The ‘Brighton Belle’ was a hidden secret, an underground experience known only to forty two people once every month. It had been running for seven years and had become the whispered urban myth of London and Oxbridge universities during that time. Was it true that a coach existed that was solely about a hedonistic weekend, whisking party seeking under graduate and post graduate revelers from London into Brighton’s club scene? Was it true the coach stretched the law and the journey was as much fun as the night out? Did boys and girls get up to no good from seven in the morning until eight the next day? Mary knew it was true. She had been a reveler and a regular for all of those years. This was her hidden secret, the private thing she did, never having shared the ‘Belles’ existence with her three male friends.
Oliver had a mood so low she felt that allowing him into the urban myth that was in fact a reality, of a pleasure-seeking coach tour to buzzing Brighton, was just the tonic he needed. Convincing Jamie would only take as long as it took for the first group of gorgeous girls to arrive at the steps of the coach.
“My god,” Jamie declared as the gang rounded the corner to see the coach in full view, “That coach must be fifty years old. I can’t travel on that for fucks sake, it’s a wreck.”
The coach was in fact thirty years old and a classic, it had been lovingly restored by Eric the owner and a surprisingly ‘with it’ old guy. Eric had established the Brighton run when aged sixty he decided to do something that was a bit out there. With his retirement money he bought and restored the coach. He never advertised but just turned up one day seven years ago, parked outside the university campus near Victoria and smiled as students left college. This he did for three consecutive Fridays. On week four a group of irresistibly curious students, Mary amongst them, stopped at the open door of Eric’s bus. He sat there in his resplendent green goddess of a coach, smiling at the passing students. The group who had dared to approach this oddly warm looking grandfather type of a guy, asked him what he was doing. A conversation was held that went something like, ‘what would you do if you had your own bus for the weekend?’ This led to the suggestion of a Brighton run, Mary and about fifteen others went along the first time, the second time it was full, the third time Eric had to turn students away and by the fourth time a legend was born. Eric now made nearly as much with the ‘Brighton Belle’ than he ever did working as a London bus driver.
Seeing Mary approaching Eric raised an arm saluting her, “Wotcha Mary,” he called from the drivers’ seat of the bus through the open door at the front.
“Hey Eric, it’s been a while,” Mary called back. Eric nodded and smiled warmly towards her.
“You know him?” asked Minnie.
“Yup,” answered Mary, “I sure do, known him for seven years on and off, Eric is an unofficial fun bus tour operator. Not licensed, very underground, he runs this incredible buzzy trip to Brighton. Once a month, by invitation only these days. You boys are my guests today.”
“I thought this was an urban myth,” Oliver said, “so why haven’t you told us before Mary, in the six years we have known each other? You’ve had all this fun while we did quiz nights at the firkin.”
“It’s always been my thing Ollie, my private Idaho.”
“This is wank,” commented Jamie bowing his head towards his knees in annoyance, facing away from the direction of the coach.
“No,” interrupted Minnie, lifting a pointed finger gesturing over and behind Jamie, “that Jamie is wank, pure unadulterated masturbation, on an old fashioned coach stick. Mary I love you.”
As Minnie hugged Mary, Jamie stood and slowly turned to look towards the coach and the direction Minnie had indicated. He adjusted his eyes, studied the scene and then began to smile, a smile that widened out into a Cheshire cat grin.
Approaching the coach, waving and hollering towards Eric, wearing the sexiest, skimpiest, most provocative outfits were {at a minimum} twenty very gorgeous girls. All just about around university age with a few maybe a little older.
“Am I going to be on a coach with them?” Jamie asked.
“You are Jamie,” Mary replied.
“That is more beautiful than Lake Garda, of course I like coach travel, I love coach travel, come on Mary what are we waiting for, lets go,” Jamie strode out boldly towards the coach hand raised, “hey Eric my dad, it’s been too long.”
“He’s a bastard,” smiled Mary to Oliver, “but at least I won’t have to be the one giving him a blowjob.”
Oliver laughed and put his arm around Mary, following Jamie and Minnie who had both strode on ahead.
Two hours into the coach journey as it approached Brighton Minnie, Jamie and pretty much all the girls were loved up together. All were nicely merry on the champagne provided as part of the tour. Eric knew this was illegal but he had built up the trust of his customers over seven years, with that trust passed on through several generations of carefully selected fresher’s and graduates. Jamie had four girls and himself squeezed into a seat for two, Minnie had the entire back row and many girls kissing him and sitting on top of his big frame. Laughter filled the coach, only slightly less noise than the club music playing on the high quality sound system Eric had installed five years ago.
“Why don’t you join them?” Mary asked Oliver. Oliver and Mary also drank champagne from small plastic cups, but together they sat much nearer the front. Mary was approaching a time in her life where chatting to Eric was as interesting as cavorting around further down the bus.
Oliver looked back smiling, “I’m okay, it’s a long day, those gits always peak too soon.”
“You rarely peak, as it were, Ollie.” Mary gave him a look and raised her eyebrows.
“I may well peak more than you know Mary, might choose not to say.”
“Yeah sure.”
“Well you seem no better, from where I’m sitting, Mary, ha.”
“What do you think I do on these coach trips?”
Oliver was puzzled, then it dawned upon him. Mary had kept these trips secret so she could indulge in pure fun without the paternal gaze (or interference) of her male friends.
“You bloody minx,” smiled Oliver, he looked up and down the coach which was wall to wall women, “though it’s a bit light for you this time.”
Mary shook her head, she gazed at the women all around, slightly biting down on her bottom lip, “I see plenty to interest me.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, “Nooo, you’re not, are you, no, you had that boyfriend what was his name, then the other guy with the big hair, no.” Oliver sat back a little shocked. Albeit in a friendly way.
“Let’s just say,” explained Mary, “I can kick with both feet.”
“You’re just greedy.”
“So are you over your disappointment with the whole car chat thing?” Mary asked.
“Not really, I can’t believe it’s slipped from my grasp to be honest. I thought it was in the bag.”
“Well you can console yourself you have completed one more year at UCL. This time last year you thought Blooms would throw you out. One more to go and you’re free.”
“I know but I’m not sure it’s a freedom I want, all the choices are ultimately the same, a job, the ties of life,” Oliver could be so morose as so drag others into the black cloud he wore as a hat.
Mary sat back smiled hopelessly and sipped her champagne, “My whole point Oliver, bringing you here and giving this intimate disclosure, letting you see a bit of my life you didn’t know, is saying to you, you know, bloody live a little. Your head is always pointed towards some unknown future with your heart in your boots, maybe just lose yourself a bit. We have nearly four months off from UCL this summer, none of us are working so let’s enjoy it. Go crazy. Get drunk today, go wild, blow a guy for fucks sake, we’re in Brighton.”
Mary stood up smiled and bent over Oliver and gave his shocked head a kiss, “Only kidding, blow two guys, I have on these trips and it was great.”
“I don’t know you Mary, you’re no
t Mary, you’ve been taken, you’re not her,” Oliver held up crossed fingers and thrust them towards Mary’s face. She pushed his hand down and leant forward to him.
Mary pressed into Oliver’s ear with her lips and squeezed his arm, then whispered, “and you don’t have to be you Ollie, you really don’t. I love you my friend.”
Mary walked away slowly, held Oliver’s eye contact and then turned to join the fun.
Oliver turned back, suddenly deeply thoughtful, he gazed forward and a single tear left the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.
7.
Tempus Genesis Page 7
