Page 96 of The Flowers of Bay C
What is he on about?
‘But then those parents had to go and stick their oars in, you get me?’
‘Those parents?’
‘Yeah, those entitled mummies, those snowflakes with their tanks.’
Snowflakes with their tanks? Jake would like that. I file it away in my mind.
‘Why they can’t just have one of those little buggies like we did when mine were wee, I just can’t imagine. No, has to be those supersized prams these days. They’re like Audis. Those mummies are like Audi drivers, cutting up and pushing in and getting in the way so they can have their seat that they are so entitled to. The Lord forbid you suggest they fold up for some poor sod in a wheelchair. It’s all, first come first serve, I know my rights, I’ll suethe bus company. I tell you, it was simpler in the days we drove these old things around all the time. A load less hassle.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
Inside I’m thinking, can we just get back now? Can I just have some peace, a chance to close my eyes and screen out the weary day before I have to face the inevitable music?
He seems to be waiting for more of a response, so I force my eyes to resist the heavy pull upon them. ‘How come these ones are still around, then?’
‘They’re not, really. Great big diesel engines that screw the environment. Only one or two left, rotting in some yard somewhere. This one’s going for scrap, eventually. Only used on a quiet route it was, up ’til a year or two ago, this one here. Got complaints about it, we did, too dirty and outdated. Can’t say as I blame them. All going towards electric, all that carbon neutral, nowadays. An’ then of course there’s the fact it’s no good for wheelchairs, and you have to go with the times, don’t you? You have to make sure you’ve done all you can to include them folk. An’ too right as well. This here bus, she’s done her last. It’s kind of fitting she goes out like this, doing her bit for others like she always did.’
He pats the steering wheel, and I want to cry a little bit.
‘What’s your name?’ I say.
He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. ‘It’s Cal. Callum O’Mahoney at your service, madam.’
‘And will you keep on driving? The new buses, I mean?’
‘I’m doing that now, but I reckon it’s time I was put to seed an’ all, for sure.’
‘You’re not that past it,’ I say, grinning at him.
He smiles back, a great toothy grin that lights his eyes. ‘Got some life to live yet. Got the grandkids, the littluns to keep me going. But I’m about done with all this.’
‘Are your family local?’
‘Some of them, but some of them back in Dublin. I miss them. They’d have me back like a shot, they say, but my wife was from here, see, and I can’t bring myself to go home, not while she’s here. I mean, not here. She’s passed, like, but she’s still here, you know?’
I nod. ‘What was her name?’
‘Nancy.’
He goes quiet, after that, and I watch the world go by. The bus stutters through another village and up to the outskirts of town. The lights draw us in with their promise of hope and warmth, blurring through the falling snow.
‘Nearly there,’ he says.
I wonder about him and this bus. I wonder why it’s been all the battered and broken-down vehicles for us this afternoon. First the old school minibus, then the caravan, now this.
Maybe it’s because we’re all a little bit battered and broken-down.
Maybe it’s because they all brought us glimpses of hope, and even joy, in their own weary ways.
He guides the bus through the town boundaries and onto the ring road, where snow is mulched into slush and cars throw up splashes of icy sludge as they hurtle by. Jodie coughs in her sleep and it rattles her entire body. I twist my hands together and take a deep breath in. ‘Listen,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘I know you could get us there. To the hospital. See her?’ I point to Barbara. ‘She needs her medication. We all do. And I just don’t think we could actually cope with another wait. We’ve been through a lot, you see.’
‘But I’ll get in trouble, see, pet, if it breaks down, or there’s a problem in the car park…’
I look at him, and look at the others, and then I swallow. ‘Please.’
He doesn’t reply.
