Man, Son, SatNav, Bus - Part 1

Man left work early, hoping to get some sleep before the long night ahead. Man knew he wouldn’t sleep. Man could never sleep during the day or even the early evening. Even forty years ago when he was a chemistry student, when he’d have five pints in the Crown and skip the afternoon lab session, he’d go back to his room and draw his curtains, but just lay there, wide awake. Forty years had taught him he could only sleep at night. But tonight Man wouldn’t sleep at all.

But it was an adventure, something he’d never done before. Man may even have been looking forward to it, except for the hangover. The hangover made him nervous.

Man stopped at a village shop. Man needed carbs to fight the hangover. Man wanted meat pasties, but they only had cheap copies of the leading brand. Man bought three anyway. Man didn’t buy any booze. He’d want some booze to drink to his success in the morning, but he knew that if he bought it now he wouldn’t be able to resist a hair of the dog. At home Man microwaved the first pasty and covered it in salt and his favourite brown sauce. It was still revolting. Man only ate half.

Man went to bed at 6.02. Man put the radio on very low, hoping it would lull him to sleep. It didn’t, so he had a wank, but it was hopeless. Man had planned to sleep till 9.00 but gave up trying at 7.23. Man knew now that he’d be early and have to wait. Son wanted picking up at 11.30. SatNav said the journey to the meeting point would take 58 minutes, but Man had never been there before so it was fine to set-off around 10.00. It was already dark when he set off at 8.49, driving slowly.

Man drove into the station car park at 9.58. Son due at 11.30. SatNav said the next leg would take two hours and twenty-four minutes. Bus was leaving at 02.20 but it was 170 miles away. They might make it, if Son was on time.

Man walked to the station to check it out, about 400 yards. On the way he had to pass a small group of Asian youth and a white boy blocking the pavement. The white boy was declaiming loudly in  Caribbean street patois. Strange, but no threat.

It was just a station, a few people coming and going, nothing to hold his interest. Man wanted a piss but there were no toilets so he walked back to the car park, past the youths again, still no threat, and pissed in some bushes.

Man had time to kill. How do you kill time at 10.20 in a dreary north London town which only exists because it nestles in a corner made by two motorways built to get you somewhere else as fast as possible. Man hated these places. Man wandered away from the station, past a pub. The pub looked quite lively and the crowd outside seemed well-behaved, but it was out of the question. Man couldn’t risk alcohol and he’d never felt comfortable asking for coffee in pubs. Man continued to the grim main road. A coffee shop and a Polish shop, both dark and deserted. A second hand electrical shop with a dimly lit window where he passed two minutes. Some empty office buildings.

Back to the station, past the pub, gasping for a pint. Man would just have to wait. Back in the entrance hall he read all the tourist brochures and all the marketing bumph on how the train company were doing such a great job. Two middle-aged workmen passed through, both drunk and shouty, but no problem. Then a small group of partially sighted and disabled people, probably in their twenties. Poor fuckers. Man pondered how lucky he was to have two healthy children. Man hadn’t actually seen Son for nearly three months. They did exchange regular texts, though they were sometimes fractious. This made him a little nervous.

Text from Son. He’d missed his train but there was another in ten minutes. Son would arrive at 11.40. Typical.

The rush from Son’s missed train hurried through the ticket barriers. It was late so the barriers stayed up. Maybe it was time for a last piss before the journey. Man wouldn’t have time for toilet breaks. Man wandered through the barriers and up some stairs to the platform. Man found the toilets. A sign said “Locked for the Night”.

Son’s train arrived. Man scanned the crowd anxiously. Son loitered at the back, apparently unconcerned.

“Come on. We’ve got to get going. It’s a good walk to the car park.”

They left the car park at 11.57. SatNav said 02.21.

“We’ve got a minute to make up.”

“No sweat Dad. Should do that easy.”

In ten minutes they were heading up the M1. There was traffic but the motorway was lit. They were making good time. Soon SatNav said 02.19. They chatted like any other Man and Son, about work, politics, and football, and he began to relax. This was going to be easy. At one point Son mentioned his wife and her promising career but Man quickly changed the subject.

After forty miles they hit the first roadworks. There were now only two lanes and a 50 mph limit with cameras. SatNav said 02.18.

“Long way to go yet Son, hang loose. We’re ahead of schedule.”

Man tucked himself behind a lorry so as not to go too fast but the roadworks went on for mile after mile after endless mile. SatNav said 02.19, then 02.20, then 02.21. Some people ignored the speed limit and went flying past them. They discussed it but decided not to take the risk.

“Don’t worry. We’ll catch up again when we’re out of this.”

After twenty miles the roadworks ended. It was 00.48. SatNav said 02.23.

The road was clearer now, just the odd lorry and car, but it was no longer lit. Man pushed his speed up to eighty.

“What time did Bus leave London?” Man asked.

“S’posed to have left Victoria at 10.30.” replied Son.

“So if we’re going to be there on time we’ll have to catch it and pass it?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But how will we know? All buses look the same.”

“It’s one of those with a massive driver’s face painted on the back.”

They were making good time now. SatNav crept back to 02.21.

Man was a little hesitant to bring up Son’s wife again but what the hell.

“When is Sarah going to Dubai?”

“Next Thursday. Six months.”

“Will she get extra money?”

“Don’t think so, but she gets all her accommodation and shit paid. I’m going out to see her in October.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“Where you going for Christmas?”

“Staying with Sarah’s mum in Florida.”

“Bloody hell! Dubai, Florida. Citizen of the World!”

“And we’re off to Sri Lanka in November. Sarah’s gonna fly from Dubai and meet me there.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! Dubai, Florida and Sri Lanka? How the hell can you afford it on your salary?”

“Sarah’s paying for Sri Lanka. Sarah’s mum’s paying for Florida.”

Man felt OK, not sleepy, not too hungover. There was no sign of Bus. They hit the second roadworks at 01.24.

“Oh for fuck’s fucking sake!”

SatNav said 02.19.

“What do we do if we miss it Dad?”

“Dunno. S’pose we could drive to the station. Get the first train. Maybe get a couple of hours kip in the car.”

They drove on through the night.

“Dad, SatNav says 02.26.”

“I know, and no sign of Bus. We’re not gonna make it are we.”

They left the roadworks at 01.41. SatNav said 02.28. The road was clear so Man pushed his speed up to ninety-five. They caught up but not enough. They pulled into the Services at 02.25, five minutes late. They hadn’t passed Bus and there was no sign of it in the car park.

“Looks like that’s that Son. Let’s go get a coffee.”

The Services were deserted except for a late middle-aged man in what could have been a shabby bus driver’s uniform. Son asked him if he knew anything about Bus. He explained that Bus had been delayed leaving London, was due any minute, and that he was the relief driver. There was only one free seat on Bus and it was reserved for Son.

They bought coffee and snacks from a grumpy Yorkshireman and waited. Five minutes later Bus arrived. It had dim nightlights on inside so Man didn’t see Son again after he’d boarded. Man left the Services at 03.26.