Page 7 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘What’s it matter anyway? By the time they come I’ll be dead already. In which case it won’t matter. I’ll be damned if my last action in life is pressing an emergency button. Asking for help. That is no way to end a life.’
This is a top contender for Mum’s headstone inscription.I’ll be damned if I ask for help.It’s right up there with the location of the bus stop if she carries on like this.
‘You haven’t answered my question. Why did you go there?’ I try again.
‘Blade.’ She says my name so sharply it sounds as if it’s a razor, my namesake. ‘You cut through my heart like a sword. I couldn’t call you Sword, could I?’ That is the one-line full story of how I got my name.
She has opened her Thermos, the one I prepared for her before I headed to the gym since she shouldn’t be handling the kettle anymore, and takes a sip of her tea as if the sheermention of my name means she has to fortify herself. She licks her thin lips where a trace of bright red lipstick is still visible on the edges. I wait for the verdict: too milky,too sugary,did you make this with the compost ground?But it doesn’t come.
‘Have you ever felt drawn to something so strongly you simply can’t resist? Like you can only be you in that particular instance, and if you don’t go there you may well die an early death?’
Well—no. Unless you count the times McDonald’s or a late-night kebab has pulled me in with its magical powers at two in the morning. Maybe that’s my problem? I have no pull anymore; I’m just drifting through life, following after Mum, in a blur of love and guilt.
‘Mum. It simply can’t go on like this.’
‘It will go on until I find him.’
Here we go again.Sven. Tall, blonds and strong, a boyfriend Mum has lusted after since she got her diagnosis three years ago.
‘He didn’t turn up. He told me to wait for him there, and he never turned up.’
‘It’s calledghostingin today’s society.’ Like many of us moderns, Mum is convinced something happened to him. That he’d have met her there against all odds and must have been prevented by some terrible force beyond his control.
‘He loved me.’
‘He left you.’ I’m not usually this harsh. I have to remind myself to treat her gently when she gets like this. I remember reading leaflet after leaflet on what to expect with her diagnosis.She may find obsessions, and they may be rooted in the past as her dementia progresses.Wasn’t it the fact she’d wandered off here that had alerted me that something was wrong in the first place?
‘You can’t leave someone if you never turn up. In fact, non-arrival is the very opposite of leaving,’ she responds.
‘Fine—he never turned up.’
‘Something happened to him. I was sure of it then, and I’m sure of it now.’
‘Mum, you looked for him. For years. You waited and waited. I tried to find him online—do you remember? Isn’t it time to move on? To let itgo?’ She looks at me as if I’ve suddenly given her an idea. Somehow I don’t think I’ll like this idea, whatever it is. Mainly because I know that however frustrated I feel, the love for my mum is stronger, fuelled by a realisation that I will have to let go one day, and until that day I need to do and beeverything.
‘Fine. I’m ready to make a deal. It involves lettingyougo. To Sweden.’
I nearly bloody spit out my water because the idea is so absurd. I can’t even make it to the gym most days because I’m needed to ensure Mum is safe. The time I used to be able to squeeze out of the day, fifty minutes when she watches TV after lunch, is rapidly slipping away from me too. Sweden is a different country, which would require a flight, a suitcase and a valid passport to get to. Something I haven’t had the need for in a long time.
‘And why exactly am I going to Sweden?’
‘Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? I can’t go myself, can I? You don’t like to talk about it, Blade, but my condition is progressing, and there are some things I want clarity on before that happens. I need you to find Sven.’
She leans back in the seat as if the conversation has now ended, eyes half-closed again. I press grubby red button because our stop is next.
‘Find him and I’ll move into any care home you want. Evento that hideous one in Berkshire where mindfulness is a core subject.’
I sigh. She sighs. The bus sighs as it stops at a light.
‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you browsing and leaving information packs around the house.’
We turn the last corner before our stop, and the words slip out of me before I realise what I’m saying.
‘Fine. You have yourself a deal, Mum.’
Sophia
Svedala
