One of the passengers emerged from the top deck and approached the driver’s window. The sign said don’t distract the driver. Brian was going to miss the ‘Star Wars’ bit now.

“A girl’s just been sick upstairs,” the guy said.

Brian sighed. “Thanks for letting me know.”

The guy nodded but didn’t go back upstairs. He took an empty seat, of which there were always plenty on the last bus of the night. There were about seven or eight people downstairs and another five or six on the top deck. Brian could see the girl who had been sick through his observation mirror. She had no intention of getting off.

At the next stop the guy who had warned him about the girl got off. Nobody got on.

Brian flicked his iPod to ‘Killer Queen’ and resisted the temptation to tap his foot when it was on the brake pedal.

A minute or so into the song, that girl and her friend came downstairs. The friend was trying to hold her up when she didn’t really need it and was screeching hysterically as if it was an emergency.

“You’ve got to stop this bus!” she said.

“We’re nearly at the next stop,” said Brian.

“She’s gonna puke!”

Brian stopped the bus and the girl threw up again before he had opened the doors. Brian looked at the other passengers in the mirror and nobody wanted to know. Then the beer-tainted smell hit him.

The girl tripped off the bus and sprawled on the pavement, throwing up over her own hands. Her friend stayed in the doorway, shrieking again, but keeping her distance down.

“Can you move out of the way of the doors, please. You’re holding us up,” said Brian.

“It’s okay. She’ll be all right in a minute,” said the girl’s friend loudly.

Brian shook his head. “Oh, no. She’s not getting back on this bus.”

The girl shot him a look. “She’ll be all right.”

“Move out of the way of the doors. This bus is leaving now. Get off it.”

“Mandy, get on the bus,” the girl said.

The sick one looked round, her mascara running.

“Get out of the way of the doors,” Brian said.

“This is the last bus!” the girl cried. “You can’t leave her to walk home in that state.”

“Then go with her. You’re holding everyone up.”

“Come on!” someone sitting at the back of the bus called.

The girl spun angrily. “Hey, fuck you, arsehole!” As she said it, she stepped out of the doorway and into the aisle.

Brian promptly closed the doors.

The girl inside realised and went for them, but she was too late. She was trapped inside, or rather the sick one was trapped outside. The one inside slammed her hands on the driver’s window, which was made of plastic.

“Open the fucking door!”

Brian held up a finger. “Don’t hit the glass.”

“Open that fucking door! Let her on.” Then she slammed her hands on the window again.

“Come on, driver!” that guy at the back called.

The girl inside turned on him. “I’m going to come back there and give you such a fucking slap in a minute!”

Brian opened the doors.

The girl went into the doorway, held her hands out to stop them closing, then leaned out. “Mandy, get up!”

The sick girl was still blubbering.

“Get up or this fucking bastard will leave without you.”

The sick one tried to get up and feebly fell back down again. She started to heave once more. Momentarily forgetting herself, the girl in the doorway quickly stepped down to help the sick one. Brian was ready with his fingers on the button. He closed the doors.

The shrieking girl promptly abandoned her sick friend. Brian knew she was going to run out in front of him, stop the bus from leaving. He accelerated fast.

“Nice one, driver!” the guy at the back cheered.

Brian smiled as ‘We Will Rock You’ came on.

There were five more stops before Brian reached the bus depot. Nobody else got on, and gradually the bus emptied. There was one person left at the last stop, the guy who had heckled from the back of the bus.

“Cheers,” he said as he got off, and winked.

Brian closed the doors a final time and changed the number to a not-in-service sign. He looked at the puddle of vomit in front of the door. It had been spread by the opening doors and some had run down the aisle.

He pulled into the bus depot to the sound of ‘Radio Ga Ga’ and got to the end of the song before he turned off the engine. There were eight or nine buses already in the garage, their interior lights off. Soon a few grease monkeys would begin refueling and checking the engines but it didn’t look like they had arrived yet. Brain emptied the contents of his money tray into an unmarked cloth bag and got off the bus, stepping over one of at least two unpleasant jobs he was leaving to the monkeys.

Brian went into the office built into the corner of the garage. Peter was sitting on the sofa with a mug of something steaming. He was the other driver on Brian’s route.

“Running late?” he said as Brian passed.

“Yeah. A bit.”

Brian went through the office to where Sandra, the late manager, was sorting through money.

“You’re even later than usual,” she said, ducking her chin to look over her glasses. The chin doubled up.

“Bit of a hold up,” said Brian.

Then he handed her his key and the bag of takings.

NOTES:
I clearly had this twenty-four hour pub opening hoohah on my mind when I wrote this one. It's a nice theory, that if you just adopt European drinking laws the English will automatically adopt European drinking habits, but like most nice theories, they are formulated by someone living atop an ivory tower, completely divorced from reality. When my generation go out to drink, they go out to get drunk. Giving them more time to do this isn't going to solve any problems, it's just going to push those problems later into the night. It's a coincidence that the Queen-fan bus driver in this story is called Brian. Of course, feel free to envisage Brian May feeling the pinch and taking up driving a bus if it makes it better.