Bus Girls (to be continued..)

Introduction

Of course I realise that with this story I am in danger of alienating
myself from all my bus driver readers. My depiction of bus drivers
within this story is less than favourable, and no doubt stereotypical.
On the plus side, I look forward to letters from all you good looking
bus drivers out there! Some of you may not be familiar with the term
'bus girl' let me enlighten you. When I was at secondary school I would
use the buses regularly, morning and night. My journey taking 30
minutes each way, I became rather familiar with the faces of the 'bus
girls' in my town. 'Bus girls' do not necessarily need to use the bus
to travel to a destination. Indeed, I have seen many 'bus girls' travel
one route with one bus driver and return on the same bus, different
driver on the same route. 'Bus girls' are the pop groupie of the public
transport world. They will travel with the drivers, bring them tea,
laugh at their jokes, and in turn make the drivers' daily routine a
little more enjoyable! My story is based upon my interpretation of life
and love on the buses. Don't forget to keep an eye out for all those
'bus girls', they are out there!

The 402 was late, 20 minutes late. Where was Jed? Katy stood
immobilised by the cold, her cheeks reddened and her nose dripping. She
pulled her scarf tighter to her, and remembered suddenly something that
brought a large grin to her face. Mr McCormack, who had also been
waiting for Jed, though he didn't know that to be his name, impatient
and tired, wondered what kind of naughtiness brought such a smile to a
young girls' face.

Katy was 17 and studied hard at school. She was no straight A but she
achieved good grades. Teachers were happy, parents were happy. No cause
for concerns, no secret urgent talks. Katy was a good girl. Daughter to
be proud of. However, Mr and Mrs Coffin worried about their Katy for
she was 'at that age' and had, as yet to meet her first love. Being
school sweethearts themselves, they knew all about the strength and
power of young love. Katy was not conventionally pretty. She had a
short blunt blonde bob that highlighted her rounded face, and huge
hazel eyes. She struggled, as most teenage girls do, with her weight
and quite a persistent case of acne. Her legs, her best feature, had
caught the attention of several pubescent boys from her class.

Jed was 33, a ginger, he smoked 40 a day (not including his evenings in
the pub!!) He was over 16 stone, and to the untrained eye (many of
Katy's classmates) he was a complete waster. Married at 19 and
separated at 21 Jed had grown up fast. He had two young children to
support. The wages of a bus driver were what attracted him to the job,
though of course that wasn't what he had told his boss,

"I love to see people arrive at their destination happy, and to know
I've played a part".

Angela, his then wife, had 'rewarded' him after he received the call
with the job offer. Jed, who had suffered largely from a very
restricted sex life since the marriage, had thanked the gods for making
him a bus driver.

Jed turned the corner swiftly, watching out for all the mad pedestrians
who always seem to cross the road just before a bus. He scratched his
wispy facial hair and pulled a piece of sausage batter out of his
yellowing teeth. Things were good for Jed. There was Katy. She was half
his age; all the lads at the depot had been well envious. 'Cause he'd
told Katy that he hadn't said a word to nobody about them, that was
private. But, the look on Colin's face yesterday over coffee wasn't one
to be missed, though the spluttering of food from Colin's gob that he
had received on his clean uniform was an unwanted extra. Jed spotted
Katy amongst the large throng of peeved market day passengers occupying
the underpass. He thought about her pink skin against the black lace of
her bra, and licked his lips as he stopped directly in front of Mr
McCormack. The onslaught would begin.

'I've been waiting for over 30 minutes for you, in my day we never kept
our paying customers waiting.' Mr McCormack began what he believed to
be the speech of his lifetime (which by Katy's standards really was
quite a long old life). 'I want an explanation, this is just not
cricket! Get your socks pulled up lad'
Jed, aware that the current love of his life was staring eagerly, as a
small puppy might at his much loved owner, pushed a hand through his
slick ginger locks. Picturing himself as the bus drivers' equivalent of
Brad Pitt he let out a smirk and growled 'blame the traffic mate write
to Ken Livingstone or something'
Both men feeling as if they had contributed greatly to the great
British wit left the conversation at that.
'That'll be ?10.50 love' Jed was on a roll now, nothing was gonna stop
him. Unfortunately Mrs Love, the receiver of this 'exceptional' wit,
didn't seem to grasp the gag, and paid her 70p and moved swiftly on.
Mrs Love hated getting the bus, if it hadn't have been for Mr Love and
that blasted contraption of his she would be making her way to Walshes
Supermarket in comfort and without the interference from these blasted
bus drivers.

Meanwhile, the love story of the century was continuing its powerful
course on the 402 to Sevenoaks. Katy took her usual position by the
side of Jed. Swaying with the movement of the bus, she watched him as
he steered the bends and straights of route 68 . They were both
thinking about last night, Katy's cheeks turned the colour of the bus
as she pictured them together, her and Jed, on her mum and dad's sofa.
You see, Mr and Mrs Coffin had made one fatal error in their parenting
of Katy. They had assumed that while they spent the evening serenaded
by the beauty of Chopin, their beloved Katy would be sitting in her
pink towelling pyjamas, glass of milk by her side, hard at work
studying for her mock exams. As I'm sure the reader can imagine this
image couldn't have been further from the truth.

Mr and Mrs Coffin had left the house at 1900, the performance began at
2000, and Bill Coffin had thought it would be nice to stop for a quick
drink before curtains up. In truth, Hazel Coffin was not a lover of
Chopin and could have, should she have had the choice, sat in The
Windmill for the rest of the evening, which would have made a pleasant
if not rather indulgent change. Shortly after they had pulled away from
the house, Katy had texted Jed 'Coast is clear baby'. Jed, who was on
feet, he didn't have his own car, the buses were his babies. He told
Katy that he didn't like to drive cars, they were too small and posed
no challenge to him as a London bus driver. Mr Adams from the bank and
countless loan companies approached by Jed could, however tell another
story. The truth was, Jed couldn't really afford to buy a toy car for
his boy, Alex, let alone a full-grown car for himself. The truth was,
you see that Katy's friends were along the right lines with their
character analysis of Jed, his boozing and smoking had inevitably taken
the toll on his bank balance. Jed was a waster.

She had made him a cup of coffee, white and strong, like him, Jed had
said. Katy smiled to herself he may not be as good looking as the boys
my friends fancy, she thought, but he does make me laugh. A bit like
Frank skinner, she thought proudly. (A fat Chris Evans would probably
have been my description). Jed sucked on his rolled cigarette as she
brought him into the family living room. This room was well loved, well
cared for. It was a testament to all the hard graft the couple had put
in since their teens. Mrs Coffin had worked long hours in the deli at
Walshes, serving ungrateful fussy customers 'not too streaky' bacon to
pay for her beautiful oriental dolls displayed in the oak cabinet. Mr
Coffin had sweated and groaned through hundreds of car repairs to
afford the plush beige carpet. A fleck of ash landed on the suede sofa,
Jed hurriedly wiped it away. He had a feeling in his bones that his
luck was in, and he really would not be taking any chances. Katy, being
a decent girl, with a decent upbringing, offered her guest the remote
control, the ultimate freedom to watch any channel he liked. Jed, being
a full-blooded man hoped that he might just be able to have his way
with more than the Coffin's television. The television incidentally,
was a wide screen and DVD package, 32 inches, silver. Very modern, "a
must for any home", Tom, the salesman from Main Eletricals had told Mr
Coffin 'man to man'. Tom, with the commission received from this top
sale had taken his girlfriend Jenna out for a splash up meal at the
most posh restaurant in Bromley. How was he to know she had been seeing
his friend Paul and had decided to finish with poor old Tom that
night?

Jed inched closer to Katy and laid his hand, minus cigarette, on her
pale thigh. Katy had chosen her best dress for the evening. A short
velvet little black number, with thin straps, ?20 from Bexley market.
Though she was a young girl with an innocent mind, she had an unnerving
knowledge of how to dress for a man. Though, in all fairness, Jed our
romantic hero needed little encouragement.
Katy's heart was hammering in her chest, Jed's manhood was pulsing
against his leg. She thought she would die if he didn't kiss her soon,
he thought he would explode if he couldn't get her knickers off now.
Clumsily, they fell to the floor, Katy's face was ashen with fear as
she watched Jed take the condom out of his crumpled wallet (it had seen
better days.. but then so had Jed) She caught a glimpse of the Coffin
family portrait just behind Jed's greasy panting body and wondered if
she was making the mistake of her short life. In all fairness, one look
at Jed, his face moistened, his hair stuck to his head, should have
already given her the hint! Gingerly she grasped his fleshy body as he
rocked to and throw against her pushing hard against her body and
harder into her. Jed was having the time of his life; he couldn't
remember when he had been this happy..well that Bond goal in '87 was a
corker. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, between cock and mind.
He wanted to stay inside this young beautiful body forever, but his
body was desperate for the pay out. It came.

So what have we got? A young innocent girl giving herself to an older,
fatter, grubbier bus driver. How could I, the responsible writer have
allowed this to happen? I'm telling you it is happening all the time.
I'll move on.... But we haven't seen the last of these two
lovebirds.

Meanwhile, in a bus depot not so far away, some of Jed's friends are
beginning to feel the heat since the entrance into their tight little
group, of a newly qualified driver. Mark Whiting is not your typical
bus driver (of course I am aware that I could be offending and losing
any of my bus driver readers who have endured thus far with this
hazardous statement). He works out, regularly. He doesn't and has never
smoked a cigarette in his life. Don't lose heart readers, our boy is no
angel. He loves the ladies, and the ladies absolutely adore him. Mark's
reputation with the ladies had unfortunately preceded him at Bromley
bus depot, and the claws are well and truly out. Cliff Bextor, a short
rounded man with a protruding jaw had indeed made Mark's acquaintance
not so long ago. Audrey, his younger and louder sister had fallen in
love and fallen pregnant to the young lothario three months ago, and
had not seen hide nor hair of him since he had charged out of Burger
Rama, cheese special hanging out of his mouth. Mark had since taken up
with several women he had met from Lola's nightclub, and was currently
running quite an efficient rota, Trudy was current favourite, and
subsequently occupying the weekend slot.

Mark sauntered into the depot with a cockiness and self assuredness not
normally associated with a new driver on his first day. Cliff had just
taken a sip of black coffee and a bite of his cheese and pickle
sandwich when the staff room door swung open. Spitting and spluttering,
Cliff tumbled to his feet and launched a clumsy attack on the
unsuspecting Mark. Seeing that Cliff was no huge threat, Mark grinned
and pushed him slightly, causing him to trip over the table and land
with the remaining tepid coffee on his chest. Mr Warner, the chief,
wondering what had upset his peaceful crossword time stormed through
the doors. Warner had been looking for a chance to confront Cliff over
his recent customer complaints saw his chance and pulled him from the
mess into his office. Mark was his new fresh face, he had real skill.
He was different from the motley crew he had inherited from his
predecessor.

Warner pushed his half-finished crossword aside and sat down. He caught
sight of the clue that had been puzzling him all morning, 4 letters
'having no particular purpose or value', he motioned for Cliff to take
a seat opposite him. He watched Cliff run a hand through his hair and
gasped;

"Idle, of course!"
"Sorry sir?"
"Forget it Bextor! What was that all about?"
"That bloke fucking winds me up sir, he's a first rate arse hole and
I'm not about to watch him stroll round in front of me like he's
fucking God's gift."
"Bextor, is this your depot? Do you pay the bloody rent on this
place?"
Cliff shrugged reluctantly, "Nah, but I was eating my fucking
lunch!"
"Bextor. Mark Whiting is just what we need at London Transport Buses,
he's sharp and he doesn't look like he's been pulled through a ruddy
bush first thing in the morning, you're on a warning Bextor, your
attitude stinks, and so come to think of it do you, 3 complaints this
week about your personal hygiene and aggressive attitude"
"fucking old biddies, nothing fuckin' better to do with their poncy
time"
"I don't give a monkeys Bextor, put another foot wrong and you're out
on your ear!"
"Sir"

Cliff, pulling his wet shirt from his damp skin, left the room and made
for the 358. Cliff had been working the buses for London Transport for
over seven years, the 358 was his darling. He usually met up with Rosie
at stopping point 54, and she rode the rest of the way with him. He
couldn't wait to see Rosie today. Val, his wife of twelve years had
been nagging him all weekend, and Audrey's pregnancy was taken its toll
on her. He seemed to be expected to look after them all, no one spared
a thought for him. And now that fucking wanker Mark had started at his
depot! If he could just see Rosie today she could sort him out. Cliff
stopped short, the 358 was there in her usual spot, but her engine was
running. His walk turned into a run as he attempted to catch the 358
before it left the depot. Too late, the bus turned out of the depot and
on to route 33 with Mark Whiting smiling at the wheel. Cliff turned to
see the chief standing behind him.

"You're on route 24 today Bextor. I'm giving Mark a chance to show me
what he can do on the shopping centre route, come on get on with it,
you're gonna keep passengers waiting"
"Chief it's the fucking hospital route! It's full of poxy pensioners
and naffing ill people!"
"Deal with it Bextor!"

Mark was having an excellent day. The traffic was pretty good and the
passengers all seemed to be easy enough, nothing to this bus lark. As
he pulled up at the library he noticed a short brunette grappling
through her bag for change. She had several bags of shopping and was
battling with the bitter wind. Mark pulled up and opened the bus doors.
The brunette looked quizzically at the bus and its driver. She seemed
to be debating as to whether to get on or not.

"Are you getting on love or d'ya fancy walking in this weather?"
"Er..yeah, that is no, yeah I'm getting on"
"Where you wanna go sweetheart? Got a lot of bags there"
"Er yeah ermm.. 70p please"
I expect that you have already guessed the identity of the brunette. Of
course, Mark has just met Cliff's beloved Rosie. Rosie Thomas is 33 and
works in a residential care home. She first met Cliff a couple of years
back. She had liked his smile and found it easy to talk with him. He
listened to all her stories about Betty and Albert and the others in
the home. Sometimes he laughed but he always seemed to understand her.
Rosie sat down at the front of the bus and stared at the back of Mark's
head. Where had Cliff got to? He had been doing this run for years,
maybe something was wrong with Val? Suddenly she felt a strong pang of
guilt surge through her, she couldn't believe that she was still seeing
Cliff despite learning of his wife. Surely she of all people should
know the pain caused by an affair. She had watched her mother turn to
anti-depressants and drink after the painful separation from her
father. Mr Thomas had met someone else. He had apparently been seeing
her for years before Susan Thomas had found the receipt from
Interflora. Since Jack Thomas had only ever bought Susan flowers once,
on the birth of their only child, Rosie, Susan knew that the
relationship was serious. She had confronted Jack immediately, and he
had cried as he had admitted the truth. And that was the end. Jack had
left that night and Rosie had become the sole carer for her mother. The
roles were instantly reversed and Rosie, at the age of 16, had said
goodbye to her childhood forever. Self-consciously she wiped a tear
from her face. She wasn't really sure where she was going to get off
the bus, she normally stayed on for the whole journey on a Monday. She
liked to keep Cliff company and after his shift they would go out for a
pizza or a curry together. Sometimes she would sneak Cliff back to her
mother's house, and he would creep out early in the morning. Rosie had
never really summoned the courage to leave her mother on her own. Over
the last 17 years Susan had put herself back together, largely due to
the support of her loving daughter. Rosie feared that her leaving would
trigger off the old pangs of loneliness again, and that her mother may
not survive the pain. The bell rang and the bus pulled to a halt, Rosie
noticed that the bus had emptied completely. Mark turned to his only
remaining passenger;

"This is the end of the road darlin'"
Rosie jumped slightly "sorry I'll er get off"
"Are you alright darlin'?"
"yeah, just tired I suppose"