David's entry:
“I’ve never seen a young man playing double bass for the Hallé Orchestra.”
“Well, Ronnie is fifty two.”
“Like the conductor’s number one and the bloke with the cymbals is a hundred and three.”
“It’s his age.”
“The conductor?”
“My fiancé.”
“I thought your fiancé played double bass”
“He does”
“You’ve got two fiancés?”
“Just the double bass player.”
“Number fifty two.”
“That’s his age.”
“The same as the conductor.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Do they have their numbers on their shirts?”
“What numbers?”
“Stanley Matthews is number ten.”
“What does he play?”
“Inside right.”
“Eric you’re being silly.”
“When I was called up we all had numbers.”
“How do you mean?”
“My sergeant always called me thirteen.”
“That’s unlucky.”
“He said that’s what my Dad was to have me.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“He wasn’t nice.”
“Your sergeant.”
“My Dad.”
“Was he your sergeant?”
“Now you’re being silly.”
“My Dad was a sergeant.”
“In the army?”
“In the War.”
“Not now.”
“No he’s a bus conductor.”
“Number one.”
“On the number eighteen.”
“Or number fifty two!”
“Where does that go?”
“No, your fiancé.”
“Ronnie?”
“Number fifty two.”
“That’s his age.”
“No, you said the conductor was fifty two.”
“My fiancé.”
“But isn’t your fiancé the one who plays the double bass.”
“He does.”
“So how do you know so much about the conductor?”
“I don’t.”
“But you were telling me…”
“No, you were asking.”
“Why do I want to know about the conductor?”
“You asked about my engagement ring.”
“Have you got engaged?”
“To Ronnie in the Hallé Orchestra.”
“Who’s the conductor.”
“Double bass and now we’ve missed our stop, and we’ll be late for work!”
Zena's entry:
“Oh, right. OK. That’s interesting.” Any idea I’d had of pursuing her left me. She had a boy – er, man-friend, and he was older and probably richer, perhaps even with a car and a house. I couldn’t compete with that. Still, she’d brought this up openly so perhaps she needed to talk about it. After a pause I attempted a joke. “Well, at least he’s still walking.”
She smiled that happy smile again. “Actually, he’s got crutches.”
I began a laugh then realised she was serious. “Oh. Well…” My brain raced to maintain the lighthearted tone. I was too embarassed to think of an easy get-out. “I’m sorry to hear that. He must have a car, then, to drive you around in?”
She twiddled her ring. “No. He’s blind.”
Blind? Oh my god, it just got worse. Keep calm, keep it chatty. “Does he – er – does he have any children?”
Her smile faded just a little “No. He’s impotent.”
I sank into my seat. I didn’t want to discuss that. There must be something. “Well, you’ll have intelligent conversation then, as he’s so talented.”
“Actually,” she said as her smile brightened again, “he’s mentally impaired.”
I flushed as red as the outside of the bus. Say something you’re sure of, you deadbeat. “At least he can play the cello.”
Nancy looked at me earnestly. “There are no strings on his cello. They let him believe there is to help his mental stability.”
I stared at the back of the seat in front. “Oh, right. OK. That’s interesting.”
The bus pulled in one stop short of our destination and was caught in traffic. I made an apology about being late, leapt out and ran as if my life depended on it. When I glanced back I saw her grinning broadly at me out of the window.
Ann's entry:
“Whoa, you’re joking. He’s as old as your dad!” The words escaped like a fugitive.
In that split second, I could hear my mother say, (God rest her soul), “Roger, why do you open your mouth while your brain is otherwise occupied?”
And while the colour of embarrassment sped from collar to ear tips I gulped audibly.
“Not that it’s any of your business, I am more comfortable around mature men.”
Like an itch that can’t be scratched I went on.
“Your parents must be mad as hell.” Blabbermouth!
Truth is I fancied Nancy. I’m a snappy dresser, good looking, a good catch. I thought I was in with a chance. It couldn’t have surprised her, I’d made my feelings quite clear. Now this aged Pied Piper plays his tune and she follows like the kids in the fairy tale.
“There’s Jack,” I said seeing my friend further down the bus. “I need a word with him.
Relieved, I got up, but every seat was taken. I endured the last ten minutes of the ride like a Mahler opera.
I loitered in my discomfort as Nancy left the bus with her three work mates who had been sitting behind us.
They linked arms like girls do, and swang their way down the pavement, giggling.
“Ooo Nancy, you little devil,” said one.
“I didn’t think you could pull it off,” said another.
“His face when you told him you were engaged to a 52 year old,” said the third.
“Serves him right. I hope that’s got rid of him once and for all. Coming on to me all the time. I’ll give the ring back to Janice tonight,” Nancy declared.
Did I hear right? Surely not.
Geoff's entry:
Uncertain if she sounded offended, I thought I’d clear the air with a pretty sound rescue package: “Not that dumpy little grey bloke with the club foot?”
She looked, paused and finally smiled. I was in. Ronnie was history. It depends on your delivery of course. I mean, there are chaps I know would’ve got a slapping for that. You have to read the energy. Girls haven’t called me ‘maestro’ for nothing. Just being seen at the Halle means you’re infallible. OK, so Ronnie’s in the Halle, but that means he’s hopelessly constrained by rehearsals.
I sensed another probe was in order so I gave her a double-decker double-entendre which went straight to her heart: “I bet the old boy can do some amazing things with that great instrument, eh?”
“If you only knew”, she said, still smiling. Wow! This was just too easy a conquest! She was already on the defensive about poor Ronnie’s performance. Her cosy little life with retired Ronnie was no longer a match for the cut and thrust of life with a
vigorous, thoughtful young beau like myself. It’s all done with observation and accessibility, you see. You observe what they’re longing for and make yourself
ultimately accessible. Easy!
Nancy hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “Bit of a philosopher then, are you?” she said.
This girl was seriously impressed! Never mind the Halle. I was conducting my very own symphony here, and having already made positive overtures to the dear
girl, I could feel a crescendo in the air. We gazed at each other. Her beautifully tragic eyes said everything. This chance meeting would readjust our lives. I slipped my arm round her shoulder and kissed her ear lobe.
“What about an exploratory session tonight then, Nancy?” That’s about when the slapping came.
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