Page 83 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘I’ll have to keep that in mind when we look for care homes. She’s agreed to move, but only on the condition that you sell her house and that the sale process involves many teas, coffees and chats. She has accepted she’ll lose Hornton Street and the bus stop, but she hasn’t accepted that she’ll lose you and everything else this place gave her.’
Eliza smiles.
‘I’d be happy to. And we’ll stay friends. Tell her we can try for an open house-style viewing if she would like a bit of a crowd and refreshments.’
I nod. It sounds perfect.
‘Did you know she set up a neighbourhood food bank while you were away? Milk, flour, eggs and, bizarrely, tape. She has regulars. An open viewing will be just what she needs.’
As I leave the estate agency, my phone pings with Sophia’s name.
I’m currently a touch-me-not(Mimosa pudica).
I google, and it turns out it’s a real ball-shaped purple plant.
The compound leaves fold inward and droop when touched or shaken, but usually reopens a few minutes later,the description says.
A sensitive plant. I can work with that.
Sophia
London
Two days after my call with Blade, I receive an email with a ticket attached to it. It’s from an Eliza, but the message says that it’s sent on behalf of Edith.Edith.I’m going to meet Edith, Blade’s mum, the woman my uncle loved so much he’d do anything for her. The woman he loved so much he’d evenleave her be, to let her do what was best for her son. I can’t pack flowers, but I can pack things that calm me. From what Blade has told me, his mum has similar difficulties to me because of her disease. I know all about being sensitive to light and touch.
I know that Edith will be waiting for me at her address, and I also know that Blade won’t be there when I arrive. Blade and I are messaging again, slowly building up trust. Figuring out what things might look like if I decide I can handle his life.
As if she knows I need the encouragement, my mum has sent me an email, which I read outside Arrivals, waiting in line for a taxi. I open it and smile to myself. All my emails have gone unanswered until now, but as it turns out, not for nothing. She’s listened, which is all I ever wished for. To have a voice.
FROM:Mum
SUBJECT:Me communicating. Finally.
Dear Sophia,
I’m sorry this has taken me a while to write. All I ever wanted was to give you everything. Your father and I worked so hard for our house, for the clothes you wore, to give you kids everything we didn’t have. I wanted you to look like the other girls in school. I never did. One time my classmate’s mum brought a black bin bag with clothes and dumped it next to your grandma’s car. ‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Your girl is a bit smaller than mine, and some of this may fit her.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell my mother I could not under any circumstances wear the most popular girl in schools’ hand-me-downs. It would be social suicide. Because the relief on my mother’s face was bigger than my shame. Her girl wouldn’t freeze and she wouldn’t have to choose between grocery store money or buying me clothes.
You see, Sophia, we were poor. I told you to do things like eat your food, think of all the starving the children in Africa, but in my head I thought ‘Think of me.’ We weren’t poor in the sense you may think of it but gosh, yes, we were poor. I did my homework in the dark because I didn’t want to waste electricity. Squinted my eyes to the point of my mother thinking I needed glasses.
So when I started making money, I wanted to make enough of it. I would stay late at work. I found a babysitter for you all. I enjoyed my job but even more so I enjoyed buying things for you, Sophia. I enjoyed the girls looking at youwhen you arrived to school, glancing at your new glittery trainers. When you wanted to cut off the labels and rip off the sequins on a skirt, I thought, There goes all my effort. And I couldn’t understand why you would want to. Does she not know what I’d have given for those clothes when I was her age?
I thought the only way forward was to give you more. There were so many things we did wrong, because we didn’t understand you. But that was our fault. We didn’t try hard enough to.
I never meant to hurt you, not then and not now. Knowing that I did hurt you pains me more than I can ever tell you.
Your Mum
PS I thought you loved the babysitter?
FROM:Sophia
SUBJECT:Re: Me communicating. Finally.
I loved her because she put on Cinderella as many times as I wanted whilst she did her nails, and she let me scrape my food into the kitchen bin. I never ate when she was there. It was fine, but I would have loved my mum there instead.
Sophia
PS Why did you never hug me when you got back home? I saw families doing it on TV, so I ran to the door when you were back, but you never scooped me up.
