She called out for Josh to make the teas while she visually scanned the room for anything out of place. After a few minutes of discussing the new painting on the wall, the kettle could still not be heard so Miranda quietly made her way to make the tea and find the biscuits.

To her relief, the figurine was still nowhere to be seen, but there was a note on the table. Addressed to her.

Dear Miranda,

Thank you for letting me explore your home. I have learnt a lot about the ways of you all through my time here. After seeing how you all live and the options I have found around me, I have decided to procure Josh and take him home with me to add to my collection. I know he will fit in there with the other pieces I have found.

Thank you for helping me choose which of you I would take home with me. I was worried it would be a squeeze to take you both with me. I hope you find your house without the oddities better for you. It seemed that Josh’s additions upset you.

p.s. I hope I have left enough of your currency under this note to reimburse you for my purchase.

4th November – The first room

Andy stood there looking at the garden. This was the first garden he had ever had. Before he had only been able to play round his friends in their garden, or in the park, which was everyone’s garden.

Not today, today this was his. His garden to play, to rest, to imagine in.

All he could think of doing was to lie down. He knew there were boxes. Boxes in every room. His parents had decided to focus on one room at a time. They had made it clear that together, they would sort out each room, one at a time, and by the end of day one they would have the TV room for them all to sit and relax in together, and then his room so he could sleep properly on his first night. They wanted to make sure he felt that they were thinking of him with the move. Having his room ready, or at least a room for him to sleep in and feel comfy in, was important to helping him transition to the new house. They said.

When they reminded him of this in the morning, he did feel happy, he felt important and he was looking forward to it, but who really likes change?

Then he saw the garden.

To some, this may not have been much. A patch of grass. A space where a ball could be be kicked around, maybe some plants put in. His friends had bigger gardens and he enjoyed running around with his friends.

But this was his.

He simply laid down. Feeling the long grass between his fingers. The way that although it looked dry, managed to make his knees, then his hands, and now his back, all wet.

When he would eventually go inside he figured he would get told off, as young boys do when they come in muddy. He was now one of those boys who would be told off by their mother for making a mess in the kitchen after playing outside. He smiled.

Andy laid there listening, he closed his eye tight and listened. He had learnt about bugs in school that week, he was shown how to collect and watch them with different devices or contraptions and how to do it safely. Now he could do it from his own back garden and see what the bugs did each day in the grass, the rustling, the chirps.

He remembered he had a half eaten biscuit in his pocket, he remembered this because he could feel the ants slowly moving around him. He could hear the hustle and bustle as they moved to get to the biscuit that was now within their grasp. He giggled as they moved around his skin and made him squirm. He giggled more at the thought of being told off about being even more muddy than before. He was a young boy in the garden getting muddy and soon he would be told to ‘get out of those dirty clothes’ and ‘change into [his] pyjamas’. Probably to go have a wash first too.

Andy smiled again.

Around him he could hear the birds singing and along the fence he spotted a small black cat edging closer to a bird.

It jumped.

Missed the bird.

Missed the landing too.

It shook itself and looked at Andy who the day before had not been there.

Andy was not the bird. He was not its owner.

The cat was now in Andy’s garden. Andy got up and chased after the cat. It quickly ran away seeing who was in charge, or at least who was bigger, and scuttered up the fence back to its own garden, or at least in the direction of its own garden. The first battle had been won. Andy the victor, the mighty. Defender of birds. Protector of his realm. He might need to make a cape later.

Andy felt at home already. His bedroom would not be ready for hours. He would probably be told off and be having a wash within 30 minutes but he suddenly realised that his parents were standing behind him, watching him.

Watching their muddy son in the garden, chase a cat, be covered in what appeared to be an entire ants nest carrying away pieces of a biscuit from his trouser pocket, while covered in mud.

This was it. He was about to be told off like his friends do sometimes when playing in the garden.

His parents smiled and came to sit in the garden. They too got damp hands and knees. They too got their backs muddy from the wet grass and soil.

Their first room was ready and not a box had been opened for it. They enjoyed it together, the first of many days in their new garden.

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.

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 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.