The number 42 bus was driven by a portly man - named Gregor Miller - whose eyes glinted with kindness and whose lips failed to utter a single foul word.

On weekdays, at 7:52am, he would wait five extra minutes at Linton Street until the mother of four (and one on the way), would race down the hill, panting heavily with relief. Gregor would not move the bus until every child was safely seated and a space had been made for the wide Silver Cross pram.

On Tuesdays, at 10:28am, he would turn into Porter Drive to greet the gentlemanly Mr. Thompson. Although not on the official route, Gregor was happy to (slightly) bend the rules if it meant that it saved the elderly passenger an uphill walk to the bus stop.

On Friday evenings, at 7:35pm, he would open the doors at Mayflower Place to find a black-and-white cat waiting, quite patiently, under the bus shelter. They would greet each other with a customary nod. Then the black-and-white cat would hop onto the bus, before slinking towards an empty seat.

Gregor never knew where the cat went, or how it returned. But he also knew it wasn’t his business to pry.

Like the number 42 timetable, the bus driver’s life adhered strictly to routine. Every part of his day transpired like clockwork; rarely did he venture outside of the designated times.

It was quite unusual then, when Gregor Miller failed to turn up for his evening shift.

The black-and-white cat was the first to notice something was amiss. He was rather appalled to be greeted by a much thinner (and ruder) bus driver, who refused him entry, with a swift kick of his boot.

Nicholas Sweeney - a teenage boy who boarded the bus at 9am on Saturdays - was the next to be wronged.

When he boarded the bus with no change, for kind Gregor had always turned a blind eye, he was met with a stern look of disapproval from a gaunt beanpole of a man. Needless to say, Nicholas Sweeney did not make it to work that day.

And when the mother of four (and one on the way) arrived late to school for a full week straight - it was clear that something had to be done.

On the seventh day of Gregor’s disappearance, at 9.30am, Vera converted her tiny cafe into an official town meeting point.

The little alcove was crammed with residents from all over, each regular passengers on the number 42 bus.

Unfortunately, that was all they had in common. For every person in the room possessed an entirely different opinion on why Gregor Miller had gone missing.

Elderly Mr. Thompson was of the firm opinion that the bus driver had not left of his own accord.

“That old boy would never leave us,” he said, in between slurps of hot tea. “Something has happened.”

This excited the impressionable crowd and numerous theories were speculated, each wilder than the last.

This was until young Nicholas Sweeney suggested, quite unexpectedly, that the poor bus driver must have been murdered.

Immediately, a sense of unease weighed upon the room.

“You don’t think…?” The mother of four whispered, anxiously rubbing her stomach.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

But just as quickly, the quarrel was reignited by Vera (who knew everything about everyone) stumbling out of the kitchen - clean plates in hand. She claimed that Gregor had broken his leg last week and had been admitted to the nearest hospital.

The argument grew in volume before finally reaching a crescendo. The black-and-white cat (who until now had said very little) knocked over a rather beautiful teacup from the top of the counter.

Immediately, the room was still.

The clattering of good china brought the cafe owner back to her senses.

“Why don’t we ask the people at the bus station?” She said, quite matter-of-factly. “They’ll know what happened to him.”

Relieved the squabble was over, the crowd agreed to reconvene.

Upon arriving at the bus station, the passengers of the number 42 bus were puzzled to be greeted by a rather tanned, and slightly portlier, Gregor Miller.

Nicholas Sweeney was the first to speak out.

“You! What are you doing? I thought you were murdered!”

Gregor’s eyebrows raised significantly

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“You disappeared! It’s not like you.”

Realisation dawned on the older man and he chuckled softly.

“I only went to the seaside for a week”

“You didn’t tell us you were going on holiday” snapped Vera.

“Nobody asked,” Gregor replied, shrugging his shoulders.

An awkward silence rippled through the small crowd.

“Well, how was it?” The mother of four asked.

“Alright, I guess. The sun was nice, but I miss my routine” the bus driver said nonchalantly.

The passengers slowly nodded in unison. They drifted apart, back to their homes now that the unusual mystery had been solved.

Gregor scratched his head. He whistled a little tune to himself, before heading into the bus station.

A brand new week went by. The black-and-white cat was reunited with his lover; Mr. Thompson’s aching knees were once again granted relief; and the mother of four (and one newborn babe) did not arrive late to school again.