The man’s voice call had already been in progress five minutes earlier when I’d arrived at the bus stop. On he goes, a seemingly inexhaustible supply of words tumbling into his phone. He doesn’t even interrupt the call when the bus arrives.
‘Aye, this is me gaun tae work, I’m jist getting on the bus - two poun fifteen, driver - cause I start at half-eight, shift straight through tae five, aye.. whit’s that?’
I sit some way behind him. He’s on one of the side-seats at the front, feet and elbows splayed wide, his right hand clamping the phone firmly to his ear, somewhere deep inside his hood.
‘So I says tae him no way, an dae ye know what he says next? He says…’
His voice is loud, much louder than it needs to be, and it echoes, rebounding metallically, throughout the bottom deck of the bus. People look up from books and phones and free Metro newspapers. Even some of the people listening to music adjust their earphones and turn up the volume, and so the rest of us are haunted by the faint, trebly, rhythmic ghosts of dance music.
Ten minutes into the journey he‘s still going, still roaring, still laughing. None of the stern backward looks from quieter book, Kindle or phone users have any effect. He probably doesn’t even notice them. Then, as the bus lurches away from traffic lights, he presses the button, summoning a musical ‘ding!’, and rises to his feet.
‘Aye, that’s me getting aff. Traffic’s pure murder, by the way. So who’s aa gonnae be there the night?’
As it happens it’s my stop too. I notice eyes all along the bottom deck lifting and brightening, observing with approval Voice Call Man’s departure.
When I jump from the bus I see him standing motionless on the pavement. He’s holding his phone in front of him and is staring at it, as if trying to summon meaning from it. He sees me.
‘Fuckin battery, man. Battery’s fuckin ran oot.’
I try to smile companionably. It isn’t easy.
‘Need tae borrow a charger,’ he says, looking at his phone, still, and speaking to it rather than to me. ‘Left ma ain charger in the flat.’
Soon I’m in the office, three floors above the bus stop. I look out. He’s still there, hood up, phone held out before him. Suddenly, he seems very alone.