AT THE BUS STOP

AT THE BUS STOP

Mavis O’Hara liked to go out occasionally, just take off for the day. Sometimes for shopping, sometimes out to lunch, sometimes just sitting in the local park with a good book, depending of course on the weather. This day was no exception. She was reaching the age where arthritis was her constant companion but was still independent enough to do what she liked, when she felt like it. True, today she did have an errand in mind, for it was her son’s birthday soon, as she liked to get Patrick a reasonable gift, but if she did not see it today, there was no problem.

 She walked down to the bus stop, and, believing that there was be a short wait she sat comfortably and took her novel from her bag. She checked the time and thought she could use it wisely immersed in Agatha Christie’s “’Murder On The Orient Express”. She liked a good whodunit and no better a detective than Monsieur Hercule Poirot; well that was Mavis’s opinion and she was sticking to it.

The bus was awfully late, “Oh well” she thought and continued reading. Presently, a shadow blocked the light. She looked up and saw a gentleman with a walking stick: he looked a little puzzled but was reassured by Mavis that he was not late, the bus was not keeping to schedule.

“Oh well,” he said, rest will do me just as good, I can sit for a bit.”

“My name is John,” he said sitting “John Lemon as opposed to John Lennon.”

 “Oh, dear you would not be with me then” Mavis laughed “I’m Mavis, Mavis O’Hara.”

“And where are you going Mavis,” asked John

“Shopping I thought, I suppose the bus is late or is that it in the distance?”

“Nah don’t think so love, that one is going in the opposite direction.” he smiled “though it does appear to be detouring, perhaps stopping.”

It did indeed stop and a rather officious young lady, dirty hair, painted like a doll at a flea market and chewing gum into the bargain, stepped down onto the kerb, and spoke. She sounded and indeed looked bored.

“The bus drivers are on strike so there will be no buses for two hours.” then as an afterthought said “Sorry”

“Do you have an idea …?” asked Mavis

“I said” began the young lady “there will be no buses for two hours.”

“Oh, we heard you, young lady.” said John “but is that two hours from now or, are we in the middle of it.”

“Now look here Grandad.” chew, chew, chew

Suddenly the bus engine revved and the young lady climbed aboard.

John shook his head “I’m glad I’m not her grandad” he shook his head another time.

“Well, Mavis perhaps we should nip over to the cafe yonder. and get a sandwich or something.”

“What a good idea.” agreed Mavis “it won’t matter if the bus is late…”

They toddled over to the café. and were welcomed warmly.

“Yes, of course, we do coffee or tea, and yes we make up sandwiches to order.”

Sitting by the window watching the world go by was one of Mavis’s favourite past times. 

John put his reading glasses on and perused the menu and Mavis who wore spectacles permanently picked up her menu and did likewise.

“I think I like the sound of the cottage pie, Mavis.” John said, “it would save me making dinner, tonight.”

Mavis smiled looking up at the kindly face of her new friend. It was a well worn craggy face. He had blue eyes and a thatch of unruly grey hair possibly more unruly, now that his cap was off. He too had arthritic fingers, swollen with the cold

“I’m tempted to choose the same, John.” she said, “but I have the remains of a stew in the fridge…”

“Surely that can keep Mavis.” he said

“Yes.” said Mavis “oh why not”

Soon they were sipping on hot tea and reminiscing.   Eventually, the meals came and tucking in John told Mavis a little of himself, enough to whet her appetite in a different way.

He was born in Yorkshire England and had emigrated in the fifties to Melbourne. There he met Ida and courted her. He was a carpenter to trade and set up a business for himself. Ida did the book work, phones and the like until Geraldine was born. He now lived in the retirement village over the way where he could be independent until age really crept up.

Mavis laughed clapping her hands

“That’s a funny response,” said John, just a little miffed

“Oh, I am sorry I did not mean to be rude, it’s just, I live over there too.”

“Go on! what number?”

“Unit Fourteen” answered Mavis still laughing “you”

“Seventeen” he replied shaking his head in disbelief “well I never. Well I am on my own now of course” he finished lamely

“As am I,” said Mavis “My late husband was from Dublin, he was a joiner to trade. We settled in Port Melbourne. He too did well in business.  Our son Patrick became an accountant eventually, married well and then…” there were tears in her eyes.  John took her hand. She did not move it away

“I still miss Pat, my husband John”

He let go of her hand. “It isn’t easy Mavis.” he looked at her.

Bright brown eyes, greying but stylish hair even under the hat.  Her makeup was elegant and her smile was genuine. Funny they might become friends he thought, just as Mavis was thinking the same.

“I don’t think I want to go shopping today, John. To be honest, I’m no longer in the mood; the bus can come and go as it pleases.” she sniffed.

“What say we order some cake and another pot of tea?” suggested John

“Oh, Mr Lemon. What about my figure?”

“Nothing Friday’s dance won’t tidy up Mrs O’Hara.” John smiled. He turned to the lass behind the counter

“Could we have another pot of tea please, love? and maybe some of that pavlova.”

“That’s my favourite,” said Mavis

“Mine too,” said John, smiling

She had no intention of going to that dance at the retirement village hall. Truth be told Mavis had told herself long ago that she preferred her own company. It was not really true after all. Pat would want her to live life to the full. She might go after all.

As she walked home with John, feeling secure in his company she thought she would let this ride take its course. Neither was getting any younger, and good friends were hard to find.

Later as John sat in his own abode listening to Geraldine, thinking of Mavis, she asked bluntly.

“Well Dad, have you met any decent folk in that place?”

“Oh, there are a few of them, love. Time will tell, perhaps you’ll get a sort of step Mum”

She was quick on the uptake

Where did you meet her?”

“At the bus stop, where else?”

Claire Tennant 08 July 2020