Veering off Course (The Navigation Quartet Book 1)

by Chris Cheek

  He took the bus and enjoyed the sights, wallowing in nostalgia for his teenage years. Once in the city centre, he looked for the particular shops that had so been important to David and him on their regular Saturday afternoon visits. He could still remember the route they had taken, looping round the city centre in a circle from the bus station. If they could afford it, a burger and a milkshake from a stall in the market had been part of the routine.

  Clothes and records had been the main attractions in those days. Though he still collected CDs to some extent, Alan’s tastes had changed from the mid-1980s’ pop that had been the staple of the singles collections that he and David built up during their teenage years. Walking up The Headrow, he realised that he didn’t even know where his collection of vinyl, cassettes and CD singles was – at Auntie Mary’s house, he presumed.

  He whiled away a couple of hours in the city centre, spending too much on some new clothes to cheer himself up, then headed back to the bus station for the return trip to Sedgethwaite. As he took in his surroundings he realised that they very different from what they’d been used to on their Saturday afternoon jaunts. A steel-and-glass waiting area had replaced the ancient 1930s’ shelters he and David had been used to. He remembered that the terminal had been rebuilt a few years earlier, reopening with a big fanfare just before he left to go to London. It was functional rather than elegant, but was generally well maintained. The concourse smelt of cooked food – a mixture of Cornish pasties and stale bacon – with a background of the diesel fumes wafted into the building on the breeze from the stands outside.

  It was certainly busy, with a long row of stands serving the suburbs as well as more distant places such as Harrogate, Skipton and Scarborough. Electronic displays directed him to the stand for the Sedgethwaite bus, and he pushed his way steadily through the milling crowds – mainly pensioners and teenagers, he noticed – to find the correct place.

  As he approached, he noticed that a bus was already there with its doors open. A queue of people snaked back onto the concourse as passengers waited to pay their fare or show their passes to the driver. Alan joined the queue and watched as it edged forward. He would be glad to get on board; the carrier bags were heavy and starting to cut into his hands.

  As he moved towards the doors, he suddenly remembered that he would need to show his return ticket. He began to manoeuvre his shopping in order to find it, feeling in his pockets and eventually remembering that it was in his wallet. The woman behind him sighed heavily at the delay, and he shot her an apologetic glance. Ticket in hand, he boarded the bus and lifted his ticket for inspection. Only then did he look up and make eye contact with the driver for his trip.

  It was David Edgeley.

  Chapter 3

  David

  The day got off on the wrong foot. David overslept, cut himself shaving, and then almost missed the staff bus. He dismissed Pat’s bawdy remarks with a grunt. When they arrived at the depot, Jack Davis was in a foul mood as well. Two drivers had failed to report, and they were short of vehicles for the morning rush hour. Consequently, David worked through from six-thirty until ten o’clock with the bus in front not running.

  By seven-thirty, it was pouring with rain. As a result, those people that David did manage to pick up were soaked through and fed up. A row was inevitable.

  It happened on the 0932 journey into Leeds. David stopped at Skelthorpe Lane and a middle-aged woman boarded. “About bloody time too! Where’ve you been? Sat on your backside in the canteen, I suppose.”

  David gritted his teeth. “No, love. There’s one off in front, I’m afraid.”

  “One? More like bloody six, the time I’ve been waiting. You lot want a bomb behind you!”

  David ignored this. “Where are you wanting, love?”

  The woman appealed to her fellow passengers. “Hear that? Bloody typical, isn’t it? You wait three-quarters of an hour and then they’re trying to rush you!”

  “Look, love, I’m running late. I’ve been on duty since half-six and I haven’t had a minute to missen. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait, but it’s not my fault.”

  “Well, if it’s not your fault, I’d like to know whose it is. It’s about time you lot were nationalised again. Making profits out of us with a rotten service – you should be ashamed!”

  “We were nationalised twenty years ago – that’s half the bloody trouble!”

  “Don’t you swear at me, young man!”

  David’s control finally snapped. “Oh, for God’s sake! Are you going to pay your fare or get off?”

  The woman drew herself to her full height and took breath to launch another broadside. But a voice from the back of the bus came to David’s rescue. “For Christ’s sake, woman, sit down! We haven’t got all day.”

  Floored by this, she banged her fare down on the tray and sat down, starting a loud conversation with the woman next to her about rude bus drivers. David was shaking with anger; he drove rather badly into Leeds.

  The onslaught resumed in Leeds Bus Station but David had calmed down sufficiently to cope. He packed the still-irate passenger off to see the bus station inspector and went for a cup of tea.

  When he got back to his bus, the inspector was waiting for him. Len Hedges was an old-fashioned busman who had worked with David’s uncle. He had a wry sense of humour and a permanent twinkle in his eye. “Now then, David lad. What’s this about you upsetting sweet old ladies?”

  “Come off it, Len. You know me better than that. Besides, she’s neither particularly old nor very sweet!”

  “She says you swore at her.”

  “I said ‘bloody’ once. Nowt else. And besides, she was holding the whole bus up!”

  Len grinned. “Mrs Grimshaw is an old acquaintance of mine. She’s complained to me about more drivers than you’ve had hot dinners. But I expect better of you, lad. Don’t let ’em get you down!”

  “I know, but after a morning like this the last thing I needed was that battle-axe.”

  “I know how you feel, but it’s part of what we do. Now watch it – I’ve got my eye on you for inspector next time round, and I don’t want you buggering it up. Understood?”

  David grinned. “All right.”

  “Now get on with the job.”

  Len pottered off across the station, pausing to direct some passengers to the correct stand for their bus. David mentally hugged himself, savouring the thought of becoming an inspector. He liked the idea and immediately felt better than he had done all day.

  He boarded his bus and quickly loaded the passengers waiting for the 1132 trip to Sedgethwaite. He started his engine and dealt with the waiting queue. Virtually the last person to board was a well-dressed man, about five foot nine with curly blond hair. He’d obviously had trouble finding his ticket, because the woman behind him was looking discontented at the slight delay. He reached the bus and boarded, struggling with a fistful of bulging carrier bags. He had managed to find his ticket, though, and immediately looked up. He smiled broadly.

  David recognised him immediately. “Alan Foreshaw!”

  Chapter 4

  Alan

  “Hello, Davy. God, do they let you drive these things now?”

  “Cheeky devil! I’ve been driving for four years come August!”

  “That’s funny. Auntie Mary didn’t mention it – she’s kept me up to date with most of t’gossip.”

  David chuckled. “Just because you live in the big city now, there’s no need to mock the accent.”

  “Sorry – I’d forgotten what it sounds like, that’s all. It’s six years, you know.”

  “Aye. Time flies. What brings you back now?”

  “Auntie Mary – she’s had a stroke.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Al.”

  Suddenly, Alan caught sight of a man in uniform marching towards this bus, looking at his watch. “Er, Davy – I think that guy wants a word with you.”

  “Christ! I must get going. I’ll see you at the other end. This my last tri
p, so we can have a chat after I’ve booked off.”

  “Great.”

  ***

  Alan sat on the bus and stared out of the window.

  David Edgeley, of all people. What the hell happens now?

  His mind went back to those first few crucial days at his new junior school. The only thing that had made the days bearable, and eventually forced him out of his shell, had been the kindness of one little boy.

  When he’d arrived in Sedgethwaite, Alan was frightened, suspicious and still traumatised by the sudden loss of his parents and everything he knew. He did not want to talk to anybody. But a little boy in his class called David Edgeley had different ideas.

  Finding him alone in the playground on his first day at Leeds Road Juniors, David approached him. “Why are you looking sad?” he asked, adding “It’s a shame to be sad all the time.”

  Alan’s eyes immediately filled with tears, and he turned his head away from David to hide his distress. He raised his fists to wipe his eyes. Suddenly, he felt somebody’s hand on his upper arm, rubbing gently. It was David. He kept up the motion for a couple of minutes until Alan calmed himself again.

  Little did David know that, in that short time and with that simple gesture, he had established a lifelong bond. The bell rang shortly afterwards, signalling the end of afternoon break. They broke their contact and headed back inside.

  At morning break the next day, Alan once again headed for a corner of the playground away from everybody else. After a few moments, David joined him. “Hope you’re feeling better today,” he said quietly. “You’re still looking sad. Feel like talking yet?”

  Alan thought for a moment but shook his head. David looked at him kindly, his eyes full of concern. “Okay. When you’re ready. I think it’d help, though. When you’re feeling bad, telling somebody always helps.”

  Alan nodded and the ghost of a smile passed his lips. The bell rang and it was time to go in.

  At the lunch break, after much hesitation, Alan found the words to explain. Telling the story brought back his tears. David held his hand for a few minutes – and that made Alan feel a whole lot better.

  The next day at morning break David asked another question: “Would you like to be my friend?” He spoke in a small, solemn voice. “I thought it might cheer you up a bit if I asked,” he added. “You know, about being friends.”

  Alan nodded vigorously and smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d like that.”

  And that was how it had all begun, sixteen long years ago. They’d been good times. He and Davy had got up to all sorts of mischief together – and landed in quite a lot of trouble at times – but his overwhelming memory of those years was of constant laughter. At themselves, at their teachers, at their parents. Everything had seemed to be a huge joke.

  Until it wasn’t any more. By his early teens Alan had realised that he was attracted to other boys, and one in particular. Until the revelation of that last night before he left for London, he had assumed that wouldn’t play well, even with his best pal. He needed to get away from his adopted town. He began applying for jobs and eventually got the post as a junior in the advertising agency where he now worked.

  ***

  As they pulled into Sedgethwaite Bus Station, Alan woke from his reverie. Here he was, six years on, back in what had become his home town, faced with the same young man that he had run away from. And, he was horrified to realise, feeling exactly the same way about him.

  Once David had completed his signing-off procedures at the end of his shift, the two of them headed to a coffee shop across the square from the bus station. The mechanics of getting the drinks allowed David to adjust his thoughts. Six years had certainly made a difference: Alan looked sleek and handsome in his well-cut, expensive clothes, very different from David’s dowdy bus-driver’s uniform. Moving down south had obviously been a success.

  “How’s London then?” he asked.

  “Great, thanks. I’m in advertising now – making far too much money, and thoroughly enjoying life. And you?”

  David concentrated on stirring his tea for a moment before replying. “I – um – married Mona, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Alan murmured, recalling his disappointment and sadness when he’d received the wedding invitation.

  “We’ve two boys, Tommy who’s five, and Kevin, three. We got a council house on Beckett’s Hill, but we’re going to buy somewhere in the autumn.”

  Alan detected a note of pride in David’s voice but at the same time there was something slightly off about the way he said the words, as if he were trying too hard. He refrained from comment and the conversation moved on.

  “That’s good. How’s Mona?”

  “Fine. She’d like to see you, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t think so, somehow,” Alan responded. “She never really approved of me, you know.”

  David laughed. “No, you’re right there, lad. A disruptive influence, she called you.”

  Alan finished his tea. “Look, I must get off to the hospital – it’ll be visiting time soon, and I need to know what’s going on. I’ll be at a loose end this evening. Do you fancy a pint, for old times’ sake?”

  David hesitated but then smiled. “Aye, why not? I haven’t been out for ages, and it’s my rest day tomorrow.”

  “Right, you’re on. I’ll see you in the Boot and Shoe around nine.”

  “Great. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 5

  David

  Mona was baking when David got home. “You’re late,” she said. “Get held up?”

  “I met Alan Foreshaw – from school, you remember? He’s come back up because his Auntie Mary’s had a stroke.”

  “Yes, I remember Alan. Pity it took a stroke for him to come and see his auntie. He never did when she were well.”

  “He said she didn’t want him to.”

  Mona snorted.

  “Anyway, it was nice to see him again.”

  “Happen,” replied his wife noncommittally.

  “He’s asked me to go for a pint tonight.”

  “Tonight? A shame you couldn’t go, then.”

  “Why not?”

  “You didn’t say yes, did you?”

  “Shouldn’t I have?”

  “Oh, David. You know damned well Mum and Dad are coming for tea.”

  “Oh hell, aye! I forgot all about that. Still, I’m not seeing Alan till nine.”

  Mona threw the rolling pin down in exasperation. “But we specially fixed it for tonight because you’re off tomorrow!”

  “They’re coming to see you and the boys, not me. They won’t mind.”

  “Maybe not, but I do. It looks rude.”

  “Look, I haven’t seen Alan for nigh on six years. I see your parents every bloody week!”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “And anyway, last night you were moaning because I never go out. Now you’re moaning ’cos I am doing!”

  “I suppose if you’re determined to go, I might as well shut up, but—”

  “Yes, do that! I’m going upstairs for a wash and a lie down.” David turned away angrily.

  “What about your dinner?”

  “Stick it in a pan. I’ll eat it later.”

  “But it’s your favourite – meat and potato pie.”

  “I said I’ll eat it later! Now leave me alone.”

  He stormed out of the kitchen, almost knocking little Kevin for six. Mona fought back her tears, but Kevin did not and started to wail. One of the pies burned, so David’s dinner went into the dustbin after all.

  ***

  Mona’s mother, Cheryl, was a disappointed woman – and not only because her son-in-law was rude enough to go out on a night when she and her husband were visiting. She still thought of herself as attractive, and she took a great deal of trouble over her appearance. Her shoulder-length, honey-blonde hair was a tribute to her colourist’s art. The hair framed a high-domed forehead and a longish straight nose. Her rather disagreeable nature
was signalled by her lips: they were thin and prone to disappear almost completely when she was cross, which happened quite often. They also had a semi-permanent downward twist, possibly because of her frequent sense of irritation.

  As a terrific snob and a social climber, she had been horrified when her Mona had upped and married a bus driver and gone to live in a council house. That was very far from the dream she had conceived for her daughter when Mona was growing up in the 1980s; Cheryl had imagined that Mona would marry a nice-looking bank manager or lawyer, and live in an ‘executive home’ with the obligatory two point four children while hubby drove the firm’s Cortina.

  Cheryl spoke with a mock-refined accent, rather reminiscent of a 1950s’ elocution lesson, unlike her husband Brian who had a strong Yorkshire accent that he frequently exaggerated in order to irritate his wife.

  Brian was a kind man who always reminded David of the ineffectual prison officer in the television comedy Porridge. He was well-meaning and liberal, and saw the best in everybody; he would give a stranger the shirt off his back if it would help them. Of medium height, with a round, gentle face and a slight stoop, he had very poor eyesight and wore glasses with thick pebble lenses that gave him a look of perpetual anxiety.

  Mind you, David thought as they sat round the dining table having tea, being married to Cheryl gave him a lot to be anxious about. Nevertheless, David was fond of his father-in-law, not only because of his gentle demeanour and generosity of spirit but also because he felt so sorry for him. Who wouldn’t be anxious if they had to put up with a snobbish, disagreeable and profoundly boring wife?

  Normally David managed to tune out his mother-in-law but she had a new topic of conversation today that got under his skin. She had found God. More precisely, she had found Myrtle Jenkins, a new friend who would, she believed, help her to ascend the social ladder by another few rungs.

  Consequently, the first half-hour of the meal with Mona’s parents was taken up by a detailed description of Myrtle’s virtues, house, magnificent taste in clothes and enhanced social status – which entailed her attending several annual events frequented by the great and the good of Sedgethwaite, including the mayoral banquet, charity balls and gala concerts. With a pointed look at Brian, Cheryl lamented the lack of such highlights in her own life.