He rang up the ticket on the machine.
„That’s tuppence. What you want up at the slaughterhouse, boy. And so early too?“
I dropped the coin into the plastic tray and took the ticket without answering.

Walking towards the back of the bus I could see the girl waving to me through the window.
Except for an old woman, the bottom deck of the bus was empty. I sat down on one of the seats at the back  and lent my head against the cold, steamed up pane. The bus started jolting off and I could feel the vibration going through my whole body.
The old woman turned on her seat and looked at me from the side.

„He’s dead an’ gone“ she said.
I carried on looking out the window, I couldn’t see much because of the condensation, so I wrote my name on the pane with my finger and peered through the letters into the morning grey. I saw Mr. Perkis carrying out some crates of apples and putting them in front of his fruit and vegetable shop. I used to work there after school during the week and Saturdays between the age of nine and twelve. Later I worked at a firing range on Sundays, carrying clay pigeons around in the rain. I didn’t like Perkis much, he always knew everything about everything.

„He’s dead an’ gone, I said,“ repeated the woman, louder this time.
I turned and looked at the old woman. Her skin was grey, she was wearing a dirty flowery dress, black stockings (there was a ladder in the left one), brown shoes, a blue cardigan and a dark red scarf over her grey-white hair. She had a small black handbag with a brass catch on the seat next to her and was carrying a bunch of dying flowers in her left hand.

„Who?“ I said.
“Who d’you think?“ she said, impatiently.
“Don’t know, your husband perhaps?“
„Husband! That’s a joke, never had one, never will!“ she said.
„Thought everyone had something like that,„ I said.
„I’m talking about Bernard,“ she continued, „said he loved me, but he hung himself up. He did himself in on the sunday, hung him self up like a rat up at the allotments. That’s where I’m off to now with me flowers. I never miss an aniversary, it’s been twenty six years now, twenty six years to the day! Strange, still think he’s gonna come back any minute; saw him the night before, and next think I know he’s a’ hanin’ like a rat! They say he killed his mum before, but he was so gentle, so kind, so I don’t think he could ‘ave. They found her on the floor in the kitchen, you could see her brains they said.“

Now you see it, now you don’t, I thought.
„And why did he do that?“ I asked.
„Why? Why? Never knew, never will; some say he was mad, and you know what, he wasn’t just hung, but cut open like a slaughtered pig. The Lord does mysterious things, I s’ppose“
“God works in mysterious ways,“ I said.
„Whatever, who cares, you just never know what’s gonna hit you next, you never know.“ she said.
„Cemetery.“ the driver said.

The bus ground to a stop, Miss Scarlet came down the stairs and got out, looked towards the back of the bus, stopped for a moment, pointed her finger at me and said through a sardistic grin, hardly moving her lips: „Put the lion in the cage, Morris, put the lion in the cage!“
She got out, looking up at me laughing as she passed my window. She was heading up the hill towards her surgery.
The old woman didn’t seem to notice her at all.

„And didn’t you ever find another man?“ I asked after a moment.
„Another one, another one – no, never did and never will!“ she said.
At the next stop some school kids got in, giggling and shouting they went upstairs to the top deck.
„Where you off to, boy?“ the old woman asked.
“Going up to the slaughter house,“ I said.
„Binstead Gardens“ the driver said.
Gotta get out boy, gotta get out,“ she said, getting up.
„By the way,“ she said, „say hello to Pat and Tom up at the slaughter house, they found Bernard’s body when they were kids.“
„What’s ya’ name?“ I asked.
„Audrey,„ she said.

She got out, hurried passed, looking down at the damp street mumbling to herself.

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