Frank wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Very well.”
He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
“It was a Sunday in April 1962 and I was on the 88 bus coming back from my aunt and uncle’s house in Mitcham. I spotted her out of the front window as soon as the bus pulled up at Clapham Common Station...”
CHAPTER
7
Oh, wow, she sounds incredible!” Libby said when Frank had finished his story. “Did you really look like Rock Hudson back then? Do you still have her sketch?”
“I do. I keep it in pride of place at home,” Frank said.
Libby sat back in her seat, exhaling. The girl really did sound remarkable, so cool and gutsy, plus, she’d stood up to her parents about going to art school. For a moment, Libby tried to imagine what her life might have been like if she’d been that brave, if she’d followed her dream of going to art school rather than giving in to her parents and studying medicine. Probably, she’d have graduated rather than dropping out in the second year, and maybe she’d have moved to London as opposed to returning to Surrey with her tail between her legs. But then she’d never have got a job at the local garden center, never have met Simon when he came in to buy some topsoil, never have accepted his offer to go out for a drink.
“So, tell me everything that happened next,” Libby said, turning back to Frank. “Did you end up dating her?”
“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple,” Frank said, and Libby waited for him to continue.
“As you can imagine, after she got off the bus, I spent the rest of the journey in a daze. I felt like a stick of dynamite had gone off in my life, blowing it to smithereens. I was already imagining marching into the shop and telling my parents that I wanted to quit and go to drama school. But mostly I was thinking about that extraordinary girl, her hair and those incredible green eyes. I’d never felt like this about anyone before, and I’d watched enough Hollywood romances to know what this meant: that she was the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with. By the time I got off the bus, I’d planned it all: our engagement and the wedding, me working as an actor and her as an artist, the children we’d have. I walked home in a dream. I swear, Marilyn Monroe herself could have walked past me and I wouldn’t have noticed her.”
Libby laughed, but she was already dreading what was to come.
“When I got home, I went straight to my bedroom and emptied my jacket pockets. There was the picture she’d sketched of me, along with some loose change and my own bus ticket. But I couldn’t find the ticket the girl had given me, the one she’d written her phone number on. I looked in my trouser pockets, but it wasn’t there either, so I went downstairs to check if it had fallen out when I got my keys. But there was no sign of the ticket anywhere. I’d lost it.”
“Oh, no, Frank! What did you do?”
“The first thing I did was retrace my footsteps back to the bus stop, picking up every discarded bus ticket I found in case it had her number on it. When that failed, I seriously considered catching the bus up to Oxford Circus, but then I realized I had no idea where she worked, or which art school she studied at. I didn’t even know her name.”
As he said this, Frank’s face sagged, and Libby couldn’t help but reach out and put her hand on his arm. He didn’t speak for a moment, and Libby could see that he was still back there in the moment, sixty years ago.
“I was beside myself, Libby. In the space of one bus ride, I’d fallen head over heels in love, and now I had no way of finding her again. I sulked around the shop all week, moping and getting under my parents’ feet. On my day off, the following Sunday, I went down to Clapham Common first thing in the morning and waited by the number 88 bus stop. It was a horrible day, pouring with rain, but I was certain that if I waited long enough I would see her. I’d brought a bunch of flowers for her, and I thought how she’d laugh when I told her what had happened, and how one day we’d tell our grandchildren this funny story about how we met...”
Frank trailed off, and Libby waited for him to speak again.
“I stood at that bus stop for twelve hours, soaked to the bone and freezing, but she never came. I caught a nasty cold, and by the time I got home that evening, I had to go straight to bed and stayed there for two days. I honestly believed that without her my life was over.”
“Oh, Frank.”
“Well, young people are prone to drama, aren’t they? And of course, my life wasn’t over, but it had changed forever. Everything that girl said had made a deep mark on my heart, and I knew I couldn’t carry on my life as it was. A week later, I told my parents that I didn’t want to work in the shop anymore, that I wanted to go to drama school.”
“What did they say?”
“They were furious—I’d never heard my father shout or threaten the way he did that day. But I remembered what thegirl had said about only getting one life, so I stayed resolute. After several weeks of hell, my father calmed down. I applied to drama school the following day.”
“And?”
“I got in,” Frank said with a proud smile. “It turned out all those trips to the pictures had taught me something. I got a place at Central School of Speech and Drama, with a full scholarship, and I started that autumn.”
“So you’re a famous actor?”
“Not famous, I’m afraid. But I did work as an actor for more than fifty years, mainly in the theater. I only stopped a few years ago when I started forgetting my lines.”
“That’s amazing. And what about the girl on the bus? Please tell me you found out what happened to her.”
