Page 23 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

Sweden

When I meticulously planned this trip, this was not part of it. I did everything right. I checked the tyres, the oil, the windscreen liquid and the insurance papers

in the glove compartment. All my equipment, scissors, ribbons, décor and the flowers for the first two days are safely stored

across the folded down backseat. I did everything right and yet here I am. On the hard shoulder next to my car which appears

to have broken down.

This is agony. My worst nightmare rolled into one: being an inconvenience (literally blocking a road) and realising that I

will quite possibly have to approach a stranger for help. Because although I have three brothers and a dad who know all there

is to know about cars, no one picks up my call. I swear, out loud, not sure what to do. Wave for attention, call insurance?

I’m about to start crying when a camper-van with its signal on pulls up behind my Skoda. It’s white with black lines, reminds

me of a sneaker. I tense. Focus. Task at hand. They’ve probably just pulled over to piss in the ditch anyway and not to bother you, Sophia.

Wrong.

‘You okay there?’

‘That’s an extraordinarily stupid question. Do I—or rather does my car—look okay?’ I say with as much neutrality as I can.

I turn around to face the stranger.

‘Oh, it’s you. The Funeral Crasher.’

‘Well, hello to you to... Car Crasher.’ He looks amused. Less anxious and fidgety than yesterday.

‘To be clear, it broke down on me, but fair game.’ He’s wearing a tight black sweater with sweatpant shorts and I wonder why

I’m suddenly aware of men’s clothing. He’s taller than I remember from the other day, taller than me, which is some sort of

achievement considering I’m five ten.

‘Sophia.’ I had begun walking back to my car to decide who to call but stop in my tracks. What is it about the way he says my name?

‘Do you need hel—’

I shake my head.

‘I mean, I do need help, but from a professional.’

‘Obviously. But let’s move you off the road at least. Do you have your insurance details? Let me have a look.’ He leans across

me and his face passes my face. I usually hold my breath when there’s a risk of smells—the fridge, the chicken shop and strangers.

But this time I find myself inhaling freely. My heart beats at an unfamiliar though not unpleasant rhythm. Perhaps there’s

verbena in his scent? Or he touched some that is growing on the roadside? I’m a florist after all, and that could totally

trigger this response... right?

He rummages for a while, doing a much more thorough search than I did.

‘Okay, got them.’

Blade places the insurance company’s phone number without asking me.

If it weren’t for my relief at not having to call or think about what to say, I’d ask why he’s helping, and secondly, be annoyed at said help.

I stand next to the car and listen to cars whoosh past us.

Then Blade mouths what looks like ‘thirty minutes’ at me.

When he gets off the phone, he doesn’t leave like I thought he would. Everyone has to be somewhere, and I’m pretty sure that

somewhere for Blade isn’t next to the E4 dual carriageway with a stranger.

‘This may be a bad idea. Especially since you declined help once already,’ he says and looks down at his feet.

‘Are you planning on crashing another funeral? Then, yes. That is a bad idea.’ I watch as his chest inflates then releases

all the air out.

‘I was going to say that you could catch a ride with me. I’m heading north, as you know. And still have more than enough room

in my RV. The offer still stands.’

I look at him, speechless. He continues, and this time he looks at me and as much as I can’t stand it when people don’t make

eye contact, I would prefer he not, simply that because his eyes are just... unsettling. I thought I was good at eye contact,

after years of practice and rewards in therapy. Turns out I’m not, and that too much of it can make you flustered enough to

say things you may not mean. Like,

‘Yes.’

‘Yes?’ he says, his eyes leaving mine just long enough for me to collect myself, my pride and my thoughts. I reverse my mistake.

‘I mean—yes, that would be an utterly insane idea, which I’d obviously say a firm no to.’ There, order restored. In control.

‘Oh.’

‘Thank you for offering, and whilst I may seem a little out of sorts right now, I actually quite orderly the rest of the time.’ The opposite, actually. ‘Unless you count occasionally eating the dessert before the main course.’

‘Seriously? Why , though?’

‘In case I suddenly drop dead at the dinner table like Pablo Picasso, I’d have hated to miss out on pudding. Especially if

it were brownies or anything with salted caramel.’

Blade looks at me with interest before averting his gaze and staring at his shoes again. They’re good shoes. Nikes.

‘Sure. I’ll just wait with you until the towing arrives and then you’ll be okay...?’ he says.

‘I’ll be okay.’ I only met this man yesterday and if I was okay the twenty-five years prior to that then I should be okay

going forward. But... something in his hopelessly disappointed appearance makes me feel pity.

‘Look. It’s very kind of you to offer. I just don’t feel comfortable.’ This does not have the effect I intended—to soften

things. He stiffens immediately and looks almost pained.

‘If you don’t feel safe around me I understand fully. I should never have suggested it. I respect that. I’m sorry.’

‘What? No. I feel safe around you.’ As I say it, I realise it’s true. And it’s rare. Usually there’s an undercurrent of subtle

threat when I’m alone or even close to men. Men are harder to read than women. I never know if, or rather, when they might hurt me, or when they might make a move on me, or when they might want nothing to do with me altogether. But here

I’ve been alone at the side of a road in a ditch that would make an excellent dumping ground for a body, and I haven’t felt

uneasy at all. Blade has made things weirdly easy for me.

‘How far would you say the truck is now?’ I really have to be on my way.

‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

‘Maybe.’ The quicker he leaves the quicker my body can start to recover from the unexpected social interaction and feel like my own again.

‘Maybe there’s a live location for it. Let me check.’ Blade pulls out his phone and checks. ‘Nope, but shouldn’t be long.’

‘Well, let me take this opportunity to make some arrangements.’ I say and unlock my screen.

I text Lina, and the immediate blue ticks tell me she’s up and baking already.

Me: Car broke down. Currently with man who pops up everywhere unwanted like a dandelion on a lawn.

Lina: As in the man I met yesterday in your shop?

Me: That would be the one. Complete with yellow beanie and annoying attitude/general demeanour.

Lina: Couldn’t have planned this if I tried. Are you at least considering a space in his van now? Or will you not go?

Me: Mobile home. Not van. He did offer again and I said no. What I know of him so far: crashes funerals, peculiar interest in

old men, pops in unannounced and doesn’t spend money in small florist businesses. He doesn’t seem like the bullying type but

what happened to the Lina who tells me ‘Sophia, watch your drink and text me when you get home’?

Lina: You’re delivering flowers, he’s interviewing oldies. This seems like a professional enough venture to me. Also, please remind

me of your alternate options? I’ll wait while you think.

A minute goes by, then she messages again

Lina: Did you come up with a better option? Anything better than the man with the van?

I feel my shoulders fall in defeat. No, I did not.

Lina: I obviously don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but this guy seems harmless and a bit lost, in the

general life sense. I can’t imagine he’s up to anything sketchy. Just a man with a van driving across the country.

There’s an app I can’t remember the name of, where you can carpool, but I can hear Lina’s objection already, which saves me

having to message her. You won’t travel with this stranger that you’ve at least met but are willing to find another stranger on an app? I think of the flowers I have in the back of my car, of the deposit I’ve already been paid and put into my Excel sheet. I

need this job. If I let Blade drive off, I have about a hundred challenges ahead of me that include changing my plan altogether.

Challenges and tasks that could be avoided by giving up my need for personal space for a short period of time. I’m not usually

spontaneous but as I stand there opposite this man with a silly beanie flung on top of his head it is as if something malfunctions.

I decide I’m going to do it—

‘Fine,’ I say, surprising even myself a little still.

‘Fine?’

‘I mean, yes. But it’s a yes with conditions. We can ride together, and we will split all the associated costs evenly. I have

specific places to be at specific times, in order to complete this job, so we’ll need to work out a schedule and stick to

it. And I have to be back by the twelfth of July.’ He studies me for a long time, then he nods, once.

‘So we have a deal?’ Have we both lost out minds?

We gaze at each other in silence as my lips play with the answer, moving wordlessly as I think.

‘Deal.’

Yep, we have both definitely lost our minds.

‘You’re sure about this?’ he asks. Something flickers across his face.

‘Sure.’ I’m sure I do not want to do this. In fact, if I had to compile a list right here right now on my phone’s Notes app of things I’d rather do,

I’d need to upgrade my cloud storage to fit it.

‘Well, I was planning to leave now, as in I was already on my way,’ he says.

I think of how I had planned to arrive and meet with Vincent this afternoon. How being unable to make that meeting and prepare

for tomorrow’s busy day could jeopardise my whole contract. The tow-truck finally pulls up behind us, somehow finding a space

next to my car, and I shake my long hair off my shoulders and turn to Blade.