Connections

I catch bus number twenty-five to work every morning. Irene Cummings hides up the back reading erotica and Mark Ng stares longingly at ponytailed Bea who is one year older and dreaming of being headhunted for Cirque du Soleil. Javier Gonzales grabs the handrail, suitcase prised between his legs and Carmen in her threadbare coat always offers him her seat. Mr Bashar gets on half-way through my ride to visit his wife who’s living in a nursing home and the Hastings sisters argue about the price of broccoli. Sometimes it’s carrots, but green veggies are at the top of the list. We’re a little community, even though we don’t know each other that well.

The other passengers are glued to their phones, in private bubbles of bliss. Rather than following suit, I glance outside or scan the exits. Smells, sounds, jolts – they all flood me with sensation, and by the time I hop off, my brain is buzzing. I order my caramel cappuccino from Busby’s café and soon I’m in the nurturing bosom of Stanbridge library. I used to be a corporate speaker, but that’s all changed now. If patrons approach me, I give them monotone, perfunctory advice or point them towards the chatty librarian. I’d rather not stand out, you see. On the way home, Carmen and I nod and smile. She is the only commuter with the same routine as me and even in summer, she wears a thick scarf. Her voice is singsong but faded and her fingers play piano on her thighs.

Last Monday, Mark was showing Beatrice his new card trick and she was giggling and twirling her hair. She couldn’t figure out how it worked and begged him to repeat it again and again. Javier was peaking at the cover of Irene’s new paperback and Carmen offered me some mint leaf jellies.

‘Horrible weather isn’t it,’ Carmen said.

I grunted, before stuffing the candy into my mouth. I hadn’t had a proper conversation in months, and my social skills were rusty. Rain skittered down the window, daring me to let loose. I wanted to reach out, to feel a sense of connection, but it was like I was wrapped in a tightly wound ball of silk. Thunder boomed and the bus jerked to a stop. We all lurched forward and a ratty umbrella rolled down the aisle. I licked my lips and glanced around: nobody was moving. Within seconds, horns hooted and someone sneezed.

‘I’m sorry everyone, but the bus has broken down,’ the driver called. ‘I’ll contact my colleague and he’ll pick us up within five minutes.’

More like fifteen, I mused. Maisie was the only female bus driver in Stanbridge and I trusted her implicitly. Nevertheless, acid rose in my throat. Heaving on my backpack, I shuffled to the front.

‘Do you mind if I get off?’ I said, my vocal cords raspy.

‘You’ll be soaked, mate. Just wait and we’ll be on the road again in no time.’

I started to shudder. Maisie took my arm and whisked me to a seat. ‘Put your head down and focus on my voice. Breathe in…, breathe out…, breathe in…, breathe out…You can do it, just slow down.’

By this point my heels were hammering and my mouth was a saltpan. Maisie was on her walkie-talkie, requesting help. Many of us had connections to make, whether they be buses or trains and she didn’t want to mess up our schedules. Carmen sat next to me and rubbed my back. ‘You’re perfectly safe, champ. I’m going to make sure you get home in one piece,’ she said. Her voice held a richness and conviction I hadn’t heard before.

‘I don’t need babysitting,’ I mumbled, scratching the stubble on my chin. The problem was, my anxiety had been ramping up and I didn’t want to pass out in the back of a cab.

‘It’s nothing. I was dreading my shift, anyway. I’m a nurse and I love my patients, but sometimes I get so grumpy! Now, I have a legitimate excuse to skive off.’

I managed a smile. ‘I’m Pete, by the way.’ I knew all their names, but none of them knew mine. ‘You’re my guardian angel.’

***

I took Tuesday off and by Wednesday, I was feeling marginally better. All the regulars were aboard and Maisie had the radio on Smooth FM. Mark and Bea were sitting in front of me watching a video of her dance routine. She was leaping through the air in a sparkly leotard when a woman wearing cheap perfume squeezed beside me.

‘Hi,’ she said, smiling.

‘Hey,’ I replied, as Bea pirouetted on her toes.

‘What’s with this traffic? My car’s being repaired and I usually take the backstreets.’

We bounced over a pothole and the woman grabbed my shoulder. Clenching my fists, I swore under my breath. Only weirdos sat next to strangers when the bus was half empty.

‘Do you like jewellery? I sell these at the markets.’ She dangled her peridot bracelet in my face and I winced.

‘No.’

‘Why not? You’d look hot in a pair of studs.’

‘I’d rather blend in,’ I murmured, adjusting my wig. I’d moved interstate, but we were all linked in a spider’s web of connections and I needed to stay incognito. I glanced at Carmen, hoping for some moral support. Strangely, her back was rigid and she was staring straight ahead.

‘You know her?’ the woman said. There was static in the air and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

‘Ah, no, I just saw that new burger place with the big orange sign.’ There was no burger shop, but I had seen a large orange billboard. My seatmate was giving me the creeps and I wondered what to do. Suddenly, I had an idea. Unzipping my bag, I procured a chicken, mayo and herb sandwich. C’mon Maisie, lurch again. Within seconds, the bus skirted around an illegally parked lorry and my lunch landed on the woman’s skirt.

‘You effing turd,’ she screamed, clutching the tiered cotton fabric, which was now oil-stained. ‘This is brand new!’

She rammed the buzzer like a crazed woodpecker before flying down the stairs. I scooped up the mess and wondered why she had zeroed in on me. The Hastings sisters were loudly debating powdered versus liquid laundry detergent and Javier bellowed with laughter. Lizzie Hastings swivelled around, eyes narrowed, then continued with her yabbering. Mr Bashar grimaced and we exchanged glances. Just before I reached my stop, Carmen suggested we catch up. I agreed and spent the rest of the day running scenarios: what was her connection to that woman? Something told me she was in danger, which made my stomach churn.

***

That afternoon, I was sitting at a picnic table with some afternoon tea.

‘Hi,’ Carmen waved, walking past a slippery dip and swings. I slid a takeaway coffee and a cinnamon doughnut in a paper bag towards her.

‘Oh, thanks.’ Carmen hugged herself and stomped her feet. Her coat had holes in the sleeves and I hoped the coffee would warm her up.

‘So, what’s the story with the psycho?’ I said, leaning forward.

‘I’m so embarrassed,’ Camen whispered, covering her face.

‘Don’t worry; I’ve made a bigger fool of myself than you.’

‘True, but Polly’s an unknown quantity. I’ve tried everything and the cops don’t care. She’s obsessed with my husband and she wants me out of the way. I can always tell when she’s been in the house because of her tacky scent. He just laughs and says I’m crazy. When I saw her on the bus, I freaked out.’

‘Yeah, I noticed your reaction,’ I commented.

‘It’s sad; our first few years of marriage were so happy.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. We used to holiday at Peregrine Lake and gorge on mint leaf jellies. We’d drink Prosecco and fish for trout in a rented tinny, but sometimes, I’d catch more than him and he’d make me pay.’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh, he’d forget his wallet at dinner or hide my birth control pills. Once, we had to leave early because I lost my asthma puffer,’ Carmen said, staring into the distance.

‘That sounds pretty sinister. Why can’t you just divorce him?’

‘He’s a real snob. Very la-di-da. Wants to have his cake and eat it.’

‘Do you think he’s gaslighting you?’

‘Perhaps. I mean, he’s always controlled the money. And of course, everything’s in his name, including my Volvo. I’m not allowed to buy new clothes without his permission, even though he updates his wardrobe regularly,’ Carmen said.

‘Well, I don’t think Polly’s his type.’

‘No, it’s just a fling. He’s had many, you see.’

‘Does she know that?’

‘Probably not, but she’s so unhinged it wouldn’t make much difference.’

I knew all about that. The cops couldn’t help me with my problem either.

‘Um… so why do you wear that scarf?’ I was feeling bolder now and hoped she wouldn’t mind my probing.

‘I had surgery for a goitre years ago and he’s always told me to cover up the scar. Now, it’s like a security blanket.’

My throat thickened. Coercion was one thing, but hiding medications was another. What else had she put up with?

‘I’m glad Javier’s made friends with Irene,’ I said, changing the subject. I’d interrogated her long enough and hoped I hadn’t overstepped the mark.

‘Yes, I heard them discussing a book swap the other day.’

‘Hmm. He certainly seems more mellow.’

Carmen laughed and I sipped my cappuccino. ‘Let me know if you’d like me to speak with Polly,’ I said, resting my hand on hers. It was the least I could do after her kindness towards me. I wasn’t afraid of Polly now and my restrictive cocoon was unspooling.

‘No, no, it’s OK. Thanks for letting me get it off my chest.’

We hugged and I felt a surge of contentment. We’d made a meaningful connection and I vowed to be as vulnerable with her as she’d been with me.

***

On Thursday, Carmen wasn’t on the bus and didn’t turn up on Friday, either. By the weekend, her husband Luke was on the five o’clock news. He was standing there, begging her to return, but his statements didn’t ring true. For a start, he was flirting with the journalist and he seemed to leak glee. He also ridiculed Carmen’s cooking and said she’d been having memory issues. Polly was next to him, posing as a concerned friend. Every now and then she would clutch Luke’s hand and he’d gradually unentangle himself. Grinning, I wondered how people would react when their affair became public knowledge.

***

Today, we’re holding a vigil for Carmen and everyone’s here. We’ve got Bea and Mark, Irene and Javier, who have started an erotic book club, Maisie, the bus driver, the Hastings sisters and Mr Bashar. There are twenty-five candles for the twenty-five days she’s been missing and we’re singing ‘What a wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong. I’ve got a packet of mint leaf jellies to hand around and then I’ll make a speech. People can’t understand why we’re so happy, but we know what’s what. Carmen’s finally extricated herself from her toxic husband and his coercive control. My ex-partner stalked me for years and the police did jack-all. When she threatened my dog, I simply upped and left.

My family knows I’m safe, but I’ve changed my name, wear a wig and use fake ID. I also gave up a very lucrative career. However, yesterday, I received a blank postcard featuring a large trout which has significantly boosted my mood. I just hope Carmen’s fishing on Peregrine Lake and sipping Prosecco. I also hope she’s bought herself a new coat. As for Polly and Luke, I’ve got plans for them. I’m gonna block up their pipes (she’ll move in before long), put Condie’s crystals in their pool and leave saucy Post-it notes from a gal called Belle on their front door. Personally, every day is hard, but with Carmen’s courage and the connections I’ve made on bus number twenty-five, my metamorphosis has begun.