From Here to Uncertainty An hour and a half. At least. That's what the driver said. Ninety minutes until another battered old bus would come to collect the stranded passengers and take them to their destinations. Rachel had never liked public transport, but with her hours being cut (companies can't afford out-sourced secretarial services in the current climate) she and her husband, Mark, sold their car in an attempt to stave off repossession as negative equity slipped ever closer. The Credit Crunch. The Recession. Call it what you want, Rachel blamed journalists and news agencies for creating it. News doesn't happen, it's made, and in her eyes they had put the wheels on the bankruptcy bandwagon upon which panicked companies had pounced amid fears of financial failure. She was secretly satisfied when she saw stories of soap stars and television personalities getting the chop, the furore the media had made returning to bite them on their backsides. The problem was, it had taken a chunk out of her marriage too. For nine years she'd thought, as a couple, they could make it through anything. Everything. Me and Mark against the world!
Now...well, she wasn't so sure. For the last year they'd barely communicated, every type of intimacy crumbling until they lived like siblings rather than lovers. She needed to feel wanted again. Desired. Delectable. She wanted Mark to look at her with hunger in his eyes, but taking a second job to cover the drop in her wages, he was too tired to eat the re-heated meals she served him at night, never mind devour her the way he used to. After watching him sink into sleep on the sofa again and again, she padded silently upstairs, where she lay alone longing for him to set his weary body next to her starved form. More than the stress of meeting the mortgage repayments, the growing distance between them caused her vision to blur as she stared at the moon waiting for dreams to take her away from herself. Losing their tiny two bedroom house wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Losing her husband...She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, trying to push the idea away. It was what they always wanted, rural living, now it had turned into a bit of nightmare. At least if they'd stayed in the city she may have had more luck finding a supplemental job herself, and then Mark wouldn't be stuck in a taxi until late every night and they would have more evenings together. The teenage couple sitting behind her on the back seat were the only other passengers, and they were adding to her misery, their mouths relentlessly mashing together making wet clacking sounds that really should remain private. The sour side of her wanted to turn around and tell them it wouldn't last, that young love never does. Understanding the urge to be misplaced envy of their physical closeness, that which she so missed with Mark, she tried to distract herself by looking out across the brilliant yellow rape seed fields and cow parsley crammed hedgerows. It only increased the darkness in her heart though, nature's abundance reminding her of the fecundity she and Mark had failed to attain. Three years ago they started trying for a baby. After eighteen months of nothing they took every available fertility test only to find there was nothing wrong. Nothing amiss. Too much nothing. They hoped IVF would be the answer, but with no underlying medical problems, they found themselves at the bottom of an interminably long waiting list. Having sunk all their savings into the house (it seemed a watertight investment back then) going private was out of the question. Relax, they had been told. Nature will take its course, they had been told. Keep trying, they had been told. Well, no ‘trying' had been tried for as long as she could remember, so short of their reproductive systems holding a secret rendezvous half way up the stairs, the probability of them conceiving hovered somewhere slightly above no chance. And the nausea she felt every morning when she awoke alone in their bed after yet another night without her husband, the nausea that should have been morning sickness, was simply symptomatic of the stresses suffocating them more each day. What added insult to injury, and she could barely admit this to herself, was that she had grown to resent Mark and his neglect, so much some days she could barely look at him when he was around. "Um...excuse me mate," the youth behind separated himself from his girlfriend's face addressing the driver. "It's boiling. Can we get off for a bit?" Rachel thought they'd been getting off for quite some time, and watched the driver's reflection in the rear view mirror as he nodded telling them he'd blow the horn (which the girlfriend tittered picking up a pun, based no doubt on what she was planning on doing to her beau) when the other bus arrived, although the other bus would be more than audible in the abandoned country lanes. Young love's dream disembarked, disappearing into a shady copse, Rachel's blue eyes turning as green as the bountiful leaves at the thought of their al fresco escapades - something she and Mark would not have been adverse to not too long ago. Or too long ago, depending on which way Rachel looked at it. Her eyes on them, she slowly became aware of the driver's eyes on her, and they made contact for the fourth of fifth time through the silver rectangle attached to the windscreen. Breaking it after a fraction of a second, but a fraction too long, she wasn't sure if it was the amplified heat of the sunshine through the windows or his apparent attraction that made her flush. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck, slipping down across her chest and on beneath the neckline of her dress. Reaching into her ‘Bag for Life' she tore open the pack of value toilet roll (no more supersoft for them at the moment) and took some tissue to blot herself dry. Glancing up she caught the driver watching her again in the mirror. Without meaning to, she returned his smile, then shoved the damp crumpled ball to the bottom of the bag, her fingers brushing the bottle of mineral water she still allowed herself as a treat. Rachel doubted it provided enough chill to keep the pâté (another treat) fresh. It was probably sweating as much as her, she mused as an idea spun into her mind. She couldn't. He wouldn't. They shouldn't. Well, why not? Emptying the bag of said pâté and water, along with cherry tomatoes, red pepper and French bread, Rachel wobbled her way down the aisle. "I've, er...I'm wondering if you'd..." "A picnic?" The driver grinned, dimples dotting his wide jaw, his chocolate eyes sparkling. "Sounds like a plan. You'll only melt if you stay on here much longer." He took the two litre bottle and bread from her, the back of his hand grazing her collar bone. Rachel looked to the floor, her cheeks turning the colour of the organic offerings she was clutching. Following him to a break in the hedge just up the road, she waited as he opened the gate and they settled near an oak tree amid long grass and oxeye daisies. She wasn't sure if it was his overtly male presence, his pheromones or the heat that suddenly made her throat go dry and, unscrewing the bottle top, she realised they didn't have any cups. The driver jumped up to retrieve his thermos from the bus, stating he couldn't survive without a supply of trucker's tea. She watched as he swung himself back over the gate, cups in hand, shocked by the effect the strong sinews in his arms were having on her. Frustration is a powerful force. He poured the water as she fiddled with the tub of pâté, trying to pull back the corner of the film on top. "Here, allow me." His hand covered hers making her feel quite faint, as starved of physical contact as she had been. Slowly sliding her hand from beneath his, she dug her fingers into the pepper pulling it apart, juice staining her nails, and handed him half before passing him the loaf inviting him to help himself. He pounced on an innuendo Rachel hadn't placed, skimming his gaze over her legs and raising his eyebrows with a lopsided smile. She couldn't help but smirk, admitting to herself that she was getting a buzz from his attention. Flirting. He. Is. Flirting. With. Me! It had been so long since she had flirted she wasn't sure if she knew how to do it anymore. Using chunks of bread to scoop the pâté from the tub, smoothing it out with their fingers, they ate in silence, rich birdsong and the sound of tomatoes popping in their mouths the only noises to be heard. Rachel jumped when he leant forward to wipe away some juice that dripped onto her chin, those dark eyes of his searing her own. Fearing sunburn, and with her sundress sticking to her thighs, she suggested they move to the shade of the great oak. Once settled there, they began to talk. About the weather. About what it would be like to build a house there, all the details, down to the kind of vegetables that would grow out the back and the colour of the flowers that would adorn the beds. About anything apart from finances, infertility and failing marriages. "Do you do this often?" He plucked the petals from a buttercup. "Picnic with strange bus drivers." "Only the really strange ones." He smiled. "And the handsome ones, of course," she added feeling uncharacteristically risqué. In for a penny, in for a pound. What was wrong with a bit of harmless flirting anyway? "What would," he glanced at her wedding ring, "your husband say?" Rachel answered with a shrug, not bothering to ask about his wife as his hand was naked. She relaxed, feeling freer and easier than she could remember, stretching out on the dry earth beneath, not caring if it stained her dress. Resting her head on the jumper he'd grabbed from the bus and rolled up into a makeshift pillow for her, she didn't care about anything in that moment, losing herself to the simple pleasures of food, conversation and sunshine all in a beautiful setting, wishing that this little interlude never had to end, that this laughter could go on and on. It had been so long since she and Mark had giggled like this. So long since he had flirted with her, made her feel beautiful. Too long. Dappled sunlight cascaded through the leaves dancing in the summer breeze caressing her skin and, behind closed lids, she found herself imagining that it was him she could feel upon her skin. "Do you mind?" His question struck her woolgathering dead and she squinted at him, shielding her eyes with one hand, to see him holding the hem of his shirt. She shook her head, then watched the muscles in his back move as he peeled himself free and hung it on a low lying branch. If this wasn't flirting, then she was a born again virgin. But then again, it has been quite some time so...Feeling her ogling he turned and they both blushed then burst out laughing, him coming to lie on his side next to her. He was happy that he'd made her laugh, the sound was music to his ears. She was the most beautiful passenger ever to grace his route, and their liaison was the sort dreams were made of, such was the monotony of the job. There and back. There and back. At least it paid the bills. Well, barely. Feeling brave, he picked a blade of grass holding it above her face dangling it until it touched the tip of her delicate nose. Thinking it was a fly, Rachel batted it away. Holding his breath he dropped it lower this time. She turned her face to-and-fro then, hearing him chuckle, opened her eyes. "Pixie," she smiled. Faint squeals from the couple in the coppice floated on the air, and they shared a loaded stare. He wants to.... She wants to... Tentatively, scared she would withdraw, he leant down to her. Rachel didn't move, instead waiting to feel his mouth on hers. Their first kiss gave way to another, then another until, lost beneath the oak leaves they tumbled and twisted just like the teenagers in the wood. They didn't hear the replacement bus arrive, only realising it was time to untangle themselves when a horn shattered the serenity. Grinning, they gathered the remnants of their picnic, Rachel throwing the driver his shirt with a smile, and ran back to the clapped-out old bus where their contact had begun. It was hard to tell which of the two couples were more dishevelled - them or their younger counterparts - but all four were sheepish under their rescuer's gaze. "Looks like a good time was has by all," he stated with a shake of his head and a knowing smile. "I'm to stay with this one ‘til the mechanic comes. You go on with this lot." The driver nodded and they all climbed aboard, Rachel picking acorns out of her hair. At the bus station, when they ground to a halt, hand-in-hand the teenagers jumped off, kissed again before disappearing into the small market town. Rachel sat in silence. Something had to be said, but she couldn't find the right words, any words, so she sat waiting for him to speak first. "I'm, um, it was..." It appeared that words had failed him too. He took a deep breath. Just don't say it was ‘nice'. Anything but ‘nice'. "I know a quick... picnic... doesn't magically make the world go away, but do you think we're going to be okay?" Rising from her seat, Rachel went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I was planning on it being a midnight picnic, you know, when you got home from work tonight. I was going to put a blanket on the front room floor, light some candles. I thought..." Rachel lapsed. The driver turned to look at her, tears shining in his eyes. Reaching into her hand bag, she pulled out a small black box. "The jeweller said it only needed re-plating and that you should take it off if you're planning on fiddling with any engines again in the future." Opening it, she took out his wedding ring, the spectrum separating on the silver surface. "I can't be certain that life's going to be perfect Mark, but I know I still want to try. Do you?" Taking his hand from the steering wheel, Mark splayed his fingers so she could slip the precious metal on. "I do, Rachel," he replied. "I do." |