Miss, you really should sit your child on your lap, a large English woman in her mid-fifties scolded me. I had, for the record, paid £65 for a seat for my son on the coach.
That morning, I was taking Oliver to his grandmothers cottage. Hes the big lad of our family, although hes only five, and everyone assumes hes already in primary school. Everyone treats him as a grown-up, so we always purchase him his own seat for journeyshe behaves himself and, besides, hes tall and rather hefty. Holding him on my lap would be awkward for us both, not to mention he would likely smudge his trainers on other passengers. Really, my son ought to sit separately; it keeps everyone happier.
Oliver was sitting by the window, staring out at the misty fields as we left London, and I had the seat beside him. We chose the front seats for a swift exit, as wed need to hop off ahead of the rest. Id already told the driver Id bought both tickets, so nobody would try to squeeze into Olivers seat.
Wed just made it past the city limits when the coach was halted by a robust woman in a mauve hat. There were still spots available further back, so the driver let her board. She lumbered onreally, theres no other way to put itand the whole coach shuddered as she climbed in. The other passengers fell quiet, watching her struggle in, and as she finally shut the door behind her, I distinctly heard the driver sigh.
He started up again, and the woman shuffled along, heading for the occupied seats up front.
Miss, you need to put your little boy on your lap, she barked at me. I replied gently that Id paid for his seat and wouldnt put him on my knee. The driver jumped in, suggesting she move farther back where there were plenty of places. But she snapped that she must have a seat where it was easy to get off, and besides, she always sits by the window on this route.
I held my ground, the coach picking up speed as she lingered beside us, refusing to move towards the vacant seats behind. My nerves prickled, but I didnt want to cause a scene in front of Oliver. So I started chatting with him about the clouds outsideanything to distract myself from her. This only seemed to rile her further; she raised her voice, Now, move the child, let me sit downdo you hear me? I calmly repeated: Oliver is a big boy and has his own ticket, and as we boarded before her, we took the seats we liked.
The driver kept his eyes on the road but seemed unfazed, as though hed seen this before. The other passengers, initially indifferent, started paying attention. A few, earbuds in, peered at us; others had been snoozing. Gradually, voices piped up: Madam, theres an empty seat at the back. Stop shouting, youre not in your living room. The woman muttered about how difficult it was for her to move given her considerable size, though it was clear she wanted to make a scene and seize our front spot.
The atmosphere inside the coach grew chaotic. Then something marvelous happened. The driver pulled over and stepped out from behind the wheel. He marched into the cabin, gathered up the womans shopping bags, set them outside, and then ushered the astonished lady right out. She barely had time to protest before the driver returned, hopped back in, and carried onleaving her behind, standing by the verge.
A hush settled in, broken only by our soft laughter. We all chipped in with our spare coins to cover the drivers loss. When we arrived at the village, we handed him the collection, and he beamedpromised us hed never let her board his bus again. She was always causing a rumpus, apparently, and now, finally, peace would reign on his coach.
