Page 62 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘Remember this when it’s my birthday in two months.’ Zaralovesbirthdays. Loves feeling the presence of her friends, loves handwritten wishes on cards, loves hearing her mother recall the story of her birth and loves receiving the message from her parents at exactly 11.32 p.m. (they stay up to send her it)—it is the time she entered the world.
‘You will have a birthday week. Seven days of dedicated celebration. There will be seven cakes,’ Blade promises, laughing at her choice of compensation.
‘And balloons?’
‘A lot of balloons.’
‘Good. How are we so different? You won’t even allow me to sing Happy Birthday to you.’
‘I have no idea. But thank you, Zara.’
Honestly—the things Zara does for her best friend. She sighs and refills her mug from the filter coffee pot, hoping it’s still somewhat lukewarm, and settles down to tackle the Swedish name-change records Blade sent over. There are a lot of Svens who have opted for a different name, it turns out. Facebook is a gift, and Zara ticks men off fairly easily, only having to send a couple of messages to confirm. Edithhas gone over to the neighbour’s, something that is happening more and more often. Pushba told her the children like having someone to talk to when she’s busy cooking or cleaning.
Zara is four hours in when she finds him. Everything matches, everything Edith has said. She presses Dial on Blade’s name.
‘Hey. I think I found our guy.’
Edith
London
At home, I’m watching an episode of something with actors I seem to recognise but can’t place, when Blade calls me on my iPad. For a minute I feel a familiar tug at my emotions. I think it’s the same one I felt years ago when I started working and dropped him off, six months old, at nursery. The feeling of wanting him to be with me but also knowing that he needs to be somewhere else.
‘Mum. Listen, I have some photos of who I think is your Sven. I want to show you. Is Zara there?’
‘Yes.’ She is sat next to me, just close enough that I can feel the side of her body.
‘Okay, great. I’ve sent her the pictures. Where do I start? He moved back to Sweden after three years in London, changed his name for whatever reason—he’s now called Fredrik—then married and had a child the following year. A boy. Then two grandchildren. He worked for an accountancy firm until he retired two years ago.’
‘Here.’ Zara passes me her phone with the pictures. Blade has sent all the ones he’s found. From teenage years and graduation to family shots and old age.
I sit quietly and solemnly for what must seem like an age to the young people.
‘It’s okay, take your time,’ Zara says. I can see the look on Blade’s face, it saysI can go home. Finally.
‘This is all great, Blade,’ I say. ‘I particularly like the family picture. It looks like they were a lovely little unit and I just adore the child’s red dungarees.’
‘Okay. This is good, right?’
‘There is just one problem.’
‘I knew it. Whatever it is, we can fix it. I was going to suggest we bring you two together via FaceTime, if he’s up for it, of course. What do you say?’
I take the phone from Zara and put it down on the table, looking straight at my son through the screen.
‘That sounds very lovely, and looking at this handsome man here I wouldn’t quite mind a FaceTime date, if I may say so. This man in the pictures you sent is not the man I’m waiting for. He’s notSven.’
Blade thinks I’ve lost my mind. Which we all know I have—that’s not what we’re debating here. But I have not yet lostallof it. Not yet. Blade went off and sulked. Swore in his head, I’m sure. He’ll pick himself up and continue. Something floats in my mind, just out of sight. I know it’s there but can’t quite see it. I’m waiting for it to move into view the way moving clouds do, but it doesn’t. I think it’s a picture. Not one that Blade found but one that I found.
Next to me Zara is still scrolling on my iPad. I lean into the shape of her body. It’s nice sitting next to another human.
‘Look. I’m googling olfactory hallucinations. Apparently they’re a thing.’ She’s been avoiding getting involved in theSven business. Apparently today we are avoiding Sven by focusing on the dead-rat smell that only I can smell.
‘I see.’ But I don’t see at all.
‘Sometimes you may smell things that aren’t there. Other people do too. Look here.’ She opens a message board where someone named @john1951 has written that he can smell rotting cabbage and burning bonfires in his apartment.
‘It’s not just you. If the doctors had informed you about this it may have reduced the anxiety. I’m sorry. How does it make you feel now?’
