The Magical Bus

 It was a windy, wet day moving to evening on Darchester City High Street and long queues waited for buses at bus stops. Everyone stood huddled together using his or her neighbour as a shield from the persistent, driving rain. It was the evening rush home to a hot meal, a warm house and an evening viewing the favourite program on television – if you were lucky.

Slowly the lines of passengers diminished as bus after bus arrived and then left to transport its passengers to various areas of the city. Soon a queue of ten people remained and when it looked as if no bus was going to arrive, one pulled into the stop. It was Bill Harkness who was driving. Everyone who travelled on the Number 45 bus to Darton felt happy when they saw that particular driver behind the wheel, they didn’t know why, but they just did. They all shuffled onto the bus and greeted Bill as they bought their tickets or showed their passes. Soon the bus sprang into life and moved off to join the ever flowing traffic on the High street.

Janet McCleish sat worrying how she was going to make ends meet that week. She was only paid fortnightly and this was a ‘blank’ week. No pay till next week. The children were always hungry and Harry her husband only received a small invalidity pension. He had been injured at work, but the court had deemed it was partially his fault, so only awarded him a token pension. Harry had told Janet that he had been complaining for weeks about the lathe that the foreman had instructed him to use, but as ever with the big firms, they got off and the little man suffered.

Colin Davies looked mournfully out of the rain streaked windows. He had been laid off from his job as a trainee architect after a series of cutbacks in his firm. The old adage of ‘Last in, first out’ applied to Colin’s position. He had only started with Donaldson and Wright at the beginning of the year and even then he had been employed on a temporary contract.

John Drew opened his wallet, he was positive there had been a five pound note in it this morning when he had left for work, but now there was no sign of it. He fumed silently, how could he have been so careless. It had probably fallen out when he had taken something else out of his wallet. Oh, well, he thought, there goes my tea for tonight, he had been imagining the fish supper he intended to buy at Toni’s fish restaurant on the way home. Oh well, it would have to be toast instead!

Kathy Wilson checked her watch. Billy her son would be in from school now. She didn’t like him coming into an empty house but she was sure that at twelve years old he was sufficiently mature enough to make himself a drink then sit and watch his programs on the television till she got home. Since Fred, her husband had walked out on the two of them, money had been tight, but her job in Millar’s dress shop in Darchester helped pay the bills and that was all that mattered. Still she worried that Billy and her couldn’t get a holiday.

Janet Stretton was annoyed. She had been sitting on the bus contemplating what she would make for tea and realised that she hadn’t taken the meat out of the freezer before she had left for work. Now all she could envisage for her evening meal was a pile of potatoes and some veg! What a nuisance, she thought.

David Harrier was worried, he had made a mistake when counting up his till totals at the Southern Bank where he was employed. The young man had just started working there three months ago after leaving school and after initial training, Mr Collins the bank manager, had entrusted him to work a cash teller’s position. Everything had been going well until this evening when he had made a mistake with his addition. He had been rushing to get home and changed into his ‘glad rags’ before going out to meet his mates for an evening out. The head teller had noted the mistake and Davis was sure he was in for the ‘high jump’ with Mr Collins when he arrived next morning. Crap! he thought to himself.

Carl Vane had had it ‘up to here’ with his mother. She was forever poking around in his ‘stuff’. He had hung a large ‘No Entry’ sign on his bedroom door, but she still went in and out as if she owned the place. The fact that she did own the place still did not give her the right to pry, something was going to have to be said and it looked like ‘tonight was the night’ as they say, whoever ‘they’ were, he thought angrily.

Dave Gormley felt extremely useless. He had retired from work as a welder some years ago and remembered all his dreams and good intentions that he had shared with his mates at his retirement party at the ‘Golden Eagle’ pub in the city. Only a few of his work colleagues had turned up, but Mr Harrington, the boss, had come along with his wife and had presented him with a lovely carriage clock and a cheque for forty pounds all collected from round the offices and workplace of Harrington’s Steelworks. After that, pints of beer had been bought followed by nips of whisky leading to Dave ending his special evening in a state of euphoria when he told all gathered of his plans to learn how to fish, to catch up on his reading and to maybe learn a language for use when he went on holiday. The next morning he had awoken with a very sore head, a dry mouth and a growing feeling of lassitude. He began to lie longer in bed in the morning when he would have been up with the lark eager to get to work. He would sit up late into the evening in front of the television and often fell asleep in his chair. Useless, that is what I am, totally useless, he thought angrily.

Oh well, that was the end of it, thought Sally Potts sadly. Spike her boyfriend for two years had decided to split up with her. She felt a tear forming in her eye and angrily brushed it off with her hand. He had decided to backpack in Australia to ‘find himself’! Sally hadn’t been invited to come and she realised why when she found out later through ‘Facebook’ who else was going. Spike and Jerry Smith, Spike’s mate accompanied by Sheila Fisher, Sharon Fletcher and Mary Salter! Find himself? she thought angrily. They’ll just be Men Fridays to the three girls!

Mrs Agnes Barton watched the lights of the shops go by as the bus went on its route. It was a pity that it was raining, she had enjoyed her afternoon at the bingo, but when she had come out having not won a ‘Bingo’ and found the rain coming down any pleasure that she had felt evaporated. She still had a trek up Gardner Street after she got up to her stop. She would be soaking by the time she made it home. Imagine, not taking her umbrella with her. Silly old fool.

Bill Harkness leant over the wheel of the bus and checked both ways before pulling out at the junction. His big windscreen wipers slid back and forth over the rain streaked glass in a kind of syncopatic beat. Swish! Swish! They went flicking a hundred drops of water out of their way on each arc. It was an unpleasant night, thought Bill and the bus seems to have a lot of unhappy people aboard tonight.

A car pulled out in front of the bus and Bill had to step on the brake momentarily. “Stupid fool!” hissed Bill. “It’s not a night for that sort of behaviour.” Bill read the sign on the back window and groaned when he saw the ‘Baby Onboard’ logo. “Imagine, he thought, driving like that with an infant onboard.

The first of his stops was just round the corner and he knew that the red ‘Stopping’ sign would light up in a minute. It was a special button that the passengers pushed to intimate to him that they wanted to get off. When he was driving that bus, it took on strange powers.

Kathy Wilson leant forward and pushed the ‘stop’ button and a musical tinkle sounded as the ‘stopping’ sign appeared. As Kathy got up off her seat she felt suddenly happier. Spike was just one person and as the old song says ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’. She would get her pals on the phone and meet up with them that night for an ‘all girl’s evening’. Yes, that was what she would do, she thought with a smile. “Goodnight Mr Harkness,” she said to Bill, “and thank you.”

Bill nodded to her and replied, ‘Goodnight’ as he watched alight from the bus and happily make her way home.

It was Janet Stretton who touched the ‘magic’ button to stop the bus. As she rose she suddenly remembered that she had a tin of salmon in one of her cupboards. She would boil the potatoes and after mashing them, mix in the delicious fish flesh and fry them. Nothing better than salmon fish cakes, she thought as she moved down the bus. “Thanks Bill, have a nice night,” she said to the driver.

Bill smiled, “See you later.”

Dave Gormley slid along the bench seat until he was close to the ‘stop’ button. It was still raining and with the thought of his dull front room with all of its ‘charm’ awaiting him he groaned inwardly. Oh well, nothing for it, he thought, back to the same old, same old.

The instant his finger had pushed the button his attention was drawn to a poster on the inside of the bus. “Come to Sunny Spain” it invited and suddenly Dave could feel the Spanish sun on him warming his old bones. That was what he would do, go to Spain for a few weeks and recharge his batteries. He felt that it would all be different when he returned from abroad. He would learn to fish, maybe even take a trip up to Scotland to the great salmon rivers. “Good night Bill,” he said patting the driver on the shoulder. “Think I’ll get away for a bit – somewhere abroad maybe.”

“Well enjoy yourself old friend.”

Carl Vane stood up and shuffled towards the front of the bus. He waited till the last minute before pushing the ‘stop’ button and smiled when he saw how the driver had to brake suddenly.

“Should have rung it a little further back, son,” said Bill in a friendly voice.

“Yeah,” said Carl with a wicked smile on his face, “But not so much fun, eh?”

The youth jumped down on to the pavement and set off up the road, running.

Bill shook his head sadly and after checking his overtaking mirror pulled out into the road.

The bell rang and the ‘Stopping’ sign showed as Colin Davies got to his feet. He felt strange as he passed the driver, somehow happy. “Goodnight driver. Thanks for the ride.” He said and realised that perhaps now he had no job would open up several opportunities for him. Tomorrow he would go down to the Job Centre and see what other jobs he could do. I’m a young man, he thought, I can do anything I want.

“Good night,” said Bill, “you certainly look happier now than when you got on the bus.”

“Yes, and I feel happier,” Colin said. “Thanks again.”

Janet McCleish had been drowsing as she sat, the bus’ movement lulling her. She opened her eyes suddenly and realised that they were almost at her stop. She reached out and pressed the ‘stop’ button. Getting to her feet, hanging tightly to the seat’s rail she moved out into the aisle. Now what had she been worrying about? She thought to herself. My family are all healthy and well, so it can’t be that and Harry will have a nice cup of tea waiting for me when I get in with the kids sitting in front of the fire watching their T.V. program. She felt a glow of warmth inside her as she turned to Bill. “Thanks Bill. It’s a rotten night, make sure you get a hot toddy when you get in.”

“Thanks Janet, I will indeed. I’ve got a bottle of the good Scot’s stuff just waiting for me. Goodnight to you.”

John Drew felt his raincoat. It had dried off in the warm interior of the bus and he knew that the next stop, just round the corner was his stop. He pressed the ‘stop’ button and climbed to his feet, slowly moving down the aisle till he stood opposite the door. He was still annoyed about the lost fiver, but, oh well, ‘worse things happen at sea’ he thought pragmatically.

“Oh, sir,” said Bill politely. “I think you have something stuck to your collar.”

John felt his collar and found his five pound note. It had come out of his wallet when he had presented his bus pass to the driver when he had come on the bus. It must have been lodged there all the time!

“Thank you driver, now I can get that fish supper I was dreaming all day about!” he laughed.

“Well, goodnight, sir and bon appétit!” said Bill.

The rain got heavier as the bus proceeded along Farson Terrace. Bill could see the puddles stretching over the road and took his time driving through them. The lights in the houses up this way were all lit and people could be seen through the windows preparing for their evening meal.

David Harrier checked his watch. He would be in the house by six o’clock unless the bus was delayed, but upon checking out of the window next to him, he realised that he was two stops from where he needed to get off. He wondered if Mr. Collins would give him a verbal warning regarding his misdemeanour. That was all he needed, he thought as an empty bus shelter slipped by. That wouldn’t look good on his records. Raising his hand he touched the ‘stop’ button and stood up. Maybe it was a ‘wake up’ call for him, something he needed, to get him back on the straight and narrow. He had to admit that he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention and in a bank when you were dealing with other people’s money, that would not do. He would go into see the bank manager tomorrow and apologise for his oversight, assuring him that he would do better in future. Yes, that was the ticket, he thought. “Goodnight,” he said as he passed Bill and stepping down off the bus’ platform, walked off around a corner and vanished from sight.

The rain was crashing down on the roof of the bus, it sounded like an engine roaring. Agnes Barton looked through the streaming windows fearfully. She had just recovered from a bout of flu and certainly didn’t want another. It had been nice meeting all her pals at the ‘Bingo’, that was why she went and dreamt often of carrying off the grand prize, but, ah well, she would just have to carry on dreaming. The next stop was hers and looking around her she realised that there was only her aboard now as after the driver dropped her at her stop he would drive directly to the depot. She touched the ‘stop’ button and the red ‘Stopping’ light came on at the front of the bus. Agnes got up and slowly moved down the bus until she was standing by Bill’s side.

“Have you far to go, love?” asked Bill.

“I’ve to go up to Gardener Street after you drop me,” she replied with a sigh.

“Then just sit yourself down, I’ll drop you at your door. What number is it?”

Incredulously, Agnes sat down on one of the bench seats at the front of the bus. “It’s number 27, but won’t you get into trouble?” she asked.

“Bill laughed and pulled the bus round the corner and headed for Agnes’ street, “What they don’t see won’t hurt them,” he said with a wink.

Driving into the depot that night, Bill was met by Inspector Nigel Cooke. “You’re a bit late Bill,” he said tapping his watch.

“Ah,well, Nige, the weather was against me this evening,” replied Bill ruefully.

“Right!” said Nigel. “Get your bus parked and get off home. See you tomorrow, Bill, goodnight.”

Bill parked the number 45 bus next to the garage wall. Before he alighted he went over to a small box that sat by the red ‘Stopping’ sign at the front of the bus. Carefully he disconnected it and put it in his pocket. Looking about him he checked that he hadn’t left anything and then stepping down he shut the bus’ door and locked it. “Goodnight old girl, see you tomorrow,” he whispered.

Upon arriving at his house, Bill was greeted by Fenella the cat. The animal rubbed up against Bill’s legs until he had opened a can of meat for her and then she set to licking the bowl clean.

Bill put the kettle on and as he waited for it to boil he took the mysterious box out of his pocket and went through to his kitchen and connected it to a large object that looked like a meat mincer. It had a dark square body with a spout that emerged from its side. Reaching over, Bill snapped on a switch and the machine began to hum. Placing a coal scuttle below the spout Bill waited patiently until suddenly small black objects about the size of cricket balls began to emerge and drop into the scuttle. Ten of the objects fell out before the machine switched off with a grateful wheeze. Disconnecting the box, Bill put it back in his pocket and picking up the coal scuttle carried it through to his living room where he began to makeup a fire with paper and bits of wood. When the sticks caught fire, Bill placed a few of the black balls onto the flames which hungrily devoured the objects and reduced them to ash.

By the time Bill had made his tea and had carried it through to the living room, all but one of the black objects had been incinerated. The single ball sat unchanging as the fire died away in the hearth.

After he had eaten his tea, Bill lifted it out with his fire tongs and laid it on the tiles in front of the fireplace. “A problem then?” he said to himself, as he reached for the coal hammer.

Steadying the black orb with the tongs he hit it with the hammer. It cracked and fell to bits releasing a small bright light which rose into the air then hung still awaiting Bill’s command.

“Let me just get my coat on and we’ll away,” said Bill and turning to the cat whispered, “Look after the house Fenella, we won’t be long.”

The night was dark, wet and windy as Bill made his way through the Darchester streets led by the little firefly which raced ahead of him then stopped awaiting him catching up. “So, we’re headed to the east end are we?” Bill hissed. “Not a good area, I’ll bet.”

As Bill eventually rounded a corner he found himself in a large open area where wrecks of cars, old fridges and washing machine carcasses lay. A large housing estate bordered this open plain of despair and the little shining light raced towards the buildings. People were about, standing in doors smoking cigarettes watching or else walking hunched up through the rain. No one seemed to notice the little light that preceded the elderly man.

Eventually the light stopped at the gate to a large tenement block. Graffiti was drawn all over the building’s walls and as Bill entered the passage, the odours of urine and boiled cabbage permeated the atmosphere. “Which number?” he whispered to the light and watched as the glow illuminated the door of number 17.

Bill suddenly heard raised voices from inside the flat. A man’s voice shouting and a woman’s pleading. There was a big bump as if something had fallen. Bill couldn’t wait any longer and grabbing the door handle found that the door was unlocked. He swung it open and ran into the flat shouting, “Hello, are you alright?”

Cal Vane stood looking down at the woman on the floor. He knew that this was his mother, but she had overstepped her responsibilities and interfered with his business. Covering the floor was a white powder that his mother had guessed correctly was drugs and foolishly had ripped the packet containing the narcotic open and had thrown it at him. He had slapped her in the face to silence her screaming and she had collapsed on the floor weeping. Red rage ran in his veins and he slid a knife out of his pocket. She would have to pay; he stepped towards her and raised his arm – just as Bill crashed into the room.

“What the…!” screamed Carl turning towards the old man. “Who are you?”

Listen, son, you don’t have to do this you know,” Bill said holding up his hands in defence.

“What has it to do with you old man?” Carl shouted, angry now that he had a witness.

“This may sound crazy to you,” said Bill quietly, but on my bus I have a little box that absorbs people’s negative feelings. It is connected through the ‘stop’ buttons on the bus, when they press it takes the negative feeling away and replaces it with a good, positive feeling.”

 “You are totally mad, mate!” grunted Carl.

“No, honestly I remove negative feelings and they are stored in a box that I take home, process them into something like coal which I burn,” Bill  said holding his hands out. “I try and make the world a better place.”

Carl’s mother gave a moan and began to get up. Carl was clearly spooked now and Bill was worried in case he panicked and hurt someone.

“Look Carl, calm down. When I took your negative feelings home they would not burn and this meant to me that you had lost something, basic humanity,” Bill said. “When a feeling won’t burn it compresses tightly and when carbon is compressed it turns into a diamond.

We have come to return your spark of humanity in the form of this diamond.”

“Whose ‘we’,” said Carl, suspiciously looking about him, “I don’t see anyone else!”

Suddenly a small light appeared just by Carl’s head and as he watched mystified, it increased in luminance until his head looked as if it had a halo round it – then it went out. Carl staggered slightly and after opening and closing his eyes several times, shook his head. It was if he suddenly became conscious of his mother lying on the floor and dropping the knife he knelt down and took the woman into his arms and hugged her, “I’m sorry Mum. I’ll be a better son, you’ll see.”

Bill crept quietly out of number 17 and closed the front door behind him. A miracle had been performed here today and Bill knew in his heart of hearts that the boy would be the son his mother had always wanted – from that day on.

So, if you are ever in Darchester and have the weight of the world on your shoulders look out for a number 45 bus and just hope old Bill Harkness is behind the wheel. He’ll take away your worries and replace them with a positive outlook!