Page 27 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
I sit quietly. I watch Blade’s hands move up and down the steering wheel, his muscles tensing and my mind wanders off with the same weird sensation I had when he came into my shop. I’m distracted by him.A stranger. His presence and hisproximity. I take my pack of anti-bacterial wipes out of my pocket and begin wiping down the door and glove compartment, creating a faint citrus smell around me. I feel more at ease immediately.
‘Gum?’ he asks me, holding out a pack of Extra.
‘No thanks. Spicy mint somehow seeps through my eyeballs and makes me sneeze at the same time. I prefer the fruity ones.’
‘They don’t make you feel clean though.’ He pops one, two, three gums into his mouth and closes his lips around them.
‘It’s not the mint that kills off bacteria. It’s the fluoride and they all have that.’ I consider his mouth and all the bacteria dying slowly as he chews, quite a satisfying thought, and whether very hypothetically—of course—I could kiss a mouth if there’d just been, let’s say, three pieces of gum with fluoride inside it. Perhaps there’d be a window of a few minutes until the bacteria built up again.
Blade is quiet, and I turn my head back to the window, but the glass just reflects his face in it. I sneak a peek at him again. His jaw moving with every chew.
‘It just tastes like toothpaste,’ he says.
‘Exactly. I use children’s toothpaste. The strawberry one is nice.’
Apparently that was what we could manage in terms of small talk. Toothpaste. Kill menow.But no, I’m in for a long slow death. Close to a thousand kilometres long, to be precise.
‘Let’s put some ground rules down,’ I say. ‘Number one, the bed is mine.’
‘Okay. I’ve brought a tent.’ Blade continues. ‘Number two, we split the driving.’
‘Deal,’ I say. ‘Number three. You help at markets with unloading and reloading.’
‘Then, you keep me company in at least one care home. While I’m looking for this person.’
‘No deal. Don’t like chatting to strangers.’
He shrugs, arguing doesn’t seem to be in his nature. ‘Happy to help.’
‘So based on our route and schedules, you have more free time than me, or at least your schedule is more flexible. So we should set up camp for the night close to where I need to be the next day and then you can drive from there,’ I say. Then I stop talking because there’s something at the side of the road and—oh no.Oh. No.
Blade turns to me.
‘Oh God, what is wrong. Sophia? I’ll turn around right now. You don’t have to come anywhere. Or if you still want to, then I will help with everything. I’ll even agree to clean the van bi-weekly. I’ll make your bed. Complete with the pillow-fluffing. Please don’t cry.’
‘Not crying,’ I lie badly.
‘Okay. We may be experiencing some cultural differences then because in England that thing when wet drops roll down your cheeks and sulking sounds come from your throat? That would constitute crying.’
‘Fine. If you must know, it was a cat. At the side of the road.’ I start sobbing again, big ugly crying with my sleeve pressed against my mouth, just thinking about it. ‘Run over.’
‘Oh.’
‘I have issues with dead animals.’ I sniff.
‘Issues?’
‘Animals are cute and innocent, and I’ve never understood how humans relate to humans but not other species. Like bears, they like to sleep and enjoy quiet nature time. I relate to that. Or a giraffe. They pay attention to what’s ahead and are extremely gentle. They also have unusually long necks. I can relate to that as well. Sometimes I’ll relate to objects too. Howcould you not buy the display item because it’s been scratched? How would you feel if someone rejected you that way?’
I stop because I realise that I’ve explained enough. Over-shared. More than I ever shared with Ed. Blade doesn’t look a bit uncomfortable though.
‘I’m sorry. I would have stopped,’ he tells me, whilst looking in the back mirror.
‘And what if the cat was amother? Think of the sweet kittens waiting for mummy to come home.’
‘Sure you’re not projecting a human family structure on the deceased cat?’ He steals a look at my face and decides to stop. He settles on, ‘It’s very sad.’
‘I’m okay. This was nothing.’ A scratch on my knee, sun in my eyes, a dead animal. My dad’s voice:This is nothing, Sophia!
