I thought my bus driver was my ticket to happiness, but he was taking me for a ride
Tracy, 35, Sydney, NSW.
Clutching the warm package of fish and chips to my chest, I waited for my bus. The aroma was making my mouth water!
I’d split from my partner six months earlier and moved to a new suburb, but every Friday I came back to my old local fish and chip shop for a yummy take-away treat.
Soon, an old double-decker bus pulled up and I hopped on.
“That smells good,” the bus drive said, grinning. “Can i have some?”
He was rugged looking with tatts and a suntan. He had a really naughty grin in his eye, too. No-one had caught my eye since my ex but, next thing I knew I was flirting.
“I might left you have one chip if you’re good.” I winked sauntering off to find a seat.
A few stops later I walked back up to him.
“Here you go, babe,” I said, handing him a single chip.
He smiled and we chatted until we reached my stop.
“See you next time, ” I said as I got off.
The following Friday; I went to buy my fish and chips at the same time, hoping he would be driving my bus home.
To my delight, as I stood at the bus stop, I saw a double-decker trundling into view.
It was the same driver!
“I was hoping to bump into you again, ” he said.
His name was Clint and this time he asked for my number.
We went out for a drink later that night when he knocked off.
We chatted all night and soon we became an item. It was a real whirlwind romance.
The only catch was, Clint never stayed the night.
“I have such early starts and I never sleep well unless I’m by myself,” he told me.
I tried to not be offended but it was hard- I wanted to spend every minute with Clint, to snuggle up with him and wake up beside him.
A few months later, Clint still hadn’t spent a single night at mine and I’d started to grow suspicious. Even when he didn’t work the next day, he’d still head home after spending an evening together and making love.
One night we were out at my local pub and Clint had popped off to the loo. He’d left his phone on the table and when it buzzed, I couldn’t resist reading the message. It was from a woman called Erin.
You’ll need to come home early tonight, babe, it read. Cory has a fever.
When he came back, I immediately confronted him.
“Who the hell is Erin?” I spat at him.
His face flushed but, to his credit, he didn’t try to lie.
“It’s an unhappy marriage…,” he started, but I didn’t want to hear it.
I got up and stormed out.
I couldn’t sleep that night, I felt so bad for his poor wide.
Should I tell her what her hubby’s been up to?
Next morning, I logged onto Facebook. One thing Clint didn’t lie to me about was his surname, so I found Erin’s profile easily and fired off a message.
Your husbands been cheating on you, I wrote.
Erin replied quickly and we agreed to meet for a coffee.
She told me she’d suspected he’d been cheating and was glad to finally have proof.
I later saw on Facebook that they had split up. I felt bad for being a double-decker home wrecker, but as far as I’m concerned with Clint at the wheel, the marriage was on the road to disaster anyway.