Night Express
The doors of the night bus folded together like an accordion, letting the warmth from inside spill out into Londons chilly night. Five lads burst in, their boots clattering noisily against anything in their waysteps, handrails, the shins of fellow passengers.
No one among the scattered solo riders, all brought together by this only-after-midnight service, cared to admonish the group of rowdy, half-cut youngsters. Eyes wild, they shouted over each other, weaving crude tales of conquests and questionable pursuits, each trying to outdo the last. Their antics were peppered with laughter and sealed with another clink of bottlesright there, at the back, theyd set up their own little pub, determined to squeeze every bit of night from their drinks.
The engine coughed to life, the doors hissed shut, the fold in the middle straightened, and the bus gently tugged free from its curbside mooring. Besides the new arrivals, there were hardly more than ten passengers in total, counting the conductora woman in thick, old-fashioned glasses, likely older than any of the boisterous bunch by decades. She rose from her seat, gripped a spindle of tickets, and marched over.
Right, gents, fares please, she said, her voice already heavy with a lifetime of nights like this.
Got my Oyster card! one belched.
Me too!
Yeah, Ive got one as well! piped up the youngest, maybe not even eighteen yet. Downy fuzz on his lip, angular moves, nervous eyeshe clung to his mates bravado, hollering loudest to prove himself.
All right then, lets see them, she replied dryly, clearly unimpressed by their bluster.
You first, love! sneered the burliest, spraying a bit of froth as he spoke.
Im the conductor, she retorted, just as flatly.
And Im a spark. Does that mean I dont have to pay my leccy bills? the broad lad shot back, his beer bottle now bottomless and dripping stale lager down his coat, stinking up half the bus.
Pay the fare, boys, or its off at the next stop.
At her words, the bus came to a sudden halt. The rest of the passengers, unbothered, promptly got off.
She already told youwere sorted! croaked the youngest, trying to puff out his skinny chest.
Drive on, Valerie! the conductor called to the driver.
Yeah, Valerie, take us to the depot! the lads echoed, dragging out the womans name in mock sobs, dabbing at imaginary tears.
The doors closed once more, and the bus set off again, swinging into a tight turn. The boys sniggered for another ten seconds, but as the bus picked up speed, the quietest finally asked, genuine curiosity cutting through:
Howd she turn the bus in the middle of the road? It runs on cables, doesnt it?
The others shruggedunimportant detail.
The bus hurtled ahead, grumbling louder now, shockingly overtaking cars on empty stretches. Cabin lights faded, a few blinking out entirely, leaving only the fitful glow of streetlights and garish adverts from outside to strobe the inside. The conductor sat still at her post, eyes ahead. There were no more stops.
Oi, mate! Where are you takin us? shouted one, his voice wavering.
No reply.
Oi! Pull over, yeah? We wanna get off! Their bravado breaking, desperation snuck into their voices.
The conductor didnt so much as blink.
Soon there was no city, just the black strip of motorway. The inside was pitch dark but for a few flickering lights in the drivers cab. The lads pulled out their mobilesno signal, nothing but useless pleas to refresh pages.
When the bus veered suddenly across a field, one of the jokers lunged up the aisle, spitting threats.
Dyou know where I work? If I dont clock in tomorrow, youll be on the dole for the rest of your life!
At his words, the headlights snapped off.
Please, let us out, missIve got my A-Levels in the morning! the youngest squeaked, voice cracking.
The bus thundered on, breaking the silence of the sleeping countryside. Sobered up in an instant, the lads shook in their seats, fumbling through any hostage rescue trick theyd ever heard. Beer bottles were useless at breaking glass, fingernails snapped uselessly at the sealed doors. Panic set in.
Soon, they started waving pound notes.
Herekeep the change! Just take us back, please!
The conductor remained motionless. Pleas for mercy, desperate appeals to her conscience, even tearsall ricocheted off her stoic reserve, as the bus drove ever onward, right to the banks of an enormous, mist-shrouded lake.
Where the hell are we? the boys whispered.
Theyre going to drown us, the youngest sobbed, wiping his nose.
Tom, dyou know how to drive a bus? Maybe we can rush them? someone mumbled hopefully, but Tom only shook his head.
At last, the front door creaked open. The conductor stepped out into the moonlight. Her silhouette flitted through the drivers cab, then back towards them with something long in her hands.
Thats it were done for The spark whimpered, the others silent.
The lights flicked on, and the conductor strode in, setting down a mop and bucket before the quivering lads. She smiled, pointedly.
Once youve scrubbed the walls, Ill give you cloths for the seats and floorthen you can go home. Any objections?
The five lads shook their heads in unison.
It was a long night. They split the worktwo jogging for water, one swapping the rags, two hauling the filthy bucket to some mysterious, ever-filling vat nearby. Clearly, the bus made this journey often.
They finished as the sun rose. The bus gleamed, glass sparkling. Fully sober and uncharacteristically quiet, the lads worked together, no argument left in them. When the job was done, the conductor stamped their tickets, and the bus rumbled back towards London. One by one, she dropped them off at their stops, and then set off on her usual route, ready to greet a new day and new passengers.
