Big Bob Charker turned his back, and Periwig Tombs laughed silently behind it.
2
The wheels on the bus went round and round.
Round and round and round.
The guide on the bus was whistling sadly. The driver of the bus was smiling. The people at the bus stop saw the bus. The people at the bus stop waved.
Periwig Tombs did changing down of gears, bringing professionally to a halt, applying of the handbrake, switching off the engine and climbing down from the cab.
Big Bob Charker did saluting, then he stepped down from that special area where the conductor stands.
Six jolly tourists stood at the bus stop. Well, at least five looked jolly. Four of these were Japanese students, you could tell by the cut of their clothes. The fifth was a lady in a straw hat and she looked jolly too. The sixth was a young man, a pasty-faced youth and he looked far from jolly.
He was dour. Dour and downcast, glum and gloomy and grim. He glowered at his boots and scuffed them on the pavement. At intervals, of increasing frequency, the lady in the straw hat elbowed him in the ribs and told him to perk up.
Big Bob smiled upon all and sundry. 'Greetings all and sundry,' smiled he.
The Japanese students grinned and nodded. One said, 'Hello, goodbye.'
The lady in the straw hat smiled. The dour youth glowered grimly.
'My name is Big Bob Charker,' said Big Bob Charker. 'And I shall be thy tour guide for today.'
The dour youth mumbled grimly. The lady in the straw hat smote him on the head.
'I'm sorry,' said Big Bob, addressing the lady, 'but is there something wrong?'
'It's him,' said the lady, elbowing the youth once more. 'My son, Malkuth. He didn't want to come, but I made him. It's a lovely day, I told him, and I've already booked the tickets and if you think you're going to spend today sitting over your Mute Corp PC like you do every other day, forget it, you're coming on the tour whether you like it or not. That's what I told him and that's the way it's going to be.'
'Quite so,' said Big Bob. 'Well, good day unto you, Malkuth.'
'Poo!' said the youth in a grumbly tone, lowering his head a tad lower.
'You'll enjoy it, I promise thou,' said Big Bob.
The youth looked up and offered him a bitter glance. 'You've got pink stuff on your tie,' he observed.
The lady in the straw hat smote her son once more. 'Don't be so rude to the gentleman,' she told him.
'It's quite all right,' said Big Bob. 'It was unprofessional of me to come on duty with a stained tie. I apologize.'
The lady in the straw hat smiled at Big Bob, one of the Japanese students said, 'Okey dokey.'
'Get on with it,' whispered Periwig. 'Introduce me.'
'Ah yes,' Big Bob continued. 'This is our driver, Mr Periwig Tombs.'
'Morning each,' said Periwig. 'Lovely day for it.'
The youth looked up at Periwig. 'You have a very large head', said he. 'Was that cap made specially?'
Periwig smiled the smile of a professional. The professional who relies on his tips to make up the balance of his wages.
'My wife,' said Periwig Tombs, 'put a gusset in the back. She's very good with her hands. And a remarkably beautiful woman. Do you have a girlfriend?'
The lady in the straw hat laughed rather loudly. The youth grew gloomier still.
'Righty right,' said Big Bob. 'Well, it's all aboard then. I suggest that you go upstairs onto the open deck to enjoy the views more fully. Mind how you go up the stairs.' He stuck out his hand to welcome all aboard and the lady in the straw hat shook it. Periwig Tombs stuck out his hand and the lady shook that too. Then Big Bob and Periwig shook the hands of the Japanese students and then finally the hand of the dour-faced youth. The youth seemed disinclined towards handshaking, but Big Bob took his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. The squeeze that Periwig Tombs applied was somewhat less than friendly. But as Periwig had puny hands the effect was much the same.
The hand of the dour youth was a cold and clammy, limp, dead thing and both Periwig Tombs and Big Bob Charker found themselves a-wiping their own right hands onto their trousers after the shaking was done.
When all and sundry were safely up the stairs and seated, Periwig returned to the cab and Big Bob rang the bell.
The wheels on the bus went round and round and the tour of Brentford began.
As the Brentford tour bus was a proper tour bus, it boasted a proper public address system. Proper speakers mounted on the decks, above and below and connected to a proper microphone, which hung in the proper area reserved for the conductor. Big Bob took up the proper microphone and did a right and proper one-two, one-two into it, before beginning his proper talk which accompanied the tour proper.
So to speak.
'One-two,' went Big Bob, then just 'One,' due to a momentary distraction. This momentary distraction came in the shapely shape of an attractive young woman •who was walking down the High Street just as the bus was moving up it.
The bus continued on its way and she continued on hers. Big Bob managed the second 'Two,' and the tour well and truly began.
The attractive young woman stopped and turned and watched the bus shrink into the sunny distance. Then she glanced into the window of Mr Beefheart the butcher's shop and took stock of her reflection. She looked all in all rather wonderful, a joyous sight to behold.
Her hair was of gold and cut in the pageboy style, with a fringe that lightly brushed the long dark lashes of her denim-blue eyes. Beneath her noble nose was a mouth of the order that most men yearn to kiss, being a perfect Cupid's bow, turned up in a comely smile.
The attractive young woman wore a short and golden figure-hugger of a dress, which hugged the kind, of figure that you rarely see any more. Monroesque, it was. An hourglass figure. Her bare legs were just long enough and tanned enough to be noticed and rarely carried her anywhere without being so. Upon her feet were golden sandals, laced about the ankles.
All in all she was something to see and upon a day such as this and in a setting so fine as the High Street of Brentford, it was hardly surprising that this golden woman had turned the head of Big Bob Charker so. Radiance on radiance beneath the smiley sun.
Now one might have been forgiven for thinking that here was one of those models. One of those models who model their skin, rather than modelling clothes. But within the golden head of this fair maiden lurked a fearsome intellect, which had crushed the egos of many a man who had harboured thoughts such as this.
The golden woman's name was Kelly Anna Sirjan and she was twenty-two years of age. She held three degrees and was studying for the fourth. She spoke four languages, including Runese. She was an expert in most fields of computer technology, a 12th Dan Master in the deadly art of Dimac and the Southern England Owari champion, whatever on earth that was.
She was a force to be reckoned with.
And she was here in Brentford on business.
Kelly ran the manicured fingers of her slender right hand through her golden locks, teased out strands of hair and twisted the ends back and forwards, back and forwards.
It was a nervous habit that she was trying to break.
But she was here on business and she was late, and being late didn't suit her at all. And it didn't seem to be her fault. The directions she'd been given were wrong.
Kelly dug into her shoulder bag and brought out several sheets of paper. She examined these and then looked up and down the High Street. She checked the numbers on the shops and then peered up towards the offices above them. Then she shook her golden head and made a puzzled face.