Page 27 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

Eksj o

Three hours after we set off on the trip we arrive in Eksj o , which Sophia tells me with delight means fairy lake and is an hour from her childhood home. The market is set to take place on the main square the day after tomorrow, and I

have looked up a route to take tomorrow to a retirement village an hour’s drive away. While not every location she needs to

be is close to where I’m headed, at least it’s within the same county. We drive through the town centre, and with an hour

until sunset the sky has gone a bruised purple. A small crowd are getting mid-week-level rowdy outside the single bar on the

high street and there’s a line winding up to a Thai food truck. Everything is clean: Even at dusk, the absence of random rubbish

and lack of peeling paint, broken railings and tipped over bins stands out to me. There is none of the chaos that you get

in a city with ten million people.

‘I googled a campsite a reasonable drive from here. I think that’s where we should head for the night,’ I say as we leave

town behind. We both ate on our last stop, and there is no real reason to dwell here. It’s awkward enough sitting next to

each other in the car.

‘Did you not know that we have right of passage in Sweden? You can camp anywhere if it’s just for a couple of nights.’

‘Anywhere?’

‘Well, anywhere where you’re not in the way or in someone’s actual garden. In a forest, next to the beach if there’s a suitable

road.’

‘I don’t have to pay to set a tent up?’ This opens up a whole new world. Rather than finding campsites, we can stay anywhere

we want.

‘No need to pay, no. We can plan our stops more intentionally, then. No need to factor in campsites. I need to stay three

to four nights in our next location but that’s the longest we’ll ever stay in one spot. So this will work perfectly,’ she

replies.

‘Where should we go, then? Do you know the area?’

‘Not really. I know where the hockey rink is. I waited in the car outside it every other weekend when my brothers played.

I wouldn’t want to sleep there, though. The car would always get really cold, so I’d have to sit on my hands.’

I try to process what she just said. But I need more information.

‘Why did you wait in the car?’

‘I couldn’t behave inside.’ I look at her, a little confused still. ‘In the car it didn’t matter if I rocked back and forth, but inside Dad

had lots of friends and my brothers had lots of friends who’d all look at me, I guess. Inside someone might see you, Sophia , my dad would tell me. As if me being seen would be a catastrophe.’

‘Sophia, you were left in a cold car, alone, while your parents watched your brothers’ hockey practice? Just because you rocked

in your seat?’

‘You may have noticed that I always keep the seat warmer on,’ she says, her head bent.

I had, actually. The full eight hours the light was on.

The bright red light on the side of her chair in July.

I’d assumed it was a mistake until she pressed on it again once it got down to one bar.

I swallow hard. I decide to always, always make sure that seat is warm for her.

‘Listen, it wasn’t so bad. I only really panicked if any of the kids from my class came past.’ She shrugs.

‘Why?’

‘Because they would bang on the windows and write swear words on them if there was frost. I had the doors locked from the

inside and would just close my eyes. Though, not everything goes away just because you can’t see it.’

Well, no. And I sense that this hasn’t ever gone away for Sophia. I notice that I’ve held my breath as I’ve listened to her.

‘How about an area near the woods, away from the centre of town? So that it’s a little quieter is all, less crowded. Would

that be okay? We can just google it if you don’t know any.’

‘That would be fine,’ she replies, and I think that I don’t need this to be fine, for some reason I need it to be better than

fine for her.

We find a dirt road with a dead end and a large, gravelled area most likely used by trucks and tractors at the edge of where

a forest begins, and I manage to park the van so it’s out of any passing vehicle’s way. I begin converting the inside, pulling

the curtain between the cockpit and the cabin and opening the windows for fresh air. One side is lined with rectangular windows

and once the bed is made they are the right height to look out of. I open the storage compartment above the bed and start

getting the equipment out. She laughs as I haul it all out of the bag.

‘What’s wrong with mosquito repellent?’

‘Three cans of it?’

‘Three for the price of two. Don’t come to me when you’re being eaten to death at two in the morning.’

‘Why would I come to you at two in the morning?’ There it is again. She asks such direct questions.

‘I wouldn’t actually expect you to do that. I exaggerated to make a point.’

‘I see. I like how you explain everything immediately. Thank you.’

I’m taken aback slightly. Do others not take the time to answer her questions?

‘Anyway, you won’t be bothered by them since you’ll get the grand suite. The camper-van.’ I start unpacking the khaki-coloured

tent for two and pushing the pegs into the ground. Mum never took me camping, but even I can erect this simple structure.

Or least I thought so. Where is the instruction leaflet?

She doesn’t respond with ‘Are you sure’ or any other polite objection but simply nods.

‘I picked up some sheets the other day. Feel free to use them.’ I’d have bought something nicer if I knew she’d be joining

me.

‘Oh great, I hadn’t even thought about that.’

‘Let me show you where it all is,’ I say, abandoning the tent and following her back to the van. I have to duck to go inside,

and I notice she does too. If ever two people weren’t built for camping life, it would be us.

‘I’m not used to sleeping on blue sheets,’ she says. She looks around. It’s a relatively spacy cabin. ‘But I guess there’s

not really any difference when you think about it. I won’t see the colour in the dark anyway.’

I show her which button releases the be, and it descends from the wall. There’s a two-seater sofa with a table for eating

across from the bedroom, and the bed is surrounded by cupboards now that it’s down.

She’s started taking her items out of her luggage and I notice a drawing she’s set on the sideboard, much like the one I asked about in her shop.

‘Oh, that is one of my favourites,’ she says, following my gaze. ‘It’s where they have just picked up their new kitten.’

‘So the stick family have a pet.’

‘Lots of them.’

Mum has some of my drawings on her wall. They’re not particularly good ones, and I think she just randomly picked out a couple

to display from the vast number I produced, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. And now they live forever on her walls

in her house.

After she’s done unpacking, we go outside again.

‘I’ve got some beers and a generally well-stocked snack bag. Swedish petrol stations are ace. I mean, they even sell hot dogs.

Would you like something?’

She turns around on the midpoint of the steps leading up to the car and shakes her head.

‘No, thank you. I need my space,’ she says. ‘Good night.’

Good night? Its eight o’clock. If that’s not a direct rejection of me and my snack bag I don’t know what is. I take my sleeping

bag out of the tent and spread it on the ground. The trees are tall and dark green, like Christmas trees. I dip into the snacks,

starting with the crisps. Here I am, spending my night alone, much as I’ve been craving. But this, actually being alone, feels

different to what I’d imagined. I can’t think any clearer and the anxiety is still there, along with thoughts of Mum and the

decisions looming ahead.

Letter time, I think. I’ve read them all at this point and feel like a case-obsessed detective looking for new clues, as if the Swedish night would somehow shine new meaning onto the words.

This is the letter which confirms that Mum found the shop address randomly, that it was simply a long shot and no real connection.

Svennie,

I don’t even have your–our–address. The one where we were meant to live together. Isn’t that crazy? So I’m sending these to

the only one I could find. We were meant to move, to escape it all and start our new life and I don’t even know where this

magical start is supposed to happen.

I always wondered if you went without me. Or if you changed your plans. Where are you now? I saw something in a movie the

other night. Someone called up an airline and checked if their friend had gotten on the flight, as though that was something

airlines actually kept track of. Who checks in and who boards. I did call Ryanair, but they just told me that they record

calls for training purposes and that I couldn’t get a refund.

Did you take the tickets we booked and go, just without me? Did you put your coat on the seat that was meant to be mine? Or

did you keep it free and glance over, imagining what it would be like with me sitting there, Blade on my lap?

I stop here and put it aside. Escape what to start a new life? The capital’s pollution and inflated rent? The constant din of the traffic, the too small houses, the

lack of jobs? Or something else ? I can’t help but let my mind trail after Mum’s words. I really do imagine her sitting there in her seat, me on her lap.

Perhaps she’d feed me juice from a sippy cup to alleviate the air pressure getting to my ears. The man next to her is blurred

and faceless in my fantasy. And I’m starting to genuinely wonder for the first time, Who was he?