'Bert’s Bus' by Joyce Bingham

He’d left the bus, engine running, outside the newsagents. A quick visit for his newspaper, and a twist of barley sugars. 

All his regulars were on board. Madge Althorp with her shopping bag on wheels and Enid Watkins, the retired headmistress reading a book.

Bert stood outside the shop, his barley sugars spilled all along the pavement. Was he having a nightmare? He pinched himself, everything was normal, except for his bus. 

“Ted! Someone’s stolen me bus,” Bert shouted down the line to the local bobby. “The number 41,” Bert said, “Moss Lane to Byford Bus station.”

“I’ll finish me cuppa, then I’ll come see what gives.” Ted replied.

Bert ran to the top of the lane. Not a sight or sound. He jogged to the next stop. A roll of ticket paper was wound around the sign. Bert held his chest, drawing painful breaths, his legs like jelly.

“Are you okay Bert?” Madge Althorp called from the bus shelter. “The bus’ll be along in a minute. Young lad driving today. Took Miss Watkins to her appointment at the doctors.”

Bert sat down, sweat pouring down his forehead. An engine noise, throbbing and rattling came before the bus. The number 41 was here. With a hiss of brakes, the door opened.

“Bert, there you are.” Tommy from the depot sat in Bert’s driver’s seat. 

Bert and Madge Althorp with the shopping bag on wheels boarded the bus.

“Sorry Bert, when the headmistress tells ye to move ‘cause she’d be late for the doctor, you can’t say no.”

“Tommy, lad. You owe me.”

Next time Miss Watkins boarded Bert’s bus, she gave him a whole pound of barley sugars and a stern look.

Bert put the bus in gear and headed for Byford, his paper already on the dashboard.