LIBBY SPOTTED HIM THROUGH the front window as the bus pulled up at the stop. Frank was sitting in his usual seat on the top deck and she boarded the bus and bounded up the stairs. A volunteer from Willow Court was sitting across the aisle from him and Libby nodded hello to her as she slid into the seat next to Frank.
‘Hello, Frank.’
She saw his shoulders jerk at the sound of his name and he turned to her in surprise. Then she saw his dark brown eyes twinkle. ‘Hello! I like your bobble hat.’
‘Thanks very much. How are you?’
‘Good, good. Isn’t it a beautiful day? Perfect weather for a bus ride.’
‘Isn’t it? I wanted to see the Christmas lights, if you fancy that?’
‘I’ve always loved the lights. I used to take Clara every year when she was small.’
The bus turned into Royal College Street and made its way down towards Camden Town. A group of carol singers huddled outside Sainsbury’s, wearing Santa hats and serenading shoppers with ‘Good King Wenceslas’. Frank nodded along to the tune as the bus drove past.
‘Dylan sends his love,’ Libby said, watching to see his reaction.
‘That’s nice.’
‘He starts on his Access to Nursing course in January. It turns out helping to deliver a baby on a bus has got him over his blood phobia! Don’t tell him, but I’ve brought him a stethoscope for Christmas.’
Frank smiled at this, so Libby continued, encouraged.
‘He’s at home with Frankie today. She’s trying to walk already, can you believe it?’
‘They grow up in the flash of an eye,’ Frank said. ‘How old is she?’
‘Thirteen months now. It was her birthday last month, do you remember? We brought you some of her chocolate cake.’
‘I bake an excellent chocolate cake; it’s my mother’s recipe. I baked one last week, actually.’
‘Oh, wonderful. Have you been doing the baking class at Willow Court?’
‘Willow Court? What’s that?’
‘It’s where you live now, the care home.’
‘I don’t think so. I live on Makepeace Avenue.’
‘You moved last year, remember? You have that nice room with the view of the garden.’
Frank turned to look at Libby, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, but have we met before?’
Libby’s heart sank. For a while there, she’d really thought he remembered. ‘Yes, we have. I’m Libby.’
‘Libby. . .’ She could see him trying to place the name. ‘Are you one of Clara’s school friends? I’m sorry, you girls all look the same to me.’
‘No, we met on this bus.’ Libby watched Frank’s face to see if there was any flicker of recognition, but he was looking at her with his brow furrowed. ‘I drew you, Frank.’
‘Are you an artist? I knew an artist once, years ago. We met on the bus, too.’
‘Your girl on the 88.’
‘Yes, did you meet her as well?’
It had been months since Frank had mentioned the girl on the bus; Libby had assumed she’d been lost in the fog of dementia, along with so much else.
‘What do you remember about her, Frank?’
‘Oh, she was very beautiful. She had bright red hair, the most extraordinary I’ve ever seen. I have to admit, I rather fell for her. And then I lost her telephone number.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘She changed my life, that girl, and I never got to say thank you. I often wonder what happened to her.’
‘I’m sure she lived a happy life. Perhaps she became an art teacher and grew old with her best friend?’
‘Perhaps.’ Frank was staring out of the front window again, and Libby could sense that he was slipping away.
‘We’re looking forward to having you at our new place for Christmas.’ Libby hoped that talking about the present might ground Frank, but he didn’t react. ‘Dylan’s cooking turkey and Peggy’s bringing a trifle. It’s going to be quite a party.’
Frank was sitting motionless now, his eyes staring blankly forwards. Libby sank back in the seat, trying not to feel too disappointed. She’d hoped that being back on the 88 might help anchor him a little, but it didn’t seem to have made any difference. Although at least they’d had some conversation today; there were times recently when she’d visited Willow Court and he hadn’t even registered her presence.
As the bus made its way down the side of the park, Libby pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and found a clean page. They’d been working on shading this term and she tried to put her new skills into practice as she drew Frank now. She wished he could see how much she’d improved since her first drawing on the bus, last year.
Libby was so absorbed in her work that they reached Regent Street before she knew it. Christmas lights had been suspended between the tall Georgian buildings, huge angels whose lights twinkled like stars over the shoppers’ heads. The bus pulled up at a stop and more people boarded, lugging heavy bags of shopping. It was getting warmer now, the windows steaming up as passengers filled the top deck. Libby was beginning to regret wearing her thick hat, and she pulled it off, shaking out her long hair. She stuffed the hat in her bag and then turned to check on Frank.
He was staring at her, open-mouthed.
‘Frank, are you OK?’
He looked at her for a moment longer, speechless, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s you!’
‘Yes, I’m Li—’
Libby stopped as it dawned on her what was going on.
‘I knew I’d recognise you again,’ Frank said. ‘Your hair is exactly as I remember it. And you’re still at art school, I see?’ He indicated the sketchbook on her lap.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘That’s marvellous! People said I was mad to keep looking for you, but I never gave up. I knew we’d find each other one day.’
Libby didn’t say anything, just took in the joy on his face, this flash of the old Frank she so desperately missed.
‘Where are you going now?’ he said.
‘Oh, nowhere in particular.’
‘Well, in that case, I don’t suppose you’d like to accompany me to the National Gallery, would you? I believe I owe you a visit.’ He laughed then, and Libby laughed too.
‘I’d love that.’
‘Wonderful.’ Frank reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’
Libby looked down at Frank’s trembling hand, the skin a mosaic of wrinkles. She squeezed his fingers back. ‘It’s good to see you again, too.’