The Queen

Queen

Mum, please, dont get upset. But after New Year, we might run into, well, lets say, some financial problems. Not that well starve or anything.

Dont drag it out, Alice. You know I hate long preambles.

I know, Mum. All right, fineIve left my job. There you go.

What? Did you quit, or were you pushed?

I quit. I always want decisions to be mine.

Just like your father. I can just imagine what hed say if he were still here.

Mum, look at those lovely robins out the window, sitting in the tree. Dad would have said its not the place that makes the person.

I was so happy for you, Alice, so proud you had that job. The salary, the status. You ran the entire Art and Culture scene of our cityyou were always on the telly. People looked at you like royalty, listened, respected. My beautiful, elegant daughter.

Oh, Mum, dont. No need to get teary. My beauty isnt going anywhere; its stuck with me.

At least tell me what happened? Why this sudden move? Step away from the windowyoull catch a chill. Come sit with me.

Mum, my views on life just clashed with my bosss. For them its all about reports, ticking boxespeople only matter when theyre making speeches. I want no part of it. Its like in a divorce hearing: incompatible personalities.

Well, every boss wants the numbers. Does this mean youre not even going to your own Christmas events this year?

Oh, I will. The whole team put in weeks of work. Ill just go as a regular punter. Itll be fun.

Fun? Really? The queen of city culture just standing about by the Christmas tree. At least take me with you for moral support!

I thought you were sick to death of Christmas trees at the nursery: groups for every class, children of staff, the staff themselves, plus the foster kids party

Dont forget the orphanage. Well, Alice, we have our own targets, you knownumber of children reached by events and all. *Cultural* events, mind! But Id fancy seeing your big Family Tree at City Park, see what youve come up with. You run these family Christmases, yet go home alone. Now no job, either. Alice, youre nearly forty! Still pining for Paul? King Paul! The first and last! Never even left our cityalways waffling about making it to Viennas opera! Saxophonist, of all things.

Saxophonist, Mum. Adolphe Sax, Belgian inventorgreat instrument, if you ask me, been around nearly two centuries.

As if I, a music director, need reminding! Oh, Alice, Ill never forgive that saxophonist, he scrambled your brainnever let anyone else near you. Youre ageing, my queen. Mum wiped away a tear. Queen with no throne now! Grown old, unmarried. What would your father say?

Hed say, Mum, that women are like winebetter with time. Dont cry, please. Itll all turn out fine.

Yes, your father adored women.

But above all, he loved you, Mum. Right to the end, never let go of your handstroked your fingers until the very last breath, I saw it all that night at the hospital

I know, Alice, darling. I regret not telling him I loved him more often. It always seemed so obvious.

He felt it, Mum. And when you sang for him, he used to just watch you with those shining eyes.

Mum began to sing, shaking off tears:

And the snow falls, and the snow falls
And all the world sits in suspense
Under this snow, this gentle snow
I want to say, in front of all
My dearest, come and look with me
This snow is pure, like things I cant confess,
Things I long to say

Mum, that song gets me every time. I secretly wish, every birthday at the end of April, it would snow and someone would sing it just for me

Darling, whats your plan now work-wise? Youve got so much potential! What are you going to do?

Ill be a bus conductor, Mum.

Stop it! Surely youre not serious! Talk to Linda from number thirty-sixshes got connections everywhere: council, Inland Revenue, housing.

I am serious. My minds made up. Conductor it is. Do you ever catch the buses?

Not often, but sometimes, yes.

And what do you think of the conductors?

Exactly: what do I think? Not much! No manners, no style! Twenty jumpers, wellies on top of woolly socks, and yellingFares, please! Move down the bus, please!Again, fares, please! Round and round. So creative.

You do an excellent impression, Mum: Fares, please! Exactly the right tone. Mum, do you remember that time Dad came home, tipsyit only happened onceand told that bus joke? He celebrated the new housing estate with his workmates. You said youd never seen him so funny.

I dont recall the joke, Alice. What was it?

A totally sozzled man gets on the bus, teetering at the back, clinging to the rail. The conductor comes over, shrills, Fares, please! The man mimes raising a glass: Oh! *To* the fare!

Oh, Alice, if only I could pour your father a drink nowhe could tell any joke, just so long as he was here

Hes always with us, Mum. I hear his voice in my head, telling me: Its all in your mind, girls. Change your tune, and life will play you a serenade, a rock ballad, a jigtake your pick!

But Alice, why didnt you ever change *Pauls* tune? He got stuckcouldnt handle your queenliness while he was just a court musician. Like that man Gosha in Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears. At least that ended happily. All right, lets be serious. Where are you actually working?

I start as a bus conductor after the holidays. Route straight through the city.

No, Alice, you cant do this. You were always a bit madunique and a dreamer, yesbut this is too far! A conductor! Every dog in this city knows you. You were on telly for years, now in a conductors seat? Good God, what would Dad think?

Im just following Dads advice. Remember that card he gave me for my eighteenth? I repeat his words like a mantra: Remember: no one can decide for you. You must take your life in your own hands. Otherwise, life will keep knocking, but youll never be homeyoull always be somewhere else.

Where else, Alice, in a city bus? What kind of stand is that against society?

Its a stand for myself, Mum. My art boss told me I should take off my crownaccused me of being out-of-touch, never on public transport. Forgot my chauffeur broke his leg, so I *was* on buses for a fortnight before New Year. Ive seen plenty!

Oh, the jobs youve had! And *this*?

Time to civilise the bus passengers, Mum.

Mum lay back on the sofa, pressing her temples. Well, youve floored me with this little New Years trick. Completely. Down for the count.

One of the greats said, if God didnt sometimes knock us down, wed never bother to look up at the sky. Mum, look, the suns peeking throughits beautiful. The children hung a feeder outside; theyre feeding robins and tits. And now the snows falling

Alice began to sing:
And the snow falls, and the snow falls,
And all the world sits waiting

Our mad Alice! The pays five times less than what you made. Youll force me to say yes if Mr Williams upstairs offers to help.

Mum, hes a decent manretired colonel. A widower. Steady, responsible, generous. I know, I know, no one can ever compare to Dad, but dont compare. Dads always in our hearts, but hes been gone nearly ten years

Olive, this isnt about me, its about *you*. Youll be bored stiff as a conductor! No creativity! Then again, your father always said you could turn any job into an adventure Or, why not dash off somewhere for a weekDubai? With your unused leave, youll get a big payout. Think about life, relax for a bit.

Lets do a trip to Brighton instead, Mumon my compensation.

Alices phone rang. Mum promptly sat up, listening. Alice took the call, then replied, calmly, All right, Ill start the route on the fourth of January. My papers are already with the bus companys HR. Thank you.

Mum, sorryno Dubai, no Brighton after all!

*******

The Number 7 bus had just completed its first morning run to the eastern outskirts. It was always busy, full to the brim, especially this time of year. Final stop.

Mr Pennington! May I use your microphone? Rather like a tour guide.

What now, Alice? Youve adorned the bus with tinsel and Christmas baubles already, spruced up the notices above me. Youve put up a Quote of the Day where everyone can see. What is it today?

Its an aphorism, Mr Pennington.

Thats the one, aphorize-um or whatever!

Its good to travel a road youve chosen for yourself!

Youre good fun, Alice. Lucked out in old age, I did, with a conductor like you. Mind you, my co-driver Thomas still cant get used to you. Says you scare him a bityou gave him a document folder with the company crest, insisted our paperwork goes in it Hes declared its a new era. Got his wife to order him two T-shirts online with the flag. Says, Even if we drive an old bus, we carry our peopleour fellow citizens! Youre not like anyone else. Even your clothes are smart. Thomas keeps swearing hes seen you on telly. I said, She looks like an actress! Especially after you wrote out our sayings next to our names! Never been called Aristotle before

You *are* our local Aristotles, I swear! Imaginecracking jokes, thinking so deeply.

Relaxing in the conductors seat, Alice read the signs posted under Thoughts from our drivers

If youre on the phone, whisper or tell a good story! D. Pennington, Driver

If you dont give your seat to an elderly lady, I will. T. Bateman, Driver

Proper philosophy, Alice said, smiling.

And we quote you, too! Its all in our heads. Change your tune, get a jaunty song you like.

My fathers words, not mine.

Hes passed on, then?

Yesaccident at work. Builder, bridges, schoolsall sorts. Died in hospital, Mum at his side.

Sorry, Alice. Destiny. Is your mum still alive?

She ismusic director at a nursery. Actually, Mr Pennington, I was hoping we could have music in the bus. Just over the speakers, a few words to the passengers, something to lift their spirits.

I dunno, love, people have their preferences. Loud, quiet, this music, that one

Ive looked it upno rule says you cant play music on a bus, nothing against the volume, either. As long as its pleasant! Aristotle proved it can lift the mood, calm or invigorate. Ill pick something right for folks, youll see. And Ill make announcements, add a bit of information, never in the peak hours. May I?

The bus set off. At the end stop, passengers boarded, tickets paid, filling the seats, heading from the East End toward the centre. Alice settled by the driver, lifted the old microphone and, in her clear voice, began, Dear passengers, were riding the citys longest and busiest bus line, setting off from Oak Road. The freshest air is out herepeople often bring families from the centre for a walk in the woods. The centre is fifteen stops away. As youll see, the High Street sparkles in wintersnow, Christmas lights, all aglow. This season, visit our famous New Year fair, take in a winter tale at the puppet theatrejust hop off a stop before. Out-of-towners, dont miss the unique timber museumget off at Village Street. Most of all, join us for a Family Christmas Tree in the Main City Park, in Garden Square. Unmissable. Have a lovely journey and a wonderful festive time.

Alice finished her announcement, handing back the micwhen a cheeky lad piped up, Oi, whats showing at the Picture House?
Without missing a beat: Young man, youll need to change at the centre, number 1 bus, ten stops more. Elfie 15 playing there. But if you stay on this one, weve got the Star Cinemastops called Star Cinema. Three screens: the comedy, a panto for the grownups, and a romantic New Years special.

Mr Pennington nodded, grinning. Me and the wifell come to that Family Christmas Tree. Is it truethe raffles a must, and free mulled wine?
All true, smiled Alice.
He winked, Bet youll never stop at this. Got something else brewing already!
We could have live music, at least on special days. The Sunrise Trio could do folk songs at Christmas. For Burns Night, I know a brilliant guitarist to do some classic ballads. For Pancake Day, Ill invite my friend who plays the squeezebox.
Later, to her mum: Sorry, cant do the family Christmas tree. Two shiftsstaff shortages! But you go with Mr Williams. Hell be chuffed, and you too! Love you. Im off.

Throughout the route, Alice took the mic several more timesthe announcements now automated, barely used by drivers. As she passed city landmarks, she shared stories and invited passengers to various cultural events. Always polite, never pushyher belief in what she did shone through. Within a month, regulars sang her praises, news of the extraordinary conductor echoing across town.

***

Three months on, and word about the legendary Number 7 and its oddball conductor reached management.

Miss Greenwood, called the depot manager, Mr Anderson, in a tone chilly with authority. Ive asked to see you for a reason. I think you may not be in quite the right job. Youre supposed to collect fares. Instead, youre entertaining people with stories and songs. I feel the complaints will start pouring in.

Mr Anderson, thank you for this meeting. Im just a conductor, but proud of our excellent team of driversMr Pennington and Mr Bateman. Long-serving, reliable, deserving of extra pay. And thank you for letting me not only sell tickets but add a bit of culture to our citizens. Consider my mini-tours an innovative project for our company.

Mr Anderson, a large, awkward man, shifted, blotched, mopped his brow with a handkerchief, poured some water, shuffled in his chair. Well, Miss Greenwood, fare intake hasnt droppedhas gone up, actually. Thats good! But passengers varysome dont like music, noise, and here you are turning the bus into a variety show! Its not the done thing.

Its not forbidden, either. Your own regulations say conductors must ensure both safety and comfort.

Comfort, yes, but other conductors are complaining. They say you dont even walk down the aisleyou sit up front like a queen. Storytelling out of boredom. Youre a conductor, not a tour leader.

Alice softly hummed, While its not too late, lets make a stopConductor, hit the brakes She looked at the boss, whose mind was surely elsewhere, but she didnt apologise and neither did she back down.

Mr Anderson, I imagine you have many concerns, and conductors are hardly a major one. But the rules say a conductor *cant* demand payment or check ticketsno such powers. Legally, we sell on request. Its the passengers duty to pay. Am I a queen, they ask? My fellow workers might not have mentioned that on our route we have a ruleboard by the front door, pay me as you get on, leave by the back. If its busy, people pass cards and cash down the line. I assure everyone, on the mic, that cards are safe, being watched by CCTV. If anyone thinks otherwise, the camera will catch them!

But we *dont* have CCTV! Are you lying, Queenie?

Im dreaming, sirhoping for the day. Itll keep the peace. Worth considering.

Quietly, Mr Anderson murmured, You really dont walk up and down?

I dowhen I help a gran with her stick, or a harried mum with a buggy, or offer a tissue to a crying child, administer a bit of aid. But most of the time, its like, if you build a mountain, people will come. Sometimes the fare-dodgers are so curious about this queen by the driver they come see for themselves. While Im at it, theyll pay up in the end. Mr Anderson, do you love this city? Been here long? Theres not much about you in the papers.

Not long. Just moved back after my divorce. Grown so muchunrecognisable now.

Exactly. Lots of good changes. Why not tell people? They barely have time to find out for themselves! Im not a tour guidejust a cultural satnav, you might say. I really recommend the new show at the playhouseDivorce for Men. Its a comedy, cheers you right up.

Miss Greenwoodexcuse meI have a meeting. But, you know, if you ever fancy inviting me to the theatre, I *might* just say yes

********

So the Queen Conductor project continued through February and March. Alice got a bonus for International Womens Day from Mr Anderson, and gave him tickets for a play, though she couldnt go herselfcovering double shifts. Word spread, but the idea never caught on. Her colleagues, rolling their eyes, gossiped about the bus queen, half-joking she was a bit madwho else invents things for that kind of pay? Rumours flew about wealthy sponsors. Nobody knew that Alices only backer was Mr Williams upstairs, who admired Alice and dearly loved her mother.

********

April 28th. Saturday. Alices birthday. Her mum urged her to take the day off, but Alice chose her bus route over a partyher regular passengers would be waiting. On a cold, unwelcome morning, Alice walked to the depot, reflecting how she liked the new rhythms and tunes in her head since quitting her high-powered job. Thenshe saw it. Snow, falling softly from the April sky, catching in her hair. Since she was little, Alice had dreamed of April snow. The flakes fell and melted as they touched the road, but in their flight was something magical. In high spirits, Alice boarded the bus, already decked with paper snowflakesher birthday surprise from the drivers. Thomas, on his shift, presented her with a box of chocolates and a sparkling new microphone: Our queen deserves the finest! She gave each driver some herbal tonic and a copy of My England.

The bus was quiet that weekend, but in the city centre, it filled, and thenthe first door swung open and a passenger entered whose gaze sent shivers up Alices spine. Her heart thundered. It was himher Paul, the only man she had ever loved. He held his instrument case aloft, unable to pull his wallet out for the fare. Betraying her own rules, Alice shouted across the bus, Fares, please! CCTV in operation! Move towards the centre! Leaping from her seat, as if escaping herself, she headed towards the back.

And suddenlyAlice, our queenheard live music. A romantic, soulful saxophone in Pauls hands filled the bus, and her own private palace, with the melody of And the snow falls, and the snow fallsThe sweet, searching notes of a saxophone threaded through the hum of the Number 7. Pauls fingers worked their magic, the melody old as memory, delicate as the falling snow. Passengers sat up, startled, then settled, smiles spreading slowly as the song spilled bright over their morning. Some recognized the tuneAlices fathers favorite, the song her mother once sang by his bedside. Alice couldnt help ither laughter mingled with a sudden rush of tears. She reached Paul at the back of the bus, wiped her cheeks, and stood before himconductors cap slightly askew, badge shining in the snowy light.

Paul gave a little bow, shy, uncertain as a schoolboy. I missed my stop, he murmured. But maybe I was hoping youd find me here.

She grinned, remembering mornings in their old flat, sunlight pouring in, Paul playing for her alone. Maybe this is my stop, too, she replied, lowering her voice so only he could hear. Maybe this is the start.

He offered her the saxophone case, and she took it, their hands warm where they touched. The bus rocked gently, the city rolling by outside in its haphazard, hopeful April. Passengers looked on, witnessing something shift and settle, as if a little bit of order had slipped into the world where it had always been missing.

Mr Pennington flicked on the intercom and announced, To the lady in the fronthappy birthday! To the man at the backwelcome home! The passengers broke into applause, oddly united, swept up in the current of something kinder and truer than any daily commute. Even the snow seemed to pause, hanging mid-air, waiting for Alice to claim her moment.

She closed her eyes a second, breathing in the music, her mothers song echoing softly in the deepest part of her. In that instant, Alice felt itthe lightness of choosing her own road, the playfulness of possibility, the company of love returned, unexpected but never truly lost.

When she opened her eyes, she raised the microphone and spoke for everyone, voice steady, alive: Dear passengers, I promised you a journey with stories and songs. But sometimes and she glanced at Paul, heart full to the brimthe best journeys begin at home, on an ordinary bus, with a little April snow, and the people you thought youd left behind.

The Number 7 rolled on, a little brighter than before, weaving past the shops, the parks, the statues, Alices laughter and Pauls music tumbling together, and the snow still falling.

And the city, all unknowing and entirely awake, crowned her its queen anew.