The twirly bus

“There she goes.” Linda leaps up from her chair and approaches the bay window, craning her neck to get a better view. “Looks like she’s heading to the bus stop again but it’s hard to see over next door’s privet. Why don’t you go round there with the hedge trimmers, Ted? I'm sure Edith would appreciate it.”

- A short story by Jane Bettany

Our neighbour, Edith, is recovering from a hip operation, so I’ve already mown her lawn — but I'll cut the hedge as well, if it keeps my wife happy.

I’m a member of the Neighbourhood Watch and Linda likes to help out by keeping tabs on the comings and goings on our street.

The person she’s watching today is Heather Swain, the retired schoolteacher who lives across the road. Heather has left early for an unknown destination every day this week and it’s really tickled Linda's antennae.

“That's three days on the trot she’s caught the ‘twirly’ bus,” she tells me.

The “twirly” bus is what we call the early-morning service into town. It runs before nine-thirty, so it’s “too early” (or “twirly”) for free travel with a bus pass.

“Why shell out on bus fares when she could wait half an hour and travel for nothing?” Linda says. “What is she up to?”

“Whatever she’s doing, it must be important,” I say. “I hope she’s not going to the hospital.”

Linda shakes her head. “I doubt it. She's wearing her best coat. Nobody dresses up for a hospital appointment.”

Edith is so grateful when I pop next door to cut the hedge. I’ve got one of those cordless trimmers, so it doesn’t take long. As I’m sweeping up the privet leaves, Linda comes out of our side gate and marches off along the pavement. She gives me a wave but doesn’t say where she’s going. I find out at lunchtime.

“I've been to see Henry Salt,” she announces, as we eat homemade soup at the kitchen table.

“He's fallen over and sprained his ankle, so he’s got to rest up for a few days.”

“Oh dear,” I say. “That'll be why I've not seen him out with Chester.” Chester is Henry's border terrier.

“The dog is really missing his walks,” Linda says, as she butters a piece of crusty bread. “Henry says that Chester hates having to do his ‘business’ in the garden.”