The Woman On the Bus

          What do you do when you become aware that another passenger on the bus, or train, is trying to catch your eye? You have a choice between engaging or not, of course, but how do you decide which way to go – and why?

          After some days spent travelling and being in the company of family and friends, my Other Half (OH) and I had a ‘day off’ and decided to spend part of it together, visiting one of the art galleries in London, where we were staying. Having decided on the Tate Britain, we were chuffed to discover that the number 88 bus would take us, slowly but conveniently, door-to-door. Better still, when we boarded, we found that two of the front seats on the upper deck were unoccupied, so we bagged them for the best and cheapest sightseeing tour of the capital (the route winds through Regent Street, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey).

          Before long, I became aware that the woman in the adjacent seats, who had clocked us as we settled in, was still taking a sort of sideways interest. Unlike a regular passenger or commuter, she was not occupied intently with a phone or book, nor was she staring wearily through the window. She appeared, like us, to have a child-like relish of just being on the bus. Yet, since she had the same view as us but no partner with whom to trade comments, she seemed intent on joining in ours. (All this, I thought, had been apparent only to me, but my OH later said she had also noticed it, “obviously”.)

           After one or two failed attempts to catch the eye of either one of us, our wannabe friend finally found an opportunity to make bold when a young woman, against the odds of a long, tight-fitting skirt and high heels, hurried comically across the road in front of our bus.

          There was no disguising the fact that all three of us were amused by the spectacle and thus was the ice broken. In the time it took for her to get off three stops later to get a bowl of porridge at Gail’s, we learned that our new friend was a visual artist and that she usually cycled this route but was going to the West End to meet her gallerist and didn’t want to arrive as a sweaty mess. “So, you’re taking a day off from painting?”, I said. “I suppose so,” she said, “but I hadn’t thought of it that way”. To her questions about us we responded courteously but with a degree of prudent reserve. She seemed pleased, however, to have ‘met’ us and especially so as we were going to see art*.

          The next morning, I went to get coffee and a few moments of reflection at a local café and saw someone familiar in the queue: the woman on the 88 bus! The question arose as to whether I should greet her. Seeing as we were just visiting the neighbourhood, was this a relationship worth pursuing?

          I let it lie until I had emptied my cup, before something drove me to approach her. Whether it was curiosity, compassion or courtesy I don’t know, but I made the right call. She was warm and welcoming, asking how we had found the show and telling me the details of her morning so far.

          Then it was time for another decision: should I extend the conversation or leave it there? I opted for the latter but, as we shook hands and said goodbye, I had the feeling that I knew her face, not just from the day before, but from somewhere in my deep and distant past.

*Hurvin Anderson at Tate Britain, until 23^rd August.