Never before had the young woman been allowed to see the family she'd left behind. All she wanted was to let them know she was safe and being well cared for. Today was going to be her first contact. She walked down the aisle of the near empty church...
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Derek looked up from his newspaper. Peering over his spectacles the old man surveyed the bridge. It was a long suspension bridge, perhaps a mile long, crossing a wide river. The far side of the bridge was immersed in a deep fog and was indiscernible. Nothing was crossing the bridge, the road was empty.
Derek shuffled in his seat. The chairs at the bus stop were hard and uncomfortable. He looked around. There were others waiting at the bus stop. Some chatted. Some remained quiet. Some would leave for a while, only to come back later, or be replaced by a family member, to resume the long wait for the bus to come. But no-one knew when that might be. Derek usually kept to himself, reading newspapers or books, or just sitting quietly, perhaps snoozing awhile. He knew many of the others who were waiting from casual chats or drinks they'd had together during their shared vigils.
Derek returned to his newspaper, and the article on the latest achievements of Manchester United Football Club. Just then a whoop went up, followed by more whoops and cheers. It could only mean one thing. Derek stood up and looked along the bridge. There in the distance, emerging out of the fog bank, was the bus. Derek dropped his newspaper to the ground, and walked forward towards the kerbside with the others. Some held hands, others patted each other on the back wishing one another luck. Derek stood back a bit, quietly hopeful.
The bus pulled up and there was a hiss of a pneumatic system as the door slowly opened. There was a short pause as the crowd on the kerbside waited excitedly. People started to emerge out of the bus and into the arms of family or friends, some of whom having waited at the bus stop for a very long time. There was a chorus of cheering when each reunion was made. A few who alighted the bus were not met by anyone, but there were guides to lead these people to their new homes. Derek was delighted to see one of his old friends warmly shaking the hand of a young man in a grey trilby hat who was getting off the bus. Derek knew who the man in the grey trilby hat was and knew his friend had waited a very long time for this. His friend was always very nattily dressed in the finest white suit and white hat from his time. Derek had often teased him about this, almost since the first time they'd met, years earlier, when Derek had first arrived at the bus stop. But Derek understood that fine clothes were important to his friend who, like Derek, had spent his working life in heavy industry wearing grimy work clothes.
The door of the bus closed, and the bus pulled away, continuing on its way down the road. The crowd at the kerbside dispersed. Reunited friends and relatives walked happily arm in arm and away from the bus stop. A few, disappointed, returned to their chairs at the bus stop, to wait in hope that the next bus would be carrying their loved one.
"Hey old fellah!" came a voice Derek recognised. It was his friend in the white suit and white hat, "See you soon old pal, hang tough."
"See you later pal," said Derek.
They shook hands, then Derek watched his friend walk off chatting happily with the young man in the grey trilby hat.
Derek sat down, and picked up his crumpled newspaper from the ground. He watched as another bus passed by, this time travelling from his left and towards the fog at the other side of the bridge. Almost immediately after that bus had passed him, a few new people arrived mournfully at the bus-stop.
Derek returned to the football article on the sports page of his newspaper.
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