The Buses Come as They Please

Part 5

Jim woke with the bird song at 6:30 and bounded out of bed like a man half his age might. Saturdays were probably his favourite day of the week. The first four or so hours he whittled away with several cups of tea and a John Grisham novel. He never used to be a big reader, but his partner, Grace, had bought him a novel for Christmas one year, telling him it was her dad's favourite. He hadn't intended to read it, but she had badgered him so much that he eventually caved, and much to his dismay he had been hooked. The obsession had begun and he had read scores of books since, in a wide variety of genres. Crime dramas were still his favourite though.

When he had become so hungry that his stomach had begun to growl, he grabbed his coat and walked to the end of the road where there was a line of shops: a newsagents, barbers, a pizza takeout that was never open and the greasy spoon. Jim loved this place. It had been open since before he moved to the area and he had become good friends with the owner. Since he had left work it had been his tradition to go every Saturday for a gossip with Ernie, and a good breakfast.

"Morning Ernie." He said as the bell on the door announced his entrance.

"Morning Jim. The usual?" Ernie asked. Jim assented. The 'normal' consisted of two fried eggs, two strips of back bacon, three sausages, two pieces of toast, black pudding and tomatoes. Jim didn't eat mushrooms or hash browns. He wasn't sure why anyone did.

Jim sat down. Ernie would join him after a while for a cup of coffee. Looking around the small room of five or so metal tables, Jim was surprised to see the lanky fellow from the previous morning sitting in the corner typing furiously on a laptop. The entire table shaking, and seemingly swamped by papers. Who was this kid? Jim made it a matter of principle to know who lived in his little area of Eastford, so how had he missed this? If Mr Floppyhair didn't live here, there was no reason for him to be in this cafe, for there were greasy spoons on most estates, and although Jim liked Ernie, there was nothing special about his one in particular. There would be an equally good one wherever it was that Mr Floppyhair lived.

Ernie brought out two plates of food and black coffees, painfully sweet, and sat down. Jim asked after Ernie's family as usual, and like usual Ernie replied that they were alright and told a story about one of his small grandchildren who lived up in Manchester.

"So who is the floppy-haired fellow?" Jim asked, gesturing to the young man in the corner. The aforementioned young man was so engrossed that he seemed not to notice this question, asked rather too loudly. Ernie shrugged.

"He's been in here most mornings this week. Always orders coffee, never drinks more than a few sips. Usually at about eleven he checks his watch and hurries off."

"So we don't know where he lives?" Jim asked after pausing to chew. Ernie didn't know. He had though Jim would have known.

The two men became distracted momentarily by a shuffling of papers as the kid got up to leave. He stopped by their table.

"Thank you very much Ernie. I hope you have a good day." He said, shaking Ernie's hand. He looked at Him. "You too, sir." He said and nodded at him. He then left. Jim raised his eyebrows. "Well-mannered kid." He remarked. The little cafe was now empty except for the two men, and silent except for the clinking of their forks against their plates.

"Do you know what I do know about him though..." began Ernie as he went behind the counter to fetch the coffee pot and sugar "Is that he works for them prosecutors."

This interested Jim. The kid was CPS. That explained the manners and papers, but it didn't explain his presence here. All the lawyers Jim knew lived in the posh part of town. Jim liked most of the crown prosecutors he had met and had even gone over for dinner with a few back in the day. They did good work. Intelligent chaps.

After another coffee and finishing his breakfast Jim bid Ernie farewell and popped into the newsagents for a paper and some milk. Maybe he would even treat himself to some wine gums.

He said good morning to Gary who was evidently covering one of his uncle's shifts. Gary's uncle owned the newsagents. Gary just grunted from where he sat, feet up on the counter. He turned up the volume on the radio. Oh! How Jim disliked this odious young man. He embodied everything Jim didn't like about young men. To avoid saying something rude, he walked into the furthest isle. It was a rather large newsagents and sold a variety of canned goods and even had some chest freezers at the back. Jim meandered, looking at what they had in stock. The bell clanged as someone else came in. Suddenly the radio stopped pumping out techno pop music and Jim heard voices.

"I just thought I'd pop in and ask whether you had the money I lent you." He heard a young girl's voice ask. He was pretty sure it was Anita's. "There's no rush exactly, but I saw some shoes I want to buy whilst they're on sale."

Gary made some sort of mumbled promise to get it to her soon. Jim hadn't known he owed her money. Jim rolled his eyes as the two young people went on to flirt. He stood by the limited selection of milk, scanning the bottles for real milk amongst the long life alternatives that the store held.

"Oh, and I got your note." He heard Anita say in a coy voice. He raised an eyebrow, thinking snarkily to himself that it was impressive that Gary knew how to write.

"What note?" Demanded Gary. "I didn't write no note."

"Oh." said Anita. She hadn't known what she was expecting, but had wanted to know. "It must have been someone else.

"I don't think you're telling the truth." Said Gary after a small silence.

"Of course I am telling the truth. Why would I lie?" Asked Anita indignantly.

"I think you're trying to make me jealous. I won't have it." Said Gary. He got up from behind the counter and continued a sarcastic monologue about how there must be many other guys and how Anita must be stringing them all along and how he was finished being one of them and Anita kept protesting. Her eyes had begun to water and the shelves of the shop began to blur into the form of Gary and the form of Gary began to blur into the shelves and suddenly Gary's hand emerged from the blur and her eyes widened. His arm jerked like a faulty machine and he seethed with the effort of keeping his arm from completing its action. Steam billowed from his ears.

"Go." He foamed through gritted teeth. "Buy something and go."

Anita stared him straight in the eye and dropped her armful of flavoured gums, canned drinks and magazines. They tumbled pitifully to the floor and the bell chimed mockingly behind the slight figure flouncing out onto the street.

Jim walked out from where he had been listening in the dairy isle and Gary watched him warily. The sweets still laid scattered on the floor, a remnant to the chaos that was fading into the sunny silence of the day. Jim paid for his milk in silence and left.

He didn't really notice the walk home as his mind was turning over everything he had just learnt. He didn't even bother to put the milk in the fridge but hurried straight to his armchair and wrote down what had happened. As he came to the end he noticed that the children were playing on the grass and their laughter rang through the opened window. The day wanted on as Jim sat in his armchair watching the children play and the buses coming and going in their sporadic fashion and trying to swat a particularly bothersome fly.