‘I went mansitting again yesterday,’ said Dora. 

     ‘Oh, yes?’ said Irene. 

     ‘Liz said she was only going to be an hour while she went to the hairdressers to have some highlights put in. George walked up there with me this time.’

     ‘Oh, you managed to persuade him then,’ said Denise from the side seat reserved for elderly people in front of them.

     ‘Well, Liz said she needed someone to cut her grass. That mower’s too heavy for her, and she’s never liked going in their garage since they found that man hanging in there that time. We were late getting there because George left his new headphones on the sundial when it was raining, and he had to dry them out on the radiator. ‘Course it was all my fault. Don’t he grumble these days.’

     ‘Harvey was always grumbling,’ said Irene.

     ‘Oh, George was born grumbling. He hates being round sickness too. He still loses his temper if ever I’m poorly. Yet he’s morbidly attached to his own aches and pains. He got the results of his x-ray on his chest last week, and when he was given the all clear I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so disappointed.’

     Irene laughed, but Denise’s long face retained the downcast, pike-like demeanour it always wore in repose. There were a dozen or so other passengers aboard the bus, all students with their heads bent to their smartphones as if in prayer.

     ‘He was still cross when we got to Liz’s gate,’ Dora continued. ‘Thank goodness he was there, though, because the thing I’d been dreading finally happened. There was nothing I could do to stop him. I mean, he’s big isn’t he. And Liz was nowhere to be seen. You know how long those highlights can take to set.’

     ‘What did you do?’ said Irene.

     ‘Nothing.’

     ‘Dad had to take him didn’t he, Mum,’ said Denise. ‘He had to change his nappy and everything. All in that little toilet under the stairs.’

     ‘Trust you,’ Dora scolded her forty-three-year-old daughter, before turning back to Irene. ‘He said afterwards on the way home, “God, I never thought it would come to this.’’’

     ‘I bet you were glad he was there.’

     ‘I was. If it had been me on my own I don’t know what I would a done.’

     ‘He’d have just had to sit there if it’d been me,’ said Denise.

     ‘I thought you said Liz got him potty trained now?’ said Irene.

     ‘He can walk to the toilet by himself. Well, shuffle. It takes him four or five tries to get out of the chair, like, but he can just about manage it. Only he didn’t this time.’

     ‘Gail had a stroke last month,’ said Irene. ‘Well, a mini one. She was round at Frank’s having breakfast and he thought, “Well, she’s making a mess of that toast.”’

     ‘You never know what’s round the corner,’ said Dora.

     The bus shuddered as they passed the old stone cider press on the corner, and turned down onto Aylestone Hill. ‘Did he say anything this time?’ said Irene. 

     ‘Not really. The odd bit of gobbledygook. He smiles now and then, but that puts me on edge. I mean babies smile a lot but that don’t always mean they’re pleased to see you.’

     ‘Oh, I couldn’t go through all that again,’ said Denise. 

     ‘Sometimes he goes to say something and then it’s gone,’ Dora continued as the bus drew in to a stop. ‘He does these hand gestures – a bit like the Pope.’ The doors hissed open and a boy wearing a hoodie and bright yellow trainers climbed aboard. He wordlessly paid his fare using his phone, and then walked slowly down the aisle studying his screen as the bus joined the relentless procession of traffic again. ‘He can still operate the remote control.’

     ‘Did you tell Liz what happened when she got back?’ asked Irene.

     ‘Yes, but she was quite short with George. She took him into the passage and was opening up all these cupboards where she keeps everything. She kept saying there was no need to use loo roll. He should have used wet wipes instead. “See, all his toiletries are in here,” she said. “I always keep them here. Look, there they are! Gloves, talcum-powder, nappy-rash cream. Everything he could possibly need.” George was saying, “Oh, yes. I see. Oh, there they are. I was wondering about that.” I could tell he was desperate to get away.’

     ‘And he only went up to give her lawn a quick mow,’ said Irene.

     ‘I don’t expect he’ll be going there again, will he, Mum,’ said Denise, stifling a giggle.

     ‘It wasn’t the highlight of his day. Mind, he stopped complaining about his headphones.’

     ‘I saw Liz up town the other day actually,’ said Denise. ‘She’s gone everso gaunt looking.’

     ‘Did you say hello?’

     ‘No, I was late for my pedicure.’

     ‘Trevor used to do a lot for you when you were little. He used to take the boys fishing, and drive you and Grant to school most mornings with Ted and Max. And he took you swimming when your Dad was working. Which was most of the time. He was like that. He’d do anything for anybody. If he had half a cabbage he’d share it with you.’

     ‘Well, I didn’t ask him to! I dun even like cabbage.’  

     ‘Yes, she’s lost all her old bubbliness,’ said Dora. ‘I don’t know how she copes with it all.’ 

    ‘She can’t leave him for a minute can she, Mum.’

    ‘She can’t. She has to keep a baby monitor by her bed. He fell out of bed Saturday morning. He sleeps in a special cot, but he got out somehow. She had to call the ambulance in the end, and they winched him up in this sling. She said it was just like lifting a cow.’

     ‘I had to ask one of the assistants to help me in Marks yesterday when I knelt down to the bottom shelf,’ Irene said. ‘I couldn’t get back up again. Basil just stood there watching me.’

     ‘Where is Basil this morning?’ Dora asked, looking down with some difficulty. Mysteriously, she had not been able to turn her head to the left or right for over a year now, a development she accepted with her usual stoicism. Her neck looked as though it was trapped in an invisible cast. ‘He’s usually with you.’

     ‘Oh, he’s disgraced himself again.’ 

     The driver stopped the bus mid-street to greet a fellow bus driver going in the opposite direction. Both were Polish, and the two older women watched the incomprehensible conversation that ensued carefully, as if sifting the stream of words for some bright speck of familiarity. Denise took the opportunity to give her face a quick once over with her powder compact, her fingers working the brush with an airy deftness not dissimilar to the way an archaeologist brushes away layers of encrusted soil from ancient artefacts. ‘Very quiet on this bus,’ she said, as they started moving again.

     ‘Not that quiet,’ said her mother. The faint but insistent insect drone of rock music she could hear coming from someone’s headphones was a nuisance. ‘Liz is funny, though. She made Trevor lean forwards so she could lift his shirt up to show me and George the bruises on his back from his fall. And she says things like “He was dry all day yesterday. And he can pull his trousers on by himself now. And he ate all his porridge up this morning.” She says it in front of him! I mean, he might behave like a child …’

     ‘I had my porridge with soya milk yesterday instead of cows’ milk,’ said Denise.

     ‘Oh, yes. What was it like?’ Dora asked.

     ‘I dunno, I can’t decide.’ They passed over the railway bridge and the tannoy announced the next stop would be the hospital on Stonebow Road. ‘Press the thingy for me, Mum. I wants to pop into Lidls to buy some steak for tea.’

     Dora pressed the bell. ‘George said he wants fish and chips tonight.’ 

     ‘Oh, you can get them from the National on Quarry Road,’ said Denise.

     ‘I en ‘avin chips from the National!’ said Dora. ‘We’ve had them there before and they were all greasy and horrible.’  

     ‘Yes, Stan and I had chips from the National, and we hated them,’ Denise conceded. ‘They stuck in my stomach. We’ve never had them from there again.’

     Dora rolled her eyes. The bus pulled into the stop, and Irene’s attention was caught for a moment by a stray newspaperon the pavementas the wind idly browsed its pages. Fifteen Thousand Seek Miracle Cure, said one of the headlines.

     ‘Oh, do you want to come to the Christmas dinner at Pixash village hall on Sunday?’ Dora asked as her daughter stood up.

     ‘It’ll be all oldies here, wunnit?’ said Denise, screwing up her nose.    

     ‘No, they’re all in the churchyard,’ Dora called as the doors hissed shut.

     ‘She ant got much meat on her, as she,’ Irene said once they were on their way again, drawing her gold-coloured coat tighter around her after the blast of cold air.

     ‘It’s all that housework she keeps doing. She hoovers her carpets twice a day. Once in the morning, and then again before she goes to bed. Three times at the weekend. George says if the birds fly over her house she dusts them.’

     Irene gave a commiserative sign.

     ‘She only pretends not to care,’ said Dora. ‘She’s very sensitive underneath it all.’

     ‘Oh, yes, we knows her of old,’ Irene said.  

     ‘She could have said hello to Liz, though.’  

     ‘When you going up there next then?’

     Dora shivered.

     ‘She must be desperate to get away for a hour or two,’ Irene persisted.

     ‘Oh, she is. And she keeps saying a familiar voice might help bring him out of himself a bit. I mean, what can I say? It’s all different up there now. All young ones. It ent like it used to be.’

     ‘Did you ever regret moving?’

     ‘I did at first. I used to wander up the back of the garages. Then one day I was looking up at Grant’s old bedroom when this boy poked his head out the window. I didn’t like that.’

     ‘No, you wouldn’t, no.’

     ‘George was alright. But then he was never the type to look back on things. Just as well really. Grant asked me the other day what he could get his Dad for Christmas. I said, “A new memory.” Like, I don’t mind helping her out, but I get so bored sitting there watching The Chase and Pointless. Then he starts fidgeting. And sometimes he seems so vacant when he looks at me. I’m not sure he recognises Liz half the time. And I think, “He ent gonna get no better.” It’s been four and a half months now.’

     They sailed past a bus-stop where nobody was waiting. ‘Not much of a life is it,’ said Irene.    

     ‘But then on Tuesday I went up there because Liz had to go to the dentist. And when she got back she said to me, “Do you know, Dora, I had seven teeth looked at and it cost me fifty-six pound! Fifty-six pound! I wonder how much that works out per tooth?” And I was a bit slow. And Liz said, “Twelve pounds, ennit?” And Trevor said: “Eight.”’

     ‘Oh, yes, that’s right! Eight sevens are fifty-six!’

     ‘I said, “Oh, ent you clever, Trevor.” He just came straight out with it. Liz said he’s always been good with figures. Mind, he still chews his toothbrush.’

     ‘Harvey was very proud of his teeth. He used to say, “Reeny, I’ve got terminal cancer, but thank God me teeth are okay.” But at least he’s not suffering now. The angels certainly took their time.’

     ‘They did.’

     ‘He was never the same once they let the light in. I used to look at him lying in that hospital bed, all papery and frail, and think, “That ent him.”’ 

     ‘We all gotta go down that road some time, ant we.’

     ‘We have.’

     The bus was stuck in traffic at the bottom of the hill, chuffing up and down on its airbrakes, and the women’s attention was caught by the sight of a little girl in a white dress in one of the small gardens throwing a white feather into the air and trying to catch it. Every time she missed it she would pick it up and throw it again. The feather never got very far, though she threw it so determinedly her feet left the ground a little each time.

     ‘I knew he was dying when he stopped worrying about his money,’ Irene said as they began moving again. ‘He said to me once near the end, “I don’t wanna go, Reeny, but I’m not allowed to stay anymore.” So I said to him, I said “How do you feel having me for a wife all these years?” And he said “I couldn’t have chosen any better. My marriage wouldn’t have lasted this long with any other woman.” So that healed a lot of wounds.’

     ‘Do you still miss him?’ 

     ‘Not really. I miss him in bed and driving me around. He said he’d see me again soon, but I’m not sure if I believe in all that anymore.’

     ‘Yes, I wonder sometimes. Just think of the overcrowding.’

     ‘Course, it was terrible to begin with. The house was full of these cold spots. For a few weeks I was in such a state of shock I kept turning up at the hospital to see him, even though I knew he was already gone. But not anymore. He got a bit cantankerous in his old age. And he was very fussy about his meals. He always had to have his tea on the table at the right time, so I couldn’t go out with my friends and be late home. And he never spent his money, so I’m spending it now. I’ve had the whole house decorated since he’s gone. And Basil’s good company. It’ll just be the two of us again this Christmas, but he watches over me. He still puts his paw on me in the night to make sure I’m still breathing.’

     The bus sped past the cemetery on one side of Commercial Road and the old cinema, now a nightclub, on the other, the two sides of the busy road linked by a looping chains of Christmas lights.

     ‘That’s the old Ritz,’ Dora said. ‘I saw Frankenstein there with  Catherine Meadows. She got up half way through and left me! “I’m off,” she said.’

     ‘Did you go too?’

     ‘No. I wasn’t going to waste my money. Frankenstein. He only comes out at night.’

     ‘That was Dracula, wunnit? Frankenstein was awake all the time.’

     ‘Oh, yes, that’s right. Dracula slept during the day. Grant used to like those films. He sucked women’s blood and then they were in his power. He used to come to them at night and leave these marks around here.’ She pulled the lapel of her winter coat to one side, and explored the stiffness in her neck, running her fingers along the furrow of her collarbone.

     ‘Did I ever tell you I’ve got residual nipples?’ Irene said.

     Dora would have glanced behind her for eavesdroppers then if she could. Instead she pondered this question, as if she were eating a filleted haddock and trying to relocate a small bone that her tongue had briefly chanced upon before swallowing. ‘No, I don’t think you did, Irene.’

     ‘My gynaecologist got very excited when I first got pregnant, and wondered if they would lactate. We never did find out. But then I’m happy alone. I don’t know why I say I miss having children when I’m happy alone.’

     The bus sailed through the traffic lights at the top of Commercial Road as the bulk of its passengers continued their silent prayer.

     ‘I remember that Catherine Meadows,’ Irene went on, recovering herself. ‘She lives in Fownhope now. She married Cyril Davis and they had twins. He had a stroke not so long ago, didn’t he?’

     ‘Yes he did, but he can still talk until the cows come home. Oh, that reminds me. A funny thing happened a few months ago. George and I were coming back from Ron’s one Sunday. We’d just popped over there for a drive because George wanted to take my brother some bags of wood for his stove. We got there about three. I remember that because Ron always puts the cloth on the table at two on a Sunday and I hadn’t wanted to bother him and Brenda while they were having their dinner. So we did that and stayed for a while, and then when we left I asked George to take the Yarkhall road back for a change. You know, turn left off Pixash Road onto Watery Lane instead of going the Tarrington way. I hadn’t been that way since I was about fifteen. It was with Sylvia, Ron’s ex-wife. We went on our pushbikes one Sunday. You know, where all the old hopyards were. Ron used to deliver bread in his bread van to the people in Yarkhall and he asked Sylvia to drop in on Molly Green and take her some sweet peas because she’d had twins. They were six months old.’

     They passed the old location of the Cattle Market and The Market Tavern where the new shopping centre now stood, and slipped through the ragged gap in the city walls into the bus station.

     ‘And we stopped to pick some primroses on the way, I remember. I always used to know which ditches to look in if I wanted to pick primroses when I was a girl. And when we got to the house they were lying in the pram on the porch with the hood up and a net over it. In their nappies. No tops on. Lovely little things they were. So I picked one up and nursed her for a while in the garden. Sylvia did the same. I’d never held a baby before, and Molly was everso nice.’

     The bus drew into its bay at the back of Tesco’s, and the students began getting off, some still examining their phones. The two women remained seated.

     ‘Anyway, we got to Yarkhall, George and me, and we decided to stop and have a look at the churchyard since it was such a beautiful day. And we saw this woman tending one of the graves, arranging primroses in a vase. And as we were passing I saw the inscription on the stone said Molly Green.’

     This time it was Irene’s turn to find the bone.

     ‘Yes. This woman only turned out to be one of the twins. And there she was putting flowers on her mother’s grave.’

     The driver looked back from his seat at the two old women deep in conversation, and climbed out of his cabin. He glanced at them again and then stepped off the bus and lit a cigarette.

     Dora continued. ‘And I told this woman all about my brother and his bread van and the sweet peas and the primroses we picked, and how Sylvia and I had ridden there on our pushbikes that Sunday and taken it in turns to hold them. And she said, “Oh, what a lovely story!” She started crying and put her arms around me. And on the way home George said to me, “Trust you to tell that story and reduce that poor woman to tears.”’

About the Author   

Mark Czanik is of English/Hungarian heritage, and his work often takes the form of a partly fictionalised account of the meeting between these two worlds, a patch of ground he keeps coming back to in the hope of discovering something new. He was brought up in the sweet borderlands of Herefordshire, and now lives in Bath. Recent poems, stories, and artwork have appeared, or are forthcoming, in Writer’s Block, Literally Stories, The Waxed Lemon, The Frogmore Papers, Dream Catcher, and The Craft of Care.