Chapter 1

The 3:35 from Ipswich to Rome sailed out into the dreamy afternoon air like a pirate ship on its way to adventure. The windows were sparkling, the hubcaps were gleaming, the rigging was swaying. Jeremiah Bowdley, the world’s first and last aerobus conductor, was truly in his element.

‘I love flyin’!’ he called to the driver, Badgers McGee, as he leaned out of the back of the aerobus, bathing in the warm south-east sunshine. ‘The wind in yer face, and the whole world at yer feet. I’m free!’

Badgers rolled his eyes and said nothing. He was a man of very few words, and it didn’t bother Jeremiah if he neglected to join in and have a conversation. The conductor could wax lyrical about flying enough for the both of them.

They were having a relatively quiet day so far. They only had two passengers from Ipswich – a woman and her daughter on their way to Brussels who seemed to be planning on spending their whole journey poring over food magazines. They didn’t usually get any people flagging them down between Ipswich and Folkestone, a small town on the south-east coast, so the first leg of the journey would be the calmest.

After about an hour of flying, the aerobus touched down on a short runway on the outskirts of Folkestone and continued on its wheels to a large garage, built especially for housing the vehicle. Badgers braked just outside the garage while Jeremiah reiterated the parts of his long speech about travelling on the aerobus that were relevant to their short stay in the town.

‘Okay, ladies, if you would just collect your belongings from your seats and follow me. Your larger luggage will be staying on board as we will be returning in about half an hour. That is ample time for you to pop into Folkestone and buy additional food, drink or reading material. Our next stop will be Brussels, where we will be having—Oops, you’re goin’ to Brussels, aren’t ye? Well, it’s still two and an ‘alf hours away, so snacks and books are advised.’ Jeremiah slipped between his normal and his perfected speech-accent so easily it caused the woman’s daughter to giggle. Her mother looked at her sternly.

‘We’ll be serving tea at a quarter to six. Please be back here by—’ Here the conductor broke off and turned to Badgers. ‘What’s the time, Badge? I ent got me watch on.’

‘’Alf four,’ Badgers grunted, then went back to studying the darkening clouds that had started to creep menacingly across the sky. ‘Looks like rain,’ he commented, unusually providing an observation of his own.

‘Hmm…’ Jeremiah peered through the window to his left then turned back to the passengers. ‘Actually, I’d get back ‘ere as soon as possible, ladies. Looks like a big storm’s coming. This girl can take anythin’ the weather throws at her, but we ‘ave to be in the air before the storm ‘its or we’ll never get off the ground.

The two women nodded and grabbed their handbags. Jeremiah led them off the bus and they watched as the skilful driver manoeuvred his way into the garage. Once the aerobus was parked and locked, and the garage securely bolted, Badgers joined the other three and they set off into Folkestone.

There was a little shop near the edge of town where the crew of the aerobus always bought their supplies, and this is where they led their passengers. The shopkeeper, Mrs Statistic, nodded at them and went back to perusing her copy of The Folkestone Windbag. The crew left the women to choose their purchases and collected their usual items: 6 bags of pork scratchings, a box of orange crèmes, and Fish Fanciers Weekly for Jeremiah. They also stocked up of tea, milk and biscuits. With a quick reminder to the women to not take too long (‘Wouldn’t wanna be stuck in Folkestone, now would we?’) Jeremiah and Badgers made their way back to the garage.

‘Best get ‘er ready then, Badge,’ Jeremiah said as he packed away their supplies in a compartment near the driver’s seat.

Badgers grunted and busied himself with securing luggage to the racks and battening down any loose objects in the cabin, while Jeremiah leapt outside and scaled the side of the bus, checking that the aerials were still attached and that none of the rigging had come loose. He could understand why Dudley Chadwick, the inventor of the aerobus, had chosen to include this aesthetic addition. When the aerobus was in full flight and the wind had billowed out her sails, she was a magnificent sight to behold.

A call from the small door at the side of the garage caught the conductor’s attention. Seeing a new passenger standing there, Jeremiah leapt down from the roof and went to investigate.

‘One for Rome, please.’

The conductor stopped dead, eyes wide. Standing there was the second most beautiful woman he had ever seen! (The first being his late wife Adrienne, who had died as a result of an over-enthusiastic love-bite performed upon her by her husband). Her hair was composed of the finest golden strands; her eyes, once glanced into, would entice even the most steadfast of men; her lips curved upwards invitingly into a perfect rosebud underneath her unblemished button nose. All in all, not a bad sight.

Gathering his wits, Jeremiah stammered, ‘O’—o’ course, Madam, I mean Miss, I mean, yer—Yes?’

‘My name is Nanny Olive. The Nanny Olive. How much to Rome?’

‘T-ten pounds please, Miss Olive.’ Even just saying her name was enough to make him go weak at the knees.

The Nanny Olive reached daintily into her handbag and withdrew a sequinned velvet purse. She snapped it open, retrieved a crisp bank note then handed it to Jeremiah, seemingly oblivious of his stumbling movements and fumbling speech.

‘Right, err, Miss, if you’d, err, like to step this way. I’ll, erm, just get yer lugg—’

‘No luggage,’ the Nanny Olive said curtly. ‘I always travel light.’

It was at this point that Jeremiah knew he was falling head over heels in love. Too many times had he done his back in from lifting a heavy and cumbersome suitcase.

‘Right, okay then, if you’d just get on board there and find a seat… I’ll bring you yer ticket in a moment.’ The Nanny Olive strode onto the bus and took a seat at the back, where she could preside over the rest of the passengers when they appeared. Jeremiah watched her go with an appreciative expression on his face.

His reverie was interrupted by the two original passengers.

‘Mrs Benchpress, Miss Benchpress, right on time. We’ll be goin’ soon, so if you’d return to yer seats and buckle up, that’d be great.’

While the women got settled, the conductor raced around the bus, making sure everything was in place for take-off. Once he was finished, he hopped down from the back step and shouldered open the main garage door. He signalled for Badgers, ready at the wheel, to reverse out slowly. Once the bus was out in the growing wind (after a couple of minor scrapes along the wall of the garage), Jeremiah raced back to the building and locked first the side door then the main one.

He checked that there were no latecomers running to catch them before they took off, then jumped back onto the aerobus and motioned to Badgers that they were good to go.

‘’Ere we go, ladies,’ he called to their passengers as he hooked a sturdy safety net across the open back door. ‘’Old on to everythin’!’ The aerobus trundled around the garage so it was facing the short stretch of runway. Badgers put his foot down, the bus picked up speed, and just as it was about to hurtle into the long grass at the end of the concrete, the inexplicable mechanism inside the engine lifted the vehicle off the ground and into the air.

Jeremiah gave an involuntary whoop of delight, and even the gruff driver allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up slightly. But only slightly.

Their happiness was short-lived, however.

‘That doesn’t look good,’ the Jeremiah said worriedly when he had made his way up to the conductor’s seat next to Badgers. The storm-clouds had merged together to form an immense roiling mass that was steadily lumbering towards Folkestone from the English Channel like a giant ravenous amoeba. ‘We’ll ‘ave to go through that.’

He called back down the aisle. ‘Make sure you ‘old on tight, ladies. This is gonna be a rough crossing…’