The Man At The Bus Stop

FICTION Could Megan pluck up the courage to chat to her passenger?

A charming romance

As she pulled up at the bus stop Megan found her gaze drawn to the waiting passengers. Only three today, sheltering from the Yorkshire drizzle, and Callum wasn’t amongst them. She felt her heart dip a little.

How had it happened? How had she fallen for a man she’d barely spoken to? It wasn’t her style. She was down to earth – practical.

“You don’t have a scrap of romance in your soul.” That’s what her ex had said when they went their separate ways after only a handful of dates which had happened to span Valentine’s Day. “You’re not a pink kind of girl.”

He’d probably been right about the pink. She much preferred strong colours. A good strong blue, like the paint on her mam’s front door, or a solid green like the fields that stretched out beyond her rental cottage. Romance didn’t always have to be pink, did it?

If it did, she was done for.

Now she’d gone and fallen for Callum, one of her regulars. He’d been helping old Mrs Crossley up the steps of the bus. His head dipped to hear what she was saying.

Not that you needed to dip your head to hear Mrs C. She had a voice like sandpaper, scratchy and coarse. In Megan’s experience, she was usually using it to complain about something.

Callum had been so kind, Megan had thought – and those Eddie Redmayne eyes behind his specs didn’t go amiss either.

Not that he was likely to notice her even if he was here, she mused as the doors hissed closed. Bus drivers were invisible, weren’t they?

Mrs C was here today, though. She grumbled about the weather, and the fact that her hip was playing up.

“You’re late,” she said. “Better get a wriggle on, young lady. I don’t want to miss my appointment.”

“I’m not late.” Megan’s tone must have been sharper than usual because when Mrs C got stiffly to her feet at her stop, she came over.

Megan thought she was about to get a dressing down, which she probably deserved. She prided herself on her professionalism. But instead Mrs C just looked at her keenly and said, “Man trouble, is it, dear? They’re not worth it. Take it from me.”

“This one is. But he doesn’t actually know that I exist.”

Whatever had possessed her to say that out loud? She must be more riled than she thought.

Mrs C snorted and left the bus, her stick tapping like a third, more efficient, foot. Shuffle shuffle tap. Shuffle shuffle tap. Megan hoped she wasn’t going to put in a complaint about her. She loved this job. She loved the people with all their idiosyncrasies.

Still, it was the third day Callum hadn’t appeared and somehow the world seemed a far bleaker place without him.

Then on the fifth day, just as she was beginning to think he must have changed his job or got a car, there he was at the bus stop, chatting to Mrs C, helping her up. But Megan was still invisible. He barely glanced at her as he paid his fare.

She was so tongue-tied she could only whisper a hoarse “Ta, love” and look after him wistfully as he took his seat. If this was pink romance, she didn’t want it.

The doors had just swooshed shut on her final stop – Callum and Mrs C had got off and she was getting up to check the bus for left-behind rubbish – when she heard Mrs C’s carrying voice on the other side of the doors.

“Young man!” The old lady’s voice was sandpaper-shrill. “I’ve left my stick. Will you fetch it for me, please?”

Megan could hardly believe her luck as Callum came bounding cheerfully back onto the bus. “Driver – could you hold on a sec?” There he was looking straight into her eyes with his fringe falling over his face and his cheeks faintly flushed and the world seemed to stop for a moment.

“Yes – yes, of course.” It was the longest conversation they had ever had. “My name’s Megan,” she said. “Just so you know.”

“Megan.” His eyes were suddenly shy. “Lovely name.” “Thanks.” “I came back for Mrs C’s stick. She said she left it on the back seat.”

Megan frowned.

“YOUNG MAN!” The old lady’s voice was shrill. “I’ve LEFT my STICK”

Even though their WORDS were TRIVIAL, they had SIGNIFICANCE

“She didn’t. I’d have seen it. I’m sure.” Still, they searched anyway. All the while Megan was aware of his presence, his arm within touching distance, his hair a breath away, and the scent of him.

“I thought you might be ill,” Megan said. “I was worried when you didn’t catch the bus.” “Man flu. I didn’t think you’d notice.” “Well, I did.” Even though their words were trivial, they seemed to take on extra significance. She thought they had moved through the first barriers of not knowing each other, and she wouldn’t be invisible to him again. Before he left, he asked for her number. “I was going to say it’s so I can let you know if I’m not coming so you won’t worry – but really it’s so I can phone you and maybe if you’re not busy we could meet. Not just on the bus, I mean. If that’s OK?”

“That’s OK,” she said and he smiled at her with those lovely Eddie Redmayne eyes. And Megan knew they had started something special.

They never had found that stick. Funnily, Mrs C appeared to have it back in her possession the next day.

“I made a mistake,” she said breezily. “I must have had it all the time.” Her voice didn’t sound like sandpaper any more, but wise and quite sweetened with humour. Her ears seemed a little pink.

She and Megan exchanged a secret smile as she scanned her pass.

“Thanks, Mrs C,” Megan said, watching the old lady tap-tapping away as she laboriously got off the bus. “You’re welcome,” Mrs C said. Behind her head, Megan noticed that the sun was coming out in the wispy Yorkshire sky so that the raggedy clouds were highlighted with silver – and maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn there was also the faintest edging of pink.