Page 68 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘When was this trip?’
‘It must have been before he started the shop. He never left it for more than a week. And I know when he bought the lease It’s in my documents. The end of 1996.’
I’ve called Mum and I can see the minute she answers that it’s not a good day. The opposite from yesterday. There’s something about how the eyes focus on something in the background rather than me and how her arms hang heavier down her sides.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, hoping to reach her. I miss her. Not just the good days but, I’m surprised as I realise it, all the days. All the versions of what Mum is now I miss, and not just the memory of her. I hadn’t realised, but the thought shifts something inside of me, something heavy that’s stood in the way of our connection ever since she changed.
‘That looks like a forest.’
‘Yes, Mum, I’m outside this little village called Tenhult at the moment.’
‘Those look like pine trees.’
‘I’d say so.’ APinaceae.I hear Sophia’s voice echo the Latin name for it and can’t help but smile.
‘You shouldn’t be out this late, Blade. Remember I only have one son. It’s not safe out there.’
‘I’m okay. I’m an adult now, remember? I’m here looking for Sven. Travelling around Sweden in the hope of finding him. Remember?’
She is agitated now. Eyes moving erratically and even from here I can sense a panic build up.I wish I knew what she was going through when this happens.‘Is Zara there?’ I ask.
‘Right here!’ She appears from where she’s been hovering, taking the iPad off my Mum and holding it with one hand whilst the free one squeezes Mum’s hand. Touch grounds and connects her to the moment.
‘Sweden plans end badly.’ Mum’s voice is high-pitched. Different.
‘I’m okay Mum. Sweden is nice. This is probably my favourite place so far.’ I keep talking in the hope that the sound of my familiar voice will relax her. ‘I have a friend, the one who the packages belong to, with me. Yesterday we picked a litre of wild blueberries and there’s a lake where we swim every evening.’
Mum moves closer, then farther away. She is really not here now and I look at Zara.
‘Make sure she’s safe, please,’ I plead. ‘Keep reassuring her.’ I wish I was there. Giving instructions but not being the one to implement them makes me feel helpless.
‘You won’t find Sven—’ She is cut off abruptly, and her next sentences only make it halfway to me. There’s a slur in her voice which I haven’t heard before. I make out only a couple of words.
‘I’ll calm her down and put the TV on for her. I’ll call you later,’ Zara says, and a split-second later my screen is empty, facing the dark woods.
What did she say?I message Zara. The reply comes ten minutes later and sends a shiver down my spine.
Zara:She says you won’t find Sven any other place than Hornton Street, at the bus stop. Like she’s always told you.
Then again, five minutes later.
Your Mum has a new screensaver. I only noticed it now. OMG.
Zara’s second message arrives and I zoom in on the picture, which is of Mum’s phone. My head is spinning with thoughts as I’m standing up, my back to the camper-van where Sophia will be brushing her teeth and preparing to read a chapter in her book. Waiting for me.
Shehasa picture of him. There’s a drawn circle around his face, Mum’s shaky hand not quite managing to make the lines meet at the ends.
It’s a picture of a newspaper clipping. The scene is busy: there are women in cycling shorts with high ponytails secured with scrunchies. Men with suits cut too large, legs too wide for it to be today. Sven looks off-camera. He is tall, his head above the others and he’s wearing a dark grey T-shirt. The hair is light and very similar to the hair of someone I know well. I know this face,: I’ve seen it before.
In a framed photo in Sophia’s parents’ living room. And in the photos she messaged me to show to my mum.
I found him.
I now know something about Sophia’s uncle that she doesn’t. As for Mum, I have a task ahead of me that I’m not looking forward to. To tell her that she won’t be seeing Sven, that there is no chance of ever finding out why he didn’t turn up to meet her. That she won’t ever find the resolution and peace she craves. I have to go home and be there for her, and Sophia will stay here.
What a fucking mess.
A part of me is angry, angry at a man I never met. He should have looked for her. Not spent his days drawing andtelling stories. He could have changed everything. And why did he leave my mum? There is so much I don’t understand. Who doesn’t show up, doesn’t get in touch but spends his life drawing pictures and idolising a woman? It’s infuriating and doesn’t fit with the picture of him that Sophia paints.
