What a night.

As they walked up the narrow stairs of the bus, Jim Eccleston thought - if he really thought about it, which he was trying not to do right then - that tonight was the most bizarre night of his life. Little did he know just how bizarre it would continue to get.

He studied the faces of the people on the top deck in a sweeping, casual glance, as he always did when faced with several strangers. Near the back were two douchebags, one of them rocking his head like he was listening to some unheard dance track. They were clearly on their way to a club by their shirts, bright white trainers and lack of jackets, with this cold outside. 

In front of them was a super-hot girl, also clearly dressed for a big night out. She was the female equivalent of the douchebags, all show and inappropriately dressed for this weather.

On the back row was a tired looking mum with a little boy and girl, who were clambering on the chairs and just being little shits, like little shits were.

Amy chose the seats behind the stairs and sat by the window. Jim put an arm around her and she held his other hand, interlocking their fingers, assuming their usual 'couple' pose.

Just what was so bizarre about this night was that Jim had met Amy's parents for the first time. Thinking about it now sent a chill up his spine. Jim had been so happy that Amy's mum was hot - like, really hot - because he had heard that how a girls mum looks is a good indicator of how she will look when she's older. 

Her dad... was probably still scowling at Jim. He had sat opposite Jim at the dinner table, scowling his fucking scowl, cutting his carrot in half like some phallic threat. Jim had tried to be nice to him. He did the whole 'good boyfriend' bit, called him sir, shook his hand firmly while maintaining eye contact, said his pleases and his thank you's, but that fucking guy had it in for him from the start, Jim just knew it.

That nagging feeling that her dad didn't like him was probably because when they were alone together her dad had said to him, "I don't like you." He was a dick, no two ways to slice it. He used to play football in school, just like Jim did now. Jim hated that similarity with him. He had told Jim that he stopped playing when he met Fanny, Amy's mum, and Jim made a silent promise to himself to never stop playing, for anyone, if that's what it took for him to turn into a dick like this guy. He laughed to himself at the thought of a dick being married to a woman called Fanny. He told himself that no fanny would ever stop him quitting his club.

Amy looked up at him, waiting for him to share the joke. But Jim pretended he didn't see her looking. When she turned back to the window, he stole a look at the hot chick on the opposite side, two rows back.

Helena Houston saw him looking, even though she never looked in his direction; she always knew when a guy was looking at her. It had been a talent she picked up when she was 11. She had been tall for her age - she remembered everyone telling her that - and all those swimming gala's kept her looking trim and curvy - she knew this also.

She ignored the look from the guy with the auburn hair like she did with every other guy who pretended not to look at her while looking at her, maybe scratching the back of his head while tilting it in her direction, looking up briefly while turning the page of his newspaper, stretching out a cramp in his neck.

"No hun, don't think that. You know it won't be like that," she said on the phone.

She still didn't know what to do about Some Man Duh, her best friend since Primary School. Well, her best friend at Primary School, who certainly wasn't her best friend now. But for all Samantha knew, she was still her besty for lifey.

"That cow. Did you see her at Centrecourt today with Derrek Frasier?.... Yeah, totally."

Helena knew that putting other people down would cheer Samantha up. She was a bitch like that. But Helena wouldn't admit to herself, didn't know herself well enough, to admit that she also enjoyed a good bitching session. She liked to think that she was above all that, but the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach when she did bitch about someone behind their back wasn't remorse or guilt, but a silent truth that it did also make her feel better about herself.

She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged through her bag for lip gloss. Even her lips had enough of this conversation. She missed something Sam said because one of the little shits behind her was screaming about some shit. Just what were these kids doing up so late anyway? She sighed as she applied her lip-gloss.

The bus stopped, with its usual abruptness, and those damn kids were thankfully finally leaving. It took their mum almost a minute of ordering and shouting to gather them, and the bus nearly left before they could get off. Helena heard them shouting to the driver to let them off as the doors were closing. Some idiot downstairs, probably a drunk, also shouted out for their cause in a booming slur, before the driver finally let them off.

One person joined them on the top deck. This  person was likely the scariest and sexiest man Helena had ever seen in real life in her 19 years. Scowling like some pissed wild animal, this guy in his white vest and leather jacket skulked up the aisle like he was the big dick lion in the jungle, looking for someone to pick a fight with. He looked Mexican, or Latino - some kind of sexy, dirty Ricky Martin. Helena found herself wondering what it would be like to be in his rough arms. What he could do to her... 

She watched him walk past, but he didn't look at her, didn't care to look at anyone. This jungle was his.

The world had moved on for Carlos Dos Santos. He felt like he hardly recognised what he saw out of the bus window, and what he did recognise he didn't like. Back in this piss poor town, he told himself it was all a means to an end. His journey's end was in sight. He just needed to get back to his baby. He brought out the picture he had of Gabriella, the one that was more than 2 years old now. He could only imagine what kind of girl she was growing into now. She had her mother's eyes, God bless her.

The bus stopped and, with the realisation that more people would be joining them and walking around the top deck, Carlos suddenly felt exposed and stashed the photo back in his jean pocket. Years of suspicion and intense awareness still had his back. As he waited to see if anyone else would come to the top deck, all he could hear was the yapping of some teenage girl on the phone. Talking about pointless teenage girl shit.

Sam had asked her what she was wearing tonight for the party and Helena fought back a groan, keeping her voice light and casual. She knew what the sub-text of Samantha's question was, and she knew that Sam knew it too. But Sam didn't know that Helena knew that she knew. It was no secret that Sam had hinted, sometimes really awkwardly in a not-so-playful-just-joking way, that she wanted to be more than 'just friends' with her. The girls thought she was really a man inside, and took to calling her Some Man Duh. Helena would've thought that it was clever if it weren't so cruel. 

She saw a guy in a blue suit come up the stairs, young-looking but you could tell he was old, and not unattractive. He went to sit, then at the last minute changed his mind and sat somewhere else, two rows ahead of her. He looked really nervous or uncomfortable, clearly not happy with his surroundings, like Helena gets when Sam asks her if she could try on her clothes and gets changed in front of her, trying to subtly be seductive while she does it. But this guy looked on edge; he had that itchy vibe like he was high on something. He carried some cheap flowers which looked like they'd been knocked around a few times.

Henry Michaels hoped she'd like the flowers, and hoped that they weren't too battered by the time she saw them. He knew they looked pathetic, and were a feeble gesture, and knew that they would most likely end up thrown in his face. But he couldn't help it, he just had to see her. This mistress business was turning out to be more trouble that it was worth. Almost. 

He smiled to himself at the thought of seeing her again, and her (however unlikely it was) smiling her big smile when she saw him. He knew he was pathetic. It was just his luck, too. First he submitted the wrong seller's documentation at work, his third fuck-up of the week, then he completely screwed things up when Talia called him earlier. Nothing was going how it was meant to. When little Henry once looked up at the stars one summer night and wondered what kind of a grown-up he would be, he wouldn't have guessed this fuck-up. 

Henry had never even wanted to be in accounts, anyway, but he had been sucked into it like a black hole. Sucked up along with everything else in his universe. He could have cried right then. Something moving past him brought him out of his misery, and he looked up to see the meaning of life.

Why did she have to be so stubborn about keeping the baby weight off? She was going to get fat - was fat - and nothing on God's green earth was going to stop her staying fat after she had the baby. Alison Headstone knew this. The double chocolate chip cookies she had yesterday knew this. The ice cream she had tonight also knew it. She hated herself for letting herself go. The badminton coach inside her hated her also. But that was a long time ago, and now she was just fat. 

She hated herself. But not as much as she hated that fucking Victor. That cheating limp-dick fat prick wannabe gangster was the reason why her life was in this shit right now. That's what she told herself anyway, despite what it said in the divorce papers. 

She noticed the scary looking Spanish thug in the back corner, and sat two rows away from him, opposite a pretty young girl. Alison sat with her usual awkwardness and traditional grunt. She swore to herself that she would be grunting when she sat out of habit for months after she gave birth. There was a thought, a grim one that passed through her mind every now and then, usually when she thought of Victor and of raising this baby on her own. The thought was: I hope this kid will be worth it. It made Alison feel sick every time she thought it. But then, at this stage of her pregnancy, everything made her feel sick. 

Behind the young girl were a couple of boys, around the same age as her. Alison saw that one of them had been looking hard at the back of the young girls head. The thought of young crushes made her smile. She hoped the young man wasn't an arsehole like Victor.

The young man was an arsehole. He knew it, and everyone else knew it, too. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't connect with people. Maybe he was too much of a wet blanket. What he found out a long time ago was that 'nice' was one of the strongest repellents to girls. He might have just as well told them all he was a virgin still, straight away, instead of a 'hi'. But as much as he knew that girls liked dicks, the arsehole kind, not the - well, the phallic kind, too - as much as he knew that, he just couldn't bring himself to be one. He thought of himself as just too decent a person to be the kind of dick that girls liked. 

He knew exactly what his problem was. Well, he knew what he blamed all his problems on, anyway. It was his name. How could anyone expect to get by in life with the name Tom Jones? Except for the singer Tom Jones, of course. He still hated his parents for naming him Tom. He asked his Dad once why, out of all the usual names out there, he would give his son the name Tom Jones. His Dad's reply was: "It's not unusual." Fucking dad. 

What made his problems even worse was that he was smart enough to know just how fucked up he was, and all he wanted was to be normal and have a girlfriend, like normal guys. Like his mate Andy here. Who, aside from having a tendency to be a bit of a prick at times, especially when he was drunk, was sorted in the girl department. By the end of tonight, Andy would be in the arms of Eve at David T's party, and Tom would no doubt go home early, alone. God, a thought just struck him, I hope they don't have karaoke there.

Andy and Eve. Andy and Eve. The two names kept going through Andy's mind, trying to find a place that made sense. Andy had been trying for two years now for their names to make sense together. He knew they did, he just had trouble convincing Eve about that. There was something there, between them. Like how Eve would play with her hair sometimes when she spoke to him. Andy had read somewhere that that was a good sign. During Leonard Ambros's birthday trip to Brighton, when Andy sat in between Eve and Rachel, he was able to spend an hour and a half in great conversation with Eve. She loved being with him, he could tell. Even though he hadn't really seen much of her once they'd been around the pier. 

Once, Andy tried being a cool dickhead with Eve, teasing her and making her feel bad, but in a playful flirtatious way, like he had read in a book once. But that didn't really go down too well, after he said she looked like a 'hooker he would definitely pay for'. But tonight was going to be the night. He was going to be upfront with Eve, take her to a side (after they've both had some drinks) look into her eyes with the sexy look he'd been working on, and tell her how he felt. It would be epic. And everyone would know it happened, and talk about it whenever they remembered David T's house party. 

Andy looked over at the couple further down. One day soon he would be sitting with Eve, and they would both be as in love as those two looked.

Amy remained deep in thought, her head resting on Jim's sunken chest, playing her fingers around his, even though she was sick of doing that, and wondered how she would tell him that she wanted to break up. It's not that she didn't love him, although she thought of herself as smart enough to know that she didn't know what love really was yet. She cared deeply for Jim. But not as much as she did before tonight, before dinner with her parents. 

She hadn't noticed until they were both together - or she might have just tried not to put the pieces together, subconsciously or something - but she just couldn't help knowing the fact, now she knew it, that she was going out with a guy who was just like her dad. As she had heard somewhere once, 'what has been seen cannot be unseen'. A shiver went through her again; luckily Jim didn't notice this time either. But Amy noticed everything. He thought he was being slick, but she saw through the reflection in the window that he was looking at that slut behind again. Maybe this could be used against him when she finally broke up with him.

"So what time you getting there tonight?" Helena asked on the phone. 

It was just then that Helena thought she smelt something. She sniffed again, and this time was sure she did smell it, something nasty, and, oh, it was gross. 

"Oh man," she said to Sam. She giggled as she added, "Someone's done some nasty fart.... Yeah I know. I think it's coming from behind me."

[Continued in Part Two]