Miss, you should hold your child on your lap, a broad-shouldered woman of about fifty barked at me. Incidentally, I had paid £70 for Thomass seat on the coach.
I was taking Thomas to visit his nan that day. Hes only five, but hes the largest child in the familypeople often mistake him for a year three student. All our relatives treat him like a grown-up, so I always buy his own seat. Its impossible for me to hold him in my armshes tall and heavy. Both of us would be cramped, and he’d probably scuff the shoes of the other passengers if he perched on my lap. Its simply more comfortable for everyone if he has his own place.
That particular morning, Thomas was gazing dreamily out the window, and I was sitting beside him. We sat near the front to make our exit easier, needing to get off before the rest of the passengers. I had told the driver Id purchased a ticket for my sons seat, to stop him from placing someone else there.
We rolled out of town, fields stretching endlessly outside. Suddenly, the coach lurched to a halt for a hefty woman standing by the roadside. There were empty seats further back, so the driver stopped. The woman heaved herself onto the coach, shaking the vehicle, and the passengers looked on in silent awe. As she finally squeezed inside, slamming the door, the drivers resigned sigh drifted through the air. The coach inched forward, as the woman lumbered towards our seats.
Miss, put your little one on your lap, the woman addressed me severely. I replied, calmly, that Id bought Thomass seat and wouldnt be moving him. The driver stepped in, suggesting she find a spare seat towards the front. The woman grumbled, insisting she deserved a seat, and itd be easier for us to move. She claimed she always sat by the window on this routeas if her custom made it more important.
I refused to budge, and as the coach gathered speed, the woman was swept a bit off balance, lingering beside our seats as if frozen in place. I felt anger bubbling inside, but didnt want to make a scene in front of Thomas. We started chatting about the clouds outside, trying to ignore her altogether. My composure made her even more furious, and she shouted, Go on, move your child! Let me sit! Are you deaf? Still calmly, I told her Thomas is grownhes got his own seatand since we were here first, wed chosen these places. There were no reservations.
The driver focused on the road, but seemed used to such scenes. Most passengers remained uninvolvedheadphones, snoozing, or staring out the windows. Eventually, whispers started: Madam, why not take a vacant seat? Don’t yellyoure not at home. Yet she insisted she couldnt squeeze forward, because of her figure. But everyone knew she simply wanted our cozy spot.
The air grew thick with drama. Suddenly, things took a sharp turn. The driver jolted the coach to a halt, climbed from his seat, collected the womans bags, carried them outside, and gently ushered her out. The woman, stunned and breathless, barely protested before the driver returned, started the engine, and drove onwards. Silence spread through the coach like mist. We all rummaged through purses and pockets for coins and notes to repay the driver the fare the woman would have paid. When we arrived, we handed over the money, and the drivers smile was so wide, he promised never to let her aboard againnever, because she was always at the centre of every scuffle.
