Chapter 15
Joyce
Every Wednesday I take the residents’ minibus into Fairhaven to do a spot of shopping.
On Mondays it goes to Tunbridge Wells, half an hour in the other direction, but I like the younger feel of Fairhaven.
I like to see what people are wearing, and I like to hear the seagulls.
The driver’s name is Carlito, and he is generally understood to be Spanish, but I have chatted to him a number of times now, and it turns out he is Portuguese. He is very good about it, though.
The usual crowd are always on the bus. There are the regulars, Peter and Carol, a nice couple from Ruskin who take the minibus down to visit their daughter, who lives on the front.
I know there are no grandkids, but nonetheless she seems to be home during the day.
There will be a story there. There’s Sir Nicholas, who just goes for a stroll now that they won’t let him drive anymore.
There’s Naomi, with her hip that they can’t get to the bottom of, and a woman from Browning whose name I have never quite caught and am now too embarrassed to ask.
She is friendly enough, though. (Elaine?)
I know that Bernard will be in his customary position at the back.
I always feel like I would like to sit next to him—he is jolly company when he turns his mind to it—but I know he visits Fairhaven for his late wife, so I leave him in peace.
That’s where they met, and that’s where they lived before they moved in here.
He told me that since she died he would go to the Adelphi Hotel, where she used to work, and polish off a couple of glasses of wine, overlooking the sea.
That’s how I first found out about the minibus, if I’m honest, so silver linings.
They turned the Adelphi into a Travelodge last year, so now Bernard sits on the pier.
That is less desolate than it sounds, as they recently revamped it, and it has won a number of awards.
Perhaps I will just sit next to him at the back of the bus one day. What am I waiting for?
I’m looking forward to my tea and brownie, but I’m also looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet. The whole of Coopers Chase is still gossiping about poor Tony Curran. We are around death a lot here, but even so. Not everyone is bludgeoned, are they?
Right, that’s me. If anything happens, I will report back.