Presently the bus from the market town would draw up and those still remaining on board would alight. He hoped his wife would be amongst them. As soon as she got in she would begin preparations for his dinner and already he was looking forward to what, as he grew older, was becoming the main excitement of his day. His wife was a creature of habit and he knew that on this particular day, because she had been to town, the meal would be fish of some description, mashed potatoes and a slice of jam tart for pudding. If she was in a good mood – and the bus was on time – she might make a custard. At the mere thought he felt the water come to his mouth; he was fond of custard. But even as he contemplated the meal he would presently enjoy, the bus chugged to a halt and the passengers began to descend.He acknowledged that he was a trifle deaf but knew that his sight was still quite keen; keen enough to pick out his wife’s stumpy form and that of their next door neighbour, and several other familiar faces.
