Tiptoe through the bluebells
Can there be anything more infuriating, thought Cynthia, than a coach driver who sings the same few lines over
and over all the way down the M1? And gets them wrong?
Well, yes, there can. It’s when he cheerfully announces on arrival at Milton Keynes that his shift is over and his
replacement has been delayed.
“The new Coachway is going to be superb,” he said, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and picking up his little
case. “All mod cons. You’ll love it. Come tiptoe through the bluebells ...”
“Tulips, damn it!” yelled Cynthia to his retreating back. The temporary facilities set up for coach passengers on
Silbury Boulevard were adequate, but she’d been sitting down for long enough already, thank you very much, and
didn’t relish the thought of spending the next couple of hours in the waiting room. Arming herself with a takeaway
coffee, she stomped out into the car park, almost knocking over a smartly dressed young man with a mobile phone
clamped to his ear.
“Oh, sorry.”
He gestured that she wasn’t the problem, continuing through gritted teeth, “Of course I understand, Sir. No, no,
think nothing of it. Just give me a ring when you’re ready to reschedule.” Turning to Cynthia, he scowled and said,
“Well, that’s just great!”
“Someone wasting your time?”
“Yep! Morning completely shot.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
There’s nothing like a shared grievance to bring people together. The young man vented his spleen about clients
who couldn’t get their act together and Cynthia responded with a tirade about messed up travel plans in general
and bluebell fixated coach drivers in particular.
Amused by her vehemence, he relaxed. His cheerful grin was a big improvement on the scowl, Cynthia thought.
The rest of him wasn’t too dusty either. Tall and lean, dark blond hair ... Quite impressive, in fact.
“The driver was probably a local,” he was saying. “There’ll be plenty of bluebells around here in a few weeks’
time.”
The same colour as your eyes, probably. She shook herself. “Really? I thought Milton Keynes was all concrete.
Even the cows, or so I’ve been told.”
“Good Lord, no! Anyway, I’ve always thought of them as ironic. We’ve got plenty of real ones and more green
space than you can shake a stick at. Parks, woodland, riverside walks ... You name it. If you could stay longer, I’d
be glad to show you.”
“Not possible, I’m afraid.”
“Just a thought. Bye then.” Car keys in his hand, he started to walk away.
Cynthia only hesitated for a moment. “Unless there’s anything interesting to see around here?” Within walking
distance, she added to herself.
Steady, boy! Don’t look too eager. “Well, Campbell Park is the closest and well worth a look. It’s just across the
road.”
Relieved that he wasn’t trying to lure her into his car, Cynthia agreed. “I must keep an eye on the time, though.”
“Understood. I’m Mark, by the way.”
“Cynthia.”
Mark was a good guide and she found his enthusiasm infectious. There was already plenty of colour from the
many ornamental shrubs in the formal gardens and much more to be expected shortly from the bulb fields. He led
her down through the Water Gardens to the pergola overlooking the cricket green where he played each summer.
He spoke of festivals and open air theatre productions, pointed out the labyrinth and showed her the exact spot
where he flew kites with his nephews on windy days. Not sons, Cynthia noted with guilty pleasure. No sign of a
wedding ring either. What fun it would be to cycle down the redways together to Mark’s favourite pub by the
Grand Union Canal. As he pointed out the curved roof of the Xscape Centre, she could see in her mind’s eye the
pair of them whizzing down the artificial ski slope together. Mark averted his eyes from the footbridge leading to
the city centre and his lunch appointment. He was going to be late for that and realised that he really didn’t care.
“I’m sorry that I was rude about Milton Keynes,” Cynthia said, as they sat down on a bench to admire the view.
“It doesn’t seem such a bad place to live.”
“It’s the best. If you’re ever looking to relocate, we’ve got the widest range of housing of any new city in the UK.
There are plenty of excellent modern town houses for young professionals or more traditional properties in
villages like Shenley Church End, for example.”
She stopped him. “Hold on a minute. You’re not an estate agent, by any chance, are you?”
“Guilty as charged, Ma’am. Well, still a very junior member of the agency, but further down the track I’d love to
start up on my own.”
Cynthia glowered at him for a moment and then burst into laughter. “I’m training to be a surveyor. Maybe we’ll
meet on site one of these days.”
Mark swallowed hard, imagining a riot of bronze curls peeping out from the rim of a hard hat. “Where do you
hope to work after you’ve qualified?”
“Well, I’ve been offered a work placement in London, but I don’t know whether it will lead to anything. Anyway,
I don’t suppose I could afford to live there.”
His heart bursting with possibilities, Mark did his best to sound casual. “A lot of people commute from here, you
know. It takes well under an hour to Euston.”
“How convenient.”
They strolled back along Silbury Boulevard in companionable silence, each hoping the other would suggest
keeping in touch.
Cynthia was already climbing aboard her coach when Mark plucked up the courage to say, “Just a thought. The
bluebells in Linford Wood will be spectacular in a few weeks’ time. If you happen to be passing through Milton
Keynes around the beginning of May, maybe you’d like to give me a call? We could tiptoe through them
together.”
“I might just do that,” she said, gleefully accepting his business card.