Page 47 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘She’s fine now, but she has been having more hallucinations. She’s had me crawling on all fours checking under furniture for a dead rat.’
‘Not again.’
‘I tried Febreze, but the odours they promise to tackle in the ads apparently don’t include imaginary dead rodents.’
‘Make her leave the room and come back in—that sometimes helps.’
‘Have done. Then the rat just moves rooms. It’s like she has to live it until it’s over, no way to break it. The only thing that helps her relax is if I actively look for the rat.’
‘What if I’m just living another of her hallucinations right now? I’ve played along, but when will this episode involving Sweden and Sven end? What if it’s all in her mind? She doesn’t even have a picture, no return letters, no phone number.’
‘I’m not telling you this to cast doubt on this mission or to worry you, Blade. I’m telling you because you need to prepare yourself, no matter what happens in Sweden. Even if you find Sven, she’s going to continue to get worse and at some pointit’ll be too much, for both of you. Look into options for her care.’ I think back to my call with the neurologist and realise that Zara is the second person who’s told me this today.
I get off the bus and start walking along the road. I take my time getting back, kicking at rocks and sticks along the way like a child. The sense of failure hangs over me. I gave up everything to care for her, and I can’t even manage it any longer.
Edith
London
I’ve gone shopping with Zara. It all started when a lady about my own age began chatting to me outside the town hall last week.
‘Are you properly equipped for the winter?’ she asked me. She has been bringing me cappuccinos with chocolate powder on top for some time now and we have apparently progressed to conversational friendship. I promised Zara not to take coffees from strangers and I haven’t: this woman I have known for months.
Now I look at her and think her question over carefully. I had thought we were still in summer and the mention of winter confuses me.
‘Not yet.’ Winter clothes are kept in large boxes in the attic, that much I know.
‘I’ll see what I can find. I work in an Oxfam shop, and if you come in we should be able to figure something out.’
‘I usually buy my coats from John Lewis,’ I reply.
‘Oh?’ she says, and I do agree that John Lewis does sound quite posh but at the same time I’m standing in the boroughof Kensington and Chelsea, and they do have their own range which isn’t that much more than M&S at all.
‘Well then, if you’re all set for clothing, can I at least keep bringing you coffees?’
‘Yes, please. Being a John Lewis customer doesn’t mean you don’t like coffee,’ I say.
This thing about winter nags me and nags me and I can’t shake it. I remember waiting for Sven in winter and how I wore a navy blue coat but was still freezing.
‘Zara, I need a coat,’ I tell her that evening when she’s picked me up from the Hornton Street bus bench like a waiting nursery child. I noticed how she looked around hoping to spot Eliza, but to no avail.
‘There’s a heatwave next week.’ She smiles and pours orange tomato soup from the plastic container into my yellow bowl.
‘Still, I’d very much like to be ready for winter.’
She gives me a look as if to say, ‘Right, if you say so. No further questions.’ This is one of Zara’s best character traits—her no-questions approach.
‘I’ll take you. I need some bits and bobs myself. Also, I might have a date tomorrow tonight. With that estate agent.’
We drive to a shopping centre, and if it weren’t for the bright lights hurting my head I’d quite enjoy it.
There is an escalator that takes us from the ground floor to the first floor. We get on, and I find I can’t see the individual steps; they melt into each other like ice cream flavours. I stop and pause. The marble floor below us looks like a swimmingpool full of waves, no edges or boundaries. A deep black hole leading who knows where. I feel nauseous and grip onto the handrail. Tone and contrast, everything that holds life together is blurry to me. How am I supposed to know what’s real? Blade put a purple pillowcase over the mounted flat-screen in my bedroom so it wouldn’t look like a black hole in the wall, but sometimes I take it off and just stare into the hole which feels like space and think what if they’re all wrong and I’m right and it reallyisa hole I’m seeing? How do we really know what is real and who is right?
We decide on Next because it feels like a good place to go when you’re unsure of what to do next.
When we get off the moving stairs and make it inside the shop, Zara immediately starts grabbing and touching things.
‘There’s only one colour.’ I eye the black padded jacket she’s holding up for me. Lots of straight lines and dull material. ‘Paying for one colour seems a waste when I can have many for the same price.’
