short story – Page 3 – S J Lister. Author

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.