The Trip

It is easy to display a wound, the proud scars of combat. It is hard to show a pimple.
Leonard Cohen, The Favourite Game

A Coke can rolled down the bus aisle, coming to rest against Mr Sugar’s foot.
‘Who’s is that?’ He said. His voice cracking slightly on the second syllable. ‘Whoever’s it is, pick it up,’ he said and paused, undoing a button on his shirt. He had already taken off his scarf, his coat and jumper. A patch of sweat ran from the crook between his shoulders to the seat of his trousers.
‘I’m going to lose my temper in a minute. Who’s is it?’ he continued.
The bus's low rumble filled the otherwise soundless carriage.
Mr Sugar picked up the can of Coke and started walking down towards the front of the bus, looking suspiciously over his shoulder when someone said the word sweaty.
At the front of the bus he sat down next to a woman wearing a shapeless, woollen jumper.
‘One day I think I’m going to loose it with them, Marge,’ he said.
Marge didn’t answer though. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of tissue which she held against her mouth.
‘I’m close to the edge,’ he said.
Marge, who almost seemed to be stuffing the tissue down her throat, said nothing.
‘Are you ok, Marge?’
Marge pulled the wad of paper away from her face. She was pale and her eyes were bulging slightly. She made to stand up before collapsing on Mr Sugar’s knees, vomiting all over his M&S Sartorial Suede Stain Defence Slip-On Loafers.
‘You’ll have to pay for that to be cleaned off the seats and carpet,’ the bus driver said, without taking his eyes from the road.
Mr Sugar got up from his seat and walked down the bus while laughter roared around him. He went into the toilet briefly, grabbing an armful of toilet paper from the dispenser. On his way back to the front of the bus he passed Marge, running the other way straight for the toilet. Mr Sugar cleaned up the mess as best he could with the toilet paper, and wiped his shoes down with the last pieces.
‘They’re ruined,’ he said, to the driver. ‘It’s like acid.’
The smell lingered on the seat and his hand when he scratched his nose.
Peaches poked her head through the gap between seats at Mr Sugar’s shoulder.
‘How much longer is it till we get there sir?’ she said, her hair brushing his ear.
‘Sit down and put your seatbelt on,’ Mr Sugar shouted.
There was a long, pantomime ‘oooooooooh!’ of shock.
‘I’m really scared,’ someone called.
‘I’ve already told you three times’ Mr Sugar said, staring out the front window.
The bus accelerated to overtake a caravan in the outside lane and the driver sounded the horn loudly.
‘Wanker,’ the driver said, shaking his fist in the direction of the caravan.
Mr Sugar was breathing deeply. He ran his right hand through his hair and over his face.
He turned to the driver, whose seat was foremost in relation to the window. He leant over the rail in front of his own seat, pressing his stomach into it and trying to catch the driver’s attention.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said the driver.
‘Do you really have to do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Come on. Don’t play innocent with me.’
‘Honest,’ said the driver. ‘I don’t know if you mean the swearing, the obscene gestures, the horn, or all three. I swear.’
‘Do you really have to behave this way?’
‘Depends if you want to get there this week or next.’
‘Come on now,’ Mr Sugar said, straining further forward over rail at the front of his seat. ‘There was no need for that. It was completely unnecessary. There are children on board,’ he said, leaning a little further over the rail.
‘Oh yeah. Some real angels. Well it’s nothing to me. If you don’t like it you can get off, I won’t stop you. I’ll pull over here,’ he said, activating the indicator.
‘Now come on,’ Mr Sugar started, but his voice was getting fainter now. ‘Let’s not be unreasonable. I’m only telling you you shouldn’t use your horn like that.’
The driver ignored him, beginning to edge onto the hard shoulder.
‘Ok, ok, I see your point, you’re driving. But that’s not what it says in the highway code,’ Mr Sugar said, some strength returning to his voice in the last three syllables.
The bus was now half way onto the hard shoulder. The driver smiled.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please. I know you’re driving, I’m just having a hard day. Can’t you see that?’ Mr Sugar said. He showed his teeth to the driver.
‘That’s alright,’ said the driver. ‘I was only joking.’
Mr Sugar laughed loud enough to silence the carriage. This time his laughter was echoed by the others on the bus.
‘Oh dear, you had me there,’ he said, no longer trying to smile. ‘So… sorry. What’s your name?’
‘Golden,’ he said.
‘Oh right. What’s your first name?’
The driver paused for a second.
‘Graham,’ he said, turning and smiling at Mr Sugar for the first time.
‘Well, keep your eyes on the road Graham,’ Mr Sugar said.

The sign for the petting zoo was visible from the bus as it turned in off the motorway. Mr Sugar glanced first at the empty seat next to him and then down the aisle towards the toilet.
A boy nicknamed HP was hobbling down the aisle towards him.
‘Sir, I really need to go,’ he said.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ said Mr Sugar.
‘I really need to go sir,’ said the boy.
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ said Mr Sugar.
He leaned past HP to look down the aisle. Angus was chasing Candy towards the back seat.
‘Sit down.’ Mr Sugar shouted, and caught sight of his face in the bus window across the aisle. The reflection on the glass was faint and his hair looked crazed. He smoothed it down then loosened it just a little from his sticky scalp. He waited until the bus stopped, counted to ten on his watch and undid another button on his shirt.
He stood up.
‘When you’re ready you can take off your seat belts and leave the bus,’ he said. He counted the children off the bus, he turned to the driver:
‘Well we should be back in about three hours I’ll see you then,’ he said rapidly, turning to follow the children of the bus.
‘Not likely. I need to clock off early today,’ the driver said.
Mr Sugar paused for a second, then laughed.
‘See you later then,’ he said before he hurried down the steps, calling to the children who had begun to disperse over the car park:
‘What do you think you’re doing? Come here,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve given you two warnings today. One more and we’ll all go home.’

Beyond the car park, higher up, the reception of the petting zoo was visible. The group was half way up the slope when the bus engine roared into life. The group turned to watch it making a loose U-turn, skidding in the gravel sending rocks and dust everywhere, tearing down through the exit towards the motorway. ‘Wait here,’ Mr Sugar had shouted, as he ran off down the path in pursuit.
‘What’s he doing?’ said Angus, watching the small figure of Mr Sugar recede loudly down the path.
‘We’ve nearly broken him,’ said Fishstick, blankly.

Mr Sugar rang the bell in reception. The door behind the desk opened and a woman appeared.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You made it ok then?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Sugar said, and smiled. ‘I need to make a call though. Is there a phone here I can use?’
‘In the back room,’ she said, hiking her thumb. ‘I’ll show you.’
In the next room was a small office.
‘The phone’s behind the filing cabinet in the far corner,’ she said.
Mr Sugar stayed silent.
‘Is everything alright?’ she said.
‘Yes. Fine,’ Mr Sugar said. ‘You?’
‘We’ve been having some trouble. There haven’t been enough visitors,’ she said, turning away from him, moving over to the desk and pulling a tissue from a box before blowing her nose.
‘Could you watch the children?’ Mr Sugar said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Just give me a moment.’
She stood there facing the door but not moving towards it.
Mr Sugar watched her for a moment and looked at the clock on the wall.
He picked up the phone and dialled. While it rang he heard the door to the next room open, the sound of children’s voices loudening before the door closed quietly again.
‘Hello,’ he said when the phone rang through. ‘It’s Lyle. I need to speak to the headmaster.’
‘Ok, I’ll put you though,’ she said.
‘Thankyou,’ said Mr Sugar, before the line went dead.
‘Fuck,’ he said, banging the receiver against the filing cabinet. He put the phone to his ear one last time.
‘Fuck?’ said a voice at the other end of the line.
‘Hello?’ Mr Sugar said.
‘Hello. This is The Headmaster. Not “Fuck.” Who am I speaking to.’
Mr Sugar reached down to undo another button before pulling his hand away and running it through his hair.
‘I’m so, so, sorry sir. I thought the line was dead.’
He could see his reflection in the window. He imagined he’d taken a bite of a rotten egg sandwich and made a face.
‘You thought I was dead?’
‘No, no sir, I didn’t say that at all.’
‘Sorry. Who am I speaking too?’
‘It’s Lyle sir.’
‘Right Lyle. Well you better get on with it then.’
‘There’s been a problem with the bus sir. It’s driven off. I need a new one brought here.’
‘Which bus has driven off.’
‘The one we were riding.’
‘And which one is that?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think the bus had a name.’
‘Oh…’ The Headmaster said, and paused. ‘So you’re that Lyle then. I should have guessed. Why is it always you ringing up in the middle of the night and waking me?’
‘Yes I’m that Lyle. But it’s midday not midnight. You’re getting them confused.’
‘Exactly I should be having my lunch. It’s getting cold. They’ve bought me some frozen steaks from Australia. I’ve got everything from Alligator to Koala and plenty of Tomato ketchup.’
‘Look. I really have to change the subject. I’m having an emergency here.’
‘Oh? An emergency? Well why didn’t you say?’
Mr Sugar was still looking out the window when Honey walked by outside. He covered the receiver and banged on the window.
She looked in the direction the noise had come from and caught sight of him through the window. Her eyes widened momentarily.
‘Get back inside,’ Mr Sugar mouthed silently.
Mr Sugar took his hand off the receiver again. He heard the door behind click open but the room beyond was now quiet.
‘I need another bus or we’ll be stuck here,’ he said.
‘Right I see,’ said the headmaster. And I suppose you want me to sort this little mess out for you?’
‘What else can I say. We’re stuck. I don’t know how to organise it. I need to look after the children.’
‘You’re asking me to sort this out?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said.’
‘And you’re aware your appraisal is coming up?’
‘Yes.’
Outside the window the rest of the class appeared now, running along the grass and chasing one another.
‘What are you expecting me to tell you in your appraisal then?’
‘I don’t know sir.’
‘Why don’t you have a guess?’
The children were streaming past the window now over the field, shouting at the top of their voices.
‘I really need to get back to the children. I don’t have time for this.’
‘The children. You’re not with the children?’
‘Shit,’ said Alan, and he put down the phone. ‘Where the hell is she?’
He took a deep breath and looked out the window again, watching the empty space where grass blew placidly in the wind. A cloud passed over the sun. He let out a long, high groan, closing his eyes. He sunk to the floor.

‘What’s the matter?’ said a woman’s voice.
He opened his eyes, jumping to his feet. The woman who’d showed him in was sitting on the desk.
She had red hair.
She flexed her bare feet upwards and clenched her toes, touching them lightly with her hands.
‘Why aren’t you watching them?’ he said.
‘They’re fine,’ she said.
‘But they’re running about outside,’ he said.
‘Where can they go?’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The only way out is back through the reception door. I’ve locked it. There’s plenty of room for them to run about.’
‘You let them run off?’
‘I thought you’d be relieved.’
‘Relieved? My head teacher’s a senile drunk, my bus driver’s run off and now I’ve got to recover a whole class of runaway children? You’re telling me I should be relieved?’
‘You’re not in any state to deal with those horrible children anyway. Listen to yourself. I’ve seen what they’ve been putting you through, you look ill. They’re spoilt little kids. Spoilt for life. We’ve had groups like them in before, I can spot them as soon as they get off the coach. Nasty little children. Torturing a poor animal is their idea of fun.’
‘They really mistreat the animals?’
‘They do things so terrible that I couldn’t begin to tell you. It’s the parents fault of course.’
‘Yes, yes, I see what you mean,’ he said.
‘No one will miss them,’ she said. ‘The world doesn’t need people like that.’
‘Yes, it’s a nice idea,’ Mr Sugar said. ‘It would be a good lesson for them and their parents.’
‘I’m relieved you agree,’ she said. ‘They don’t always.’
‘I’ve got no way to get them home either,’ he said.
‘Oh, it’s too late to do anything now anyway,’ she said.
‘How do you mean?’ said Mr Sugar.
She got up from the desk and walked towards Mr Sugar. She unbuttoned her shirt, before removing it along with her tights. Her white, plump body was covered with long, angry scars.
‘What on earth have you done to yourself?’ Mr Sugar said.
‘It wasn’t me it was them, out there,’ she said, pointing out through the window. ‘They were only playing though.’
‘Visiting children did that to you?’
‘No, no, not the children, although they were quite young. They were only playing you see.’
‘Only playing? Who was it. A madman?’
‘No it wasn’t a madman,’ she said, laughing.
‘What could do that to you at a petting zoo, chickens?’
‘Lions,’ she said.
‘You have a lion enclosure here?’
‘An enclosure,’ she said. What’s an enclosure?’
‘Well you know. Somewhere to keep the lions.’
‘Oh yes, we have one of those. It’s just out there,’ she said, pointing out the window.
‘Whereabouts? Mr Sugar asked.
‘Yes, well it’s right outside,’ she said.
Mr Sugar looked out the window again.
‘You mean the whole petting zoo is the lion enclosure?’
‘Yes, yes, that’s what I mean. It’s cruel to keep them in cages.’
‘What do all the other animal do then?’ he asked.
‘The other animals? There aren’t any. They didn’t last long after we brought in the lions.’
‘They’ve eaten everything?’
‘No. Not everything. That’s why we have tour groups in. We don’t like to see good meat go to waste.’

One year later Mr Sugar pulled into the car park of the petting zoo again. It was a sunny day, his glossy brown hair was shining in the sun, and his skin was well tanned.
She was waiting for him sat on a picnic table, reading a cookbook.
‘Hello,’ he called to her, as he opened the car door.
‘Hello,’ she called back, closing the cookbook and getting up from the table. They approached each other and hugged.
‘I haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said, smiling.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come and have a look at the animals. How are they?’
‘Very good. The lions, hyenas and komodo dragons are all eating regular meals. We have at least two school trips a week. Sometimes a visit from a special school or a retirement home as well.’
‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see them.’
‘And you?’ she said. ‘You’re well?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very well. I’m not at school anymore.’
‘Oh really? What are you doing?’
‘I’m doing some research.’
‘That’s fantastic. What on?’ she said.
‘I’m researching the digestive capacities of the Lion’s stomach, as a hobby. For work I write exam papers.’