The Busconductor Hines

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Hines jumped up from the armchair, she was about to lift the huge soup-pot of boiling water. She nodded when he said, I'll get it. Taking the dishtowel from her he wrapped it round his left hand before gripping the metal support-ring; he held the handle of the pot in his right hand. He raised it slightly above the oven and paused, adjusting to its weight. Sandra had moved to shift a wooden chair out of his path.

The plastic babybath was positioned a yard from the fire with several sheets of newspaper spread beneath and around it. She had already emptied in a basinful of cold water. After each step across he was pausing to let the water settle. When he reached it he tilted the soup-pot a little at a time, until about a quarter of the water remained, then he emptied that straight in. What a weight, he said.

I put in too much . . . She had returned to the oven for a smaller pot of water which was also boiling. And once this had been poured in she got another basin of cold water; she poured in half of it before testing the temperature then she left the other half of cold water in the basin, and placed it within arm's reach of the babybath. She murmured, almost inaudibly.

What?

She glanced at him.

Sorry; I thought you were eh . . . He prised the lid off his tobacco tin and began rolling a cigarette. Before putting the empty pots back into their place in the kitchen-cabinet she wiped them dry with the dishtowel. Then she undressed. She stopped,
and walked to draw the venetian blind at the window above the sink. Hines smiled. Passing helicopters eh!

She shrugged.

It's pitchblack outside!

That only makes it easier to see in.

He nodded in reply and she continued to undress, her back to him, as though she was watching the television, but it was not on. Aside from her bra she took off all her clothes; she stepped into the bath, eventually sitting down with her knees raised almost to her chin. The water had risen to within an inch of the rim. Hines grinned. A moment later he said. Want me to do your back?

No.

You sure?

I want to relax a minute.

Will I turn the fire up a bit?

She shook her head.

Naw, seeing you're still wearing the bra and that I thought you might've been cold.

I'm fine.

He put the cigarette in his mouth and lifted a book which had been lying on the floor next to his chair. Without opening it he laid it on his lap, and he stretched and yawned. Aye, he said, that was a good buy. He chuckled briefly. Heh, what about the time my knees got stuck? Eh! thought you were going to have to send for the Fire Brigade or something.

Manoeuvring the armchair forwards he leaned to place his hands on her shoulders. Fancy a massage? And he began at once, her head lolling a bit to the rhythm. He smiled: Watch you don't bang your chin! He continued for a time, until he sat back to adjust the crotch of his uniform trousers. Then he made to resume.

It's alright, she said.

Naw, I was just getting comfortable.

Honestly Rab, it's okay.

I'm fine but, no bother.

I'm going to start washing though.

O. He sniffed. He manoeuvred the chair back again. He lifted the book and relit the half-smoked cigarette. She had taken off her bra now and the side of her right breast was visible. She got herself onto her knees without too much difficulty and washed quickly. Hines stretched to the mantelpiece and he switched on the transistor radio; settling back on his chair he opened the book.

What we need's a roof over the head, said Reilly when he came into the close. There were four of them sheltering there out the rain. Reilly was Hines' regular driver and with them were McCulloch and Colin Brown, driver and conductor. They were waiting for another driver by the name of Barry McBride who had gone to the gents before leaving the pub.

I'm suggesting the snooker-room, said McCulloch.

Aye but nobody's allowed in now because of that last performance.

Colin Brown had spoken and McCulloch glared at him: You trying to say something?

I'm no trying to say fuck all – but some cunt pished into the corner; and it wasnt me.

Aye well it wasnt fucking me either.

It was me, cried Hines. Please sir I own up. I did it, in protest.

Against the impoverished condition of the buses, grinned Reilly.

Exactly. Hines licked the gummed edge of the rice-paper and stuck the rolled cigarette in his mouth, and lighted it. Anyway, he went on, it doesnt really concern me about roofs over the head, I've got to pick up the wean from the nursery shortly.

They'll no let you in, grunted McCulloch.

Too drunk, added Reilly.

Too drunk fuck all.

Aye you are.

Naw I'm no. Wish to christ I was but. That's the trouble with nowadays, you cant even get fucking drunk.

Aw at last, at last . . . McCulloch had peered out the close.

Barry was staggering; he was being supported by a conductor who had been with them in the pub. He burped then said, Where we going?

Your house, replied Reilly. The others laughed.

Well we cant stay here, said McCulloch, that's for fucking definite. Heh Rab, what about your place?

Ha ha! Reilly snorted.

Hines looked at him. To McCulloch he said, Sorry, out of bounds – even for me by christ! Then he chuckled suddenly and lifted the carrier bag of beer from the floor. We're going to the park, he said, come on.

What you on about ya cunt? McCulloch was shaking his head.

I'm on about the auld men's club, the pensioners' place – roaring fires and cups of hot toddy, games of dominoes. Dry roofs over the head.

Brilliant, laughed Reilly. My conductor! Brilliant fucking suggestion.

They'll never let us in, said Colin Brown.

Shut up, said McCulloch. And he glanced at Barry who was leaning against the wall, eyelids shut. The park's won it, he said.

See that? said Hines. It's his decision.

Reilly nodded.

Barry staggered suddenly away from the wall. The other conductor got a hold of him but he pushed himself clear and said, I'm going to the betting shop.

Naw you're no, the conductor told him.

Betting shop's shut, said Reilly.

Barry looked at him.

That's right, said Colin Brown.

Fucking rubbish, muttered Barry and he made to leave the close but staggered and almost fell.

It's a bevy we're going for, said Hines. Come on ya cunt ye! He took Barry by one shoulder and the other conductor did the same with the second shoulder.

A slash, mumbled Barry.

Jesus Christ, said McCulloch.

The pensioners' club was down by the river, near to the iron footbridge. Barry and the conductor assisting him had fallen someway behind the other four who were trotting along the path, through the heavy rain. Reilly arrived first. He pushed his way inside to be followed by Hines. Silence when the four of them had entered. On a very large wooden table in the centre of the room two games of dominoes were in progress; four players were involved in each and quite a few spectators watched. Other old men sat on the long benches set at the walls.

It's the buses, called somebody. What's up? yous all on strike!

Colin said, Is it okay if we come in? It's bucketing down.

We've brought our own refreshments . . . Reilly grinned, indicating the carrier bag. The pensioners glanced at the carrier bag, and some muttering started.

Hines said, We'll challenge yous to a game of dominoes! Alright?

Naw it's no alright, cried a man seated next to the open fireplace. He gazed at Barry who was now slumped on a bench not too far from him, and he spat into the fire. Naw, it's no alright at all.

No business to come barging in here, muttered someone else.

Who's barging? replied McCulloch.

Another silence. Then one of the players looked round from side to side: No harm in letting them in out of the rain surely!

Aye fair enough but they're wanting a blooming game and we've got the tourny on!

A few grunts greeted this.

If they do come in they've got to be quiet, said somebody.

Aye.

We're no wanting any funny business, called the man next to the fire.

Can we no even have a sing-song? grinned the conductor.

Shut up you, said Colin.

McCulloch had taken a can of beer from the carrier bag, he pulled off the stopper. The man at the fire cried, Alcohol's verboten. Heh you Ramsay! you seeing what's going on here?

Ramsay was one of the domino players. He nodded. Alcohol's taboo in here son; it's the one thing no allowed.

Muttered assent from other pensioners. Hines tapped McCulloch on the arm. Heh George, there's somebody talking to you – but dont answer . . . He took a can from the bag, unstopped it and swallowed a mouthful immediately.

That's it, cried the man at the fire. Drinking the howsyour-father plain as you like!

Colin stared at Hines who winked back at him.

That's right out of order, said someone at the table.

A number of voices were chattering quite angrily. Ramsay was being spoken to by three or four people at once, and he was nodding silently. Colin shook his head and he walked across to where Barry was slumped, and he gestured at the conductor as though wanting him to help him get the other to his feet.

Reilly glanced at Hines, and grinned; he took the can from Hines and said: Cheers Rab, and he drank from it.

I'm chapping the table, said Hines. Fancy a game Mr Reilly? Eh George?

McCulloch laughed.

Hines went to the table and chapped it. Me and the muckers fancy a game, he said. We'll pick two and challenge two of yous. And you better pick your best cause we're fucking hot stuff.

What's he yabbering about, shouted one of the old men. Bloody tourny day and he's jumping in trying to chap the bloody table!