Three Things About Elsie(60)

‘We’re not going anytime soon.’ Elsie watched me roll a pair of socks up and put them inside my spare shoes.

‘I’m frightened of forgetting something,’ I said.

‘I won’t let you forget. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we have everything.’

She gave me a little hug, and I unrolled the socks and put them back on my feet.

It was another week before we went to Whitby. A week of wondering if Ronnie had found the sheet music and what he was going to do about it. I thought he might react straight away, but there was nothing. Not a peep. It was strange, because the quietness seemed worse than anything. Although perhaps it’s only in the silence that you’re able to hear just how loud your own worrying is. It was a relief when Friday finally came around. I knew I’d still be worrying, but at least I could worry with a different view.

I hadn’t been on a coach trip for years, and the improvements were very pleasing. There was a small pocket in the back of the seat in front, although when I looked inside, all I could find was a sick bag. ‘It’s for magazines, as well,’ Elsie said, because she knows I can be quite suggestible.

‘Decent charabanc, isn’t it?’ Jack settled himself into the seat across the aisle so he could stretch out his walking stick. He was wearing the same grey anorak he always wears. It’s developed a shine on the elbows and one of the buttons is escaping, and Elsie has to keep reminding me not to point it out. ‘Quite roomy.’ He lifted himself up to see over the back of Mrs Honeyman from number four. ‘We could do worse.’

The driver was called Eric. Far more hair on his face than on his head, as if it was trying to make up for it. Poor whistler. Insisted on saying, ‘That’s the job, then,’ every few minutes for no distinguishable reason.

‘At Sun Valley Coaches, we pride ourselves on our leg-room,’ he said, as he walked past with his clipboard. ‘Not one single case of DVT in sixteen years.’ He eyed everyone’s calves as he moved down the aisle, perhaps looking for a red flag. ‘It’s all written in the brochure.’

After he’d gone past, I said, ‘Why does everything have to have a bro-shoor these days?’ and then I whispered to Elsie, ‘I’m not sure my bladder can hold on until the Yorkshire Moors.’

‘It has an on-board lavatory.’ She pointed towards the back of the bus. ‘Although you’ll have to be on the ball, it seems as though it’s going to be quite popular.’

Mrs Honeyman was making her way towards it, and we hadn’t even pulled out of the car park.

Ronnie Butler was the last to get on. He walked towards the coach, calm and unhurried, carrying a brown holdall. He was wearing a different trilby. This one had a small feather tucked into the band, and Elsie said it made it look as though he was going hunting. I chose not to comment. He paused when he reached the top of the steps.

‘Strange time of year to be going to the seaside.’ He spoke to Miss Ambrose and Miss Bissell, who sat together in the front row, looking quite pale, but his gaze fell on us immediately. It stayed there, even as he took off his trilby and found himself a seat.

‘It is a little brisk, but we felt Cherry Tree should have a weekend away.’ Miss Ambrose turned and joined in with looking at us. ‘Like everywhere else does.’

‘Any particular reason …’ Ronnie sat down and settled his overcoat on his lap. ‘… you chose Whitby?’

‘It’s the history, isn’t it?’ said Jack. ‘Nothing more intriguing than the past.’ His voice trembled at the edges. He held on to the seat in front, and I watched as his knuckles became pale with determination.

Ronnie turned in his seat and faced the front.

‘That’s the job, then,’ said Eric, and he started the engine.

Motorways are very dull. They might get you somewhere more quickly, but there’s very little in the form of entertainment. There’s only so much tarmac you can stomach in one day. Elsie dozed off before we’d barely even left the slip road, and Jack was far too busy with his Sudoku book and a propelling pencil to make conversation. He’d read somewhere that Sudokus prevent you from developing dementia, and he was up to six a day. He tried to involve me in one, but I told him they make me more confused, not less, and if I wanted to waste my time on puzzles, I’d rather plump for a word search. Eric was whistling to himself in the driver’s seat, and the back of Ronnie’s head hadn’t changed position in forty-five minutes. I knew, because I’d been looking at it since we left Cherry Tree. I’m not even sure why. Perhaps I thought if I looked for long enough, I could work out what was going on inside. Although Ronnie was still, everyone else moved around and changed seats. There was a constant parade of people going to the lavatory, supervised by Miss Ambrose. She began to overheat, and about an hour into the journey, she had to start fanning herself down with a sick bag.

Jack closed his puzzle book. ‘Our man’s very quiet,’ he said. ‘I bet he’s wondering what’s going on.’

‘Knowing Ronnie, he’ll have a plan brewing.’ I leaned back to let Mrs Honeyman into her seat.

Elsie woke at the sound of Jack’s voice. ‘He’s always got something up his sleeve,’ she said.

‘Does he have any connection with Yorkshire, I wonder?’ Jack said.

‘Not that I know of.’ I looked across at Elsie. She had her face against the glass, watching the traffic.