Last Stop
He braced his hand under the rail, hauled himself into the cab, and as he settled into the seat, he felt that dull pain in his left knee throb. Itd been grumbling all morning, and by the evening it felt as if itd been filled with lead. Only two more circuits left in his shift, but the evening ones always managed to drag on for ages.
He slouched onto the seat, checked his mirrors in that routine, practised way, flicked on the interior lights, and pressed the electronic display button. The route number flashed across the panelalongside Holiday Service. The town was celebrating something again todaythered be fireworks at nine, apparently. Didnt matter much to him, just as long as the roads didnt get gridlocked.
He reached for his thermos, took a sip of lukewarm tea, put it back. The thermos always sat to his right at the divider, exactly where he could easily knock it with his elbow. His cover driver had grumbled again this morning about him never moving it. Hed just grunted in reply. Everybodys got their own small rituals.
Outside, four or five people hovered by the stop. He let the doors slide open. Cold air, footsteps and lively chatter tumbled into the bus.
First up was a woman in a thick navy coat, arms straining with two heavy carrier bags. The bags thudded against the steps as she heaved them up; she exhaled through gritted teeth, proffering her travel pass.
Good evening, he said, tapping her card with the validator.
She nodded without meeting his eyes, squeezing past the ticket machine and clutching her bags tightly. The bus still smelled faintly of oranges and that fresh detergent theyd mopped the floor with earlier.
Behind her, two teenagers in matching black jackets with rucksacks slouched in. The shorter one paid by phone, the other kept an eye out as if waiting for someone.
To the square, grumbled the one with the phone.
To the square, then, he replied, easing off the brakes.
The bus jerked forward, rolling smoothly down the road. In the rear-view mirror he caught his own tired eyesshot with red, with bags beneath them. How many years has he done this? Thirty-seven behind a wheel, twenty-eight behind the wheel of a bus. The doctors nag every year, but still sign him off. Another year, well see after that. And after that He always put off thinking about the after that.
He shifted up a gear, coasted up to a red light. Someone on the other side of the junction was already letting off fireworks ahead of schedule: a sharp crack, a scatter of red sparks over the rooftops. Someone on board gave a low whistle.
Theyve started already, one of the teens said.
Thats not the real one. Just practising, replied the other.
He half-listened. The evening service always felt like someone elses life trickling through his bus. People boarded, sat down, made calls, argued, laughed. He was like a riverbank, with the current that pressed close for a second before moving on.
At the next stop, an old man stepped onknitted beanie, battered overcoat done up wrong, collar all askew, an old satchel across his body. He paused at the card reader, rummaging in his pockets.
Cards somewhere he mumbled.
The queue behind him started to grumble. The woman with the bags gave an audible sigh.
No rush, he called out from the cab. The bus isnt going anywhere.
At last, the old man pulled a battered wallet from his inside pocket, fished out a card.
Here we go, here we go, he said apologetically.
The card beeped, green light. The old man ventured deeper into the bus, clinging to the rail, moving gingerly as if walking on ice. He took the first available seat by the window, settled his satchel on his knees and stared out into the blackout beyond the glass.
The light turned green and off they went again. His knee throbbed dully. He really ought to see a doctor. The local GP told him last year, Ought to get an X-ray, just in case. Hed nodded, scribbled the referral number in his notebook, then just shifted the slip from one coat to another, till it disappeared somewhere.
Dad, you keep putting it off, his son had said on the phone. Why not just go? Doesnt take much.
Hed said nothing, just changed the subject to work. The cover driver, the new buses the company kept promising for the third year running. His son had fallen silent too, then mumbled something about being called in, ending the call. They hadnt really argued since, just drifted, each on their own side of town, in their own rhythms.
He checked himself. No point dwelling on it now. Another stop ahead. A woman with a child in her arms was sprinting for the bus. He braked gently, giving himself extra space to stop smoothly.
The doors slid open, the woman bundled inside breathing hard, three-year-old boy in a woolly hat clutched tight. The boy was rubbing his eyes with his fists.
Thanks so much for waiting, she gasped, waving her card. Were just out from the surgery, ran a bit late.
No worries, he said. Come on in.
The little lad eyed him gravely, like a grown-up.
Mister, will there be fireworks? he asked.
There will, he promised. A little later.
Well not make it in time, the woman sighed, making her way down, But never mind.
He pressed the button to shut the doors and, in the mirror, watched her settle her son, fussing with his scarf one-handed, fishing wet wipes from a rucksack with the other. The way she moved had that tired, stubborn tenderness he used to see in his wife when shed get their son ready for nursery.
His wife Now, they were more like housemates. Exchange greetings, ask whos buying bread or taking out the bins, then vanish to separate rooms. He knew it hadnt changed overnight. Once, hed started taking extra shifts because they needed the cash. Then hed got used to being a guest at home. And shed learned to rely only on herself.
Left turn, he muttered to himself, checking the mirror. And watch that pothole
The pothole had been there three yearsright between lanes two and three, never patched. He edged the bus a bit left, dodging it, and felt that familiar manoeuvre soothe him. Behind the wheel, everything was clear: the route, the timetable, the stops. Outside the cabnothings certain.
Next stop, a couple climbed ona man and a woman around forty. The man talked loudly into his phone, waving his free hand, the woman following just behind clutching a thin folder.
I told you, Ill bring it tomorrow! the man nearly shouted. No, not tonight! Not enough time.
Their cards beeped in, man never looking up. The woman gave him a quiet nod of thanks.
They sat in the middle. The man kept arguing down the mobile, the woman stared out the window, so tightly gripping her folder her knuckles turned white. As she passed, he glimpsed a clinic logo on the spine.
The bus filled with snatches of chatter. The teens argued over how best to film the fireworks. The little boy with the bobble hat was asking his mum endless questions. The old man by the window sat still, only sometimes shifting the satchel on his knees.
He drove, listening without really hearing. Every shift was like someone elses film playing in the background of his day.
Mid-route, the bus started to empty. Some got off at the shopping centre, others at the market. The teens remained, the old man, the young mum and her boy, the couple with the folder, and a couple of others he couldnt recall.
He pulled up at another stop, opened the doors. No one got on. On the bench, a woman in a bright coat smoked and focused on her mobile. She glanced up, met his gaze, shook her head with no thanks. He closed the doors, drove on.
At that moment, a sharp voice spoke up behind him.
Whatre you playing at, mate? The shorter teen was talking to his friend. Sit down properly, would you?
Oh, give it a rest, replied the other. Stop acting like youre my nan.
Glancing in the mirror, he saw the taller one perched on the back steps by the rear door, one hand gripping the rail, the other holding his mobile out for a selfie. His foot dangled in the aisle, blocking the way.
Young man, he said into the microphone, his voice carrying through the bus. Please step away from the door. Don’t stand on the stairs.
The teenager smirked into his camera.
Look, the boss is having a moan, he said, making no move.
Im serious, the driver insisted. You could fall.
Wont fall. Got good reactions, the boy waved him off.
The boy with the bobble hat turned to watch, his mum tensed but said nothing. The old man by the window looked up. He could feel that familiar irritation rising in him. After so many years, hed seen every kind of trouble. Mostly, he let things go if there was no real danger. The fewer problems, the longer you live, his old colleague used to say. He used to laughthen he just got used to it. But now, this was safetya slip, an open door, a sudden swerve, and that lad would fly out. And itd be on him.
Young man, he said, sterner now. Either you move, or I wont drive on.
The bus went silent. The teen stared at him.
Oh, youll stop, huh? the boy drawled.
I will, he replied, and smoothly brought the bus to a halt by the kerb, hazard lights blinking. In the mirror, people exchanged glances. The woman with the bags rolled her eyes. The man with the folder muttered irritably to his partner.
Come on, Sam, the first teen said quietly. Sit down, yeah?
For a moment, he hung onbut eventually slid off the steps and stomped down the aisle.
Happy now? he threw over his shoulder as he passed the cab.
Happy youre safe, the driver replied, releasing the brake.
The bus pulled out again. He was still simmering, but it faded. In the mirror, he caught the wide eyes of the bobble-hatted boy, looking at him like a hero from telly. He lowered his gaze. He was no hero. He just didnt want to fill out incident reports later.
A few more stops ticked by. The town outside was aglow, with the odd burst of fireworks going off. The sky popped with quick flashes, reflecting in windows as they rolled past.
The old man by the window started to stir. He leaned forward, faintly, as if peering at something, then grabbed for the railbut his hand slipped. The satchel slid off his knees and dropped to the floor.
Oh, someone said in the bus.
The old man tried to get up, but slumped back. His head lolled, his eyes rolled up. He seemed to go limp, all the tension gone.
He saw it in the mirror and instinctively pressed the brakes. The bus jolted to a stop; someone yelled.
Sir! the young mum shouted. Hes unwell!
Hazard lights on, he edged the bus to the kerb. His hand reached for the radiobut stopped. First, he needed to check the man.
He slid out of the cab, feeling his knee scream in protest, and made his way back. People parted to let him through. The old man lay sprawled on the seat, head hanging into the aisle, the woman with the bags hovering with no clue what to do.
Mister, can you hear me? he asked, bending down.
No answer.
Should we call an ambulance? someone said.
Of course we should! the young mum called. Its his heart, most likely.
He fished his mobile from his shirt pocket. His hands were shaking, fingers unsteady. He dialled emergency.
Ambulance service? a woman answered.
Bus Im on the. he rattled off the route number and the stop name as he squinted out at the shelter. An elderly mans collapsed, unconscious.
Is he breathing? the voice asked.
He bent low, listening. The mans chest rosebarely.
Yes, but weakly.
Stay put, teams on the way. If things change, ring back.
He hung up, raising his eyes to meet everyones gaze.
Ambulance is coming. Anyone know how to check blood pressure?
Ive a monitor, said the woman with the bags, unexpectedly. From workits in my bag.
She set her bags aside, rummaged quickly, pulled out the cuff. Her hands were steady, movements brisk. She wrapped it around the mans arm, pressed the button.
Low. Very low, she said, glancing at the display.
Should we give him water? someone offered.
Not now. Best wait for the paramedics, she said, firm.
The little lad snuggled against his mum, who stroked his back and whispered comforts.
The teens lurked further off, lost. The one whod played up earlier gazed at the old man, guilt written across his faceas if his messing about had somehow caused this.
He felt an old urge: to back off, return to his seat, let them sort it. But his feet didnt move. He stood by the old man, counting the faint rise and fall of his chest.
Anyone know his family? the woman with the monitor asked.
No idea, he said. He just boardedtravel card. Therell be a number on there.
He remembered the man rummaging in his pockets. There might be something in the wallet.
Excuse me, he murmured, and gently checked the mans overcoat. Find the walletopened it. Notes, old receipts, a folded bit of paper. On it, a phone number, top: Son.
He dialled.
Yes? came a cautious male voice.
Hello, Im the driver. Your fathers taken illweve called an ambulance. Were at… he read the stop name again …might be best you head over.
A moments hesitation.
Ill come right now, the voice said. Dont let him go anywhere.
Were waiting, the driver answered.
He tucked the wallet back into the old mans pocket, careful, like it meant something.
Someone piped up:
So are we, what, just stuck here?
For now, yes, he replied. Youre welcome to catch the next bus if youre in a rush.
A few people got up at once. He opened the doorsthey stepped off, glancing back at the old man like he was a setback, a delay. One of them mumbled, Hope hes alright, as they left.
He nodded, though the words werent meant for him.
About half a dozen remained: the woman with the monitor, the young mum and her boy, the teens, the couple with the folder, and a chap by the back doors. All moved closer to the centre of the bus, as if drawing an invisible ring.
He went back to the cabswitched the engine off, left the doors open. Bumped the interior lights up. Time hung oddly, stretching out. Watching the dashboard clock, he counted down his now hopelessly delayed shift. The controller would give him an earful and maybe make him write a report. But what else could heve done?
He remembered, years ago, when a man had an asthma attack on his bus. Panicked about the timetable, he only called an ambulance and drove on, leaving the poor chap at the stop with a couple of volunteers. Told himself hed had no choicework is work. But the imageblue-tinged lips, clutching handswouldnt leave him.
He couldnt do that again.
The ambulance came about ten minutes later. First, the whine, then the blue lights in the mirror. The paramedicsman and womancame inside, kitbag at the ready.
Who needs us? the man asked.
There, the driver pointed.
They headed over, all quick precision. Pulse, IV, curt exchanges. Nothing wasted.
Pressures low, the paramedic said. He needs hospital.
Well move him gently, the man said. Can you give us a hand?
He nodded, and with the paramedics and another passenger, they carried the old man to the door. The body was featherlightdisturbingly so. The night air outside was sharp and damp. They laid him on the stretcher, loaded him up.
His family coming? the paramedic asked.
Yes, he said. His sons on the way.
Good. Were taking him to Queen Marys. Let his son know.
The ambulance pulled away, tyres hissing. The gap it left was almost physical.
Right thing, stopping, the woman with the monitor said as she made her way off, dragging her bags. Not everyone would.
How else dyou do it? he replied. Hes a person, after all.
She nodded, headed for the stop. The teens followed, subdued. The mum and her boy approached.
Thank you, she said. For not just carrying on.
The little boy looked up.
Mister, will he make it? he asked, serious as a judge.
I hope so, the driver told him. They’re good at what they do.
The boy nodded solemnly, as if accepting a promise.
The couple with the folder got ready to go too. The woman lingered.
We were on our way to the clinicmy mother-in-laws in hospital. I was worried wed miss seeing her. Now, I thinkif she needed help, I hope someone would stop, like you did.
He only nodded, words caught somewhere inside.
When theyd all gone, the bus was empty. Only a forgotten water bottle and a scrap of paper on the floorhe picked the bottle up, binned it, slipped the paper in his pocket for later.
A man of about forty-five, in a padded jacket and woolly hat, came over.
Was it you who called? he asked, not climbing aboard.
Yes, the driver said. Is he your dad?
The man nodded.
Theyve taken him to hospital. Low blood pressure, but he was breathing when they left.
The man closed his eyes, exhaled.
Thank you for stopping, he said. I dont always get to him on time. Life, work, everything. He says he likes being out and about on his own, says it’s easier that way.
He understood thatdoing things out of habitbetter than most.
Ill get to hospital now. Thank you again, the man said.
He watched him head for his parked car, thinking how fragile it all was. One route, one stop, one phone call.
He returned to his seat, knee howling, flicked the ignition on. Only two trips left, though the schedule was now wrecked.
The radio crackled.
Number five, whyve you stopped? The controllers voice, disgruntled.
Had a passenger taken ill. Called the ambulance. Hes been taken to hospital. Back on route now, he answered.
Sort the paperwork later, the controller snapped. And dont dawdle at the terminus.
Understood, he replied, though inside, every fibre recoiled at dont dawdle.
He shut the cab door, wrapped his hands over the wheel. Fingers shook slightly, then steadied. His phone sat next to the thermostwo missed calls from his wife. When had she rung?
He hit redial. The ringing seemed to last for ages. At last she picked up.
Where are you? she asked. Ive been ringing and ringing.
On the bus, he replied. Someone was taken ill. Had to call an ambulance.
Again? she sighed. Are *you* alright, at least?
He almost answered with the standard finebut realised he couldnt lie.
Knees giving me grief, he told her. Been all day. TruthfullyIm knackered.
She paused.
Could you see the doctor tomorrow? she asked quietly. You had a referral somewhere.
I lost it, he admitted. But Ill get another one.
It surprised him, how real that soundedlike an actual decision, not just something to say.
Please do, she said. Ill come with you, if you want.
He gripped the wheel a little tighter.
Alright but I need to finish my shift.
I know, she said. I’ll wait for you.
He hung up, sat for a second, staring at his own reflection in the windowwrinkled, bloodshot, worn out. The face of someone more used to being a background figure in other peoples stories.
He remembered the old manskewed collar, satchel on his knees. The son who couldnt always make it. Himself, no better. The lad with the bobble hat, whose question felt weightier than it should. The woman with the monitor. The teenager, full of bravado, then shamed into silence.
He clicked into gear, released the brake. The bus rolled forward, empty seats swaying. At the next stop, new faces came aboardtap the reader, ask how long to the market. Life, flowing on through the bus.
And he thoughttomorrow, after shift, he wouldnt just stroll past the surgery like always. Hed see the GP, get a referral, sign up for that X-ray. Maybe ring his son, tell him hed actually been. Not as a complaint, but just as a facta step.
The last stop was drawing closer. Drop off the final passengers, turn off the display, log the trip, check in with the controller. Same as usual. Only now, amid all these familiar routines, thered be something else: not just brushing himself aside.
He pulled up at another stop, opened the doors. A woman stepped on, bouquet in hand. She smiled as she tapped her card.
Happy holiday, she said.
And to you, he replied.
Doors shut, and off he wentfeeling, somewhere deep down, that things had shifted. No brass bands, no drama. Just a small turn of the wheel towards his own life.
The town outside exploded with another volley of fireworks. In the mirror, the colours danced. He held his course steady, knowing thered be many more stops, many more nights behind this wheel. But certain now that tonight would not leave him unchanged.
The terminus was ahead at lastbut somehow, it felt less like the end of the line.
