Page 28 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

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I managed to sleep. Eventually. Even though the sheets are the wrong colour and they smell of new fabric. Which for me is

an achievement.

I’ll admit I’m curious about Blade, and what his idea of a good snack is, but a day ahead full of listening to fairground

rides zoom and clink and chatting to strangers means I needed sleep and quiet first. So I locked the doors, closed the curtains

and all the lights, and got underneath the duvet as soon as I was alone.

I check Lina’s location, and she’s been all over.

Me: I’m afraid I won’t have any chance to have my breakfast in peace. SOS.

Lina: May not help but when I went on first holiday with Kurt I popped down to the reception bathroom to poop in peace.

Sneaking off with my breakfast cereal into the woods is an option, I suppose. I weigh it up as I wait for Blade to get ready to drop me off in town.

Seriously, this whole idea, this whole trip is just...

Exciting. That’s not the word I expected to pop up in my head. New , sure, but I wouldn’t want it to end now. Or at least not yet.

‘Good morning,’ Blade says when he sees me. ‘Can I... make a coffee?’ he asks. And I realise I’m standing in the small

doorway, blocking it.

‘Sure. My home is your home.’ I hesitate. ‘Or rather, your home is my home. Or Sixt’s rental is our home? Technically.’

Blade smiles. It’s short-lived but stops me up short. I inhale through my nose, trying to restore my breathing and immediately

regret it. Because all I have accomplished is filling my lungs with an unfamiliar, overpowering scent. Blade’s scent.

I’m not used to anyone else as part of my morning routine. Or even coffee.

There is not quite space enough for two people so I stand awkwardly at the side, feeling very much in Blade’s way. Finally,

I decide to squeeze onto the sofa, folding my legs underneath me to make them fit, and look on as he waits for the coffee

to brew. Before it’s finished, he pulls the can out and empties what little liquid there is into his cup, then quickly puts

it back.

‘Coffee?’ he asks, offering me the mug.

‘Wow. That is generous of you. But, no, I won’t take it from you. You’re practically sniffing the fumes. And I had a glass

of milk already.’

He looks at me like I’m some kind of suspicious creature from the nearby forest. As if a human can’t run and work properly

when fuelled by only a glass of milk.

‘Childhood habit. Were you not force-fed milk for the bone growth? A cold glass of milk with dinner was normal. I mix it up

now—oat, almond and normal to reduce the guilt of using too many animal products.’

I watch him practically inhale the caffeine as he swallows the contents of the mug in a few fast sips. I take it the tent is not the most comfortable sleeping quarters.

‘We need to get some groceries. Unless you, in addition to mosquito-surviving skills, are also trained in foraging the forest

for berries and nuts. Meet you at the supermarket after work?’ I say.

‘Sure. I’m going to some archive in J o nk o ping. I’ll be back by four.’

He runs back out to get dressed and pack up the tent, which can’t be left here over the course of the day. I see him crawl

into it and watch as his backside and legs are the last to disappear. When the flimsy fabric of the walls begins to shake

and shiver, and I see the imprint of an elbow in it as he’s presumably wriggling a sweater over his head, I finally turn my

back and prepare my bag for the long day ahead.

I’m supposed to meet the manager of the market at eight. Blade helps me unload all my equipment at the site and then drives

off to do whatever he’s planning to do at the archive. I wanted to stop for a drink, like I usually would, but then it’s not

Lina taking my order and I’m unsure how a barista in a local café would react when I ask for a warm milk or an adult-size

babycino. So water will have to do.

At 8.02, still waiting for Vincent, I message Lina. I notice that Lina’s location has moved again. I pull the address up on

Google Earth and see that it’s a block of apartments, three floors high with bikes tied out front. I wonder who lives there.

Me: Survived the first night. Don’t think he’s a serial killer, unless he’s the type that first befriends you with promises of

snacks and friendship then strikes when you least expect.

Lina: Great snack taste usually correlates to great person in my opinion. You’re doing good.

Me: You’ve been in the same location three times now? What is happening?

Lina: Too early to say but may have exciting personal news to share...! Clue: coffee.

Me: Oh! How tentatively exciting!

I, on the other hand, have turned my dating app off for the duration of this trip. I can’t imagine socialising with anyone

on top of the dose of human interaction I get from sharing my space with Blade. So everything is on hold for now, it seems.

I focus on the positives: this will give me ample opportunity to finish my Autism book and unmask.

‘Sorry I kept you waiting.’

Vincent is tall and wide and seems louder out in the world than when I met him in my shop a fortnight ago. Everything seems

louder when I leave my shop. Vincent is a dumb cane ( Dieffenbachia ), which, despite the name, is a lovely plant. Like it, he enjoys shady-to-bright indirect light. judging from the aggressive

redness on his shoulder and would require little watering to thrive. He’d be sturdy and hard to kill off (literally, I’d imagine,

and in conversation, I can testify).

‘We’re expecting close to a thousand visitors,’ he proclaims proudly and I swallow hard. Crowds. My favourite. If I work carefully I should be able to place everything so that I don’t have to attend during the busiest times.

Vincent continues, a hand on his hip, the other pointing animatedly at different things.

‘Let me show you around before the exhibitors start to arrive. You have about three hours to get it all set up and then the décor needs to be taken down Sunday by ten, the council advised.’

‘Great. I will be on-site to do a daily check and readjust anything that needs it, but I’ve generally chosen flowers that

will last.’

‘Nice little buzz here, we are expecting just shy of two thousand visitors.’ Oh. The forecast just increased. We should end

this conversation before it jumps to ten thousand or I may start hyperventilating.

‘You can use the facilities here and someone should be here to open up every morning at seven thirty, even if it’s not myself

every day.’

‘Thank you.’

I draw a breath of relief when he finally trots off and I can disappear, hands and head into the world of my flowers. I go

and check that all my stock has arrived with the delivery I arranged before our departure and am pleased to see that it has.

I like to source locally so have called up a couple of local shops to get their help filling out what I don’t have.

At five o’clock I’m relieved to leave the busy, loud, fairly smelly marketplace and walk the short distance to the supermarket.

I spot Blade’s mobile home at the end of the car park, spread across two spaces lengthways. He’s standing outside, leaning

against the RV, scrolling on his phone. His glances up and catches sight of me as I near, smiling very lightly at my familiar

face.

‘Hey.’

‘Day okay?’ I ask.

He nods a brief yes, and we silently fall into step as we approach the supermarket.

Neither of us have a coin for a trolley, so we take a basket each.

I start shopping, grabbing things off the shelves, going for anything with a green sticker and trying to get as many colours

in there from the fruit and veg section as I can, because I know it will turn very beige once I arrive at the ready-meal and

breakfast aisle.

‘That’s pretty much all organic.’ Blade has so far put one item in his basket—a toast bread with the white and blue label

which signals the supermarket’s own brand.

‘It’s meant to be good for you.’

‘Pretty sure it’s meant to be good for the planet.’

‘That too.’

‘It’s twice the price, though?’ He inspects the contents of my basket closer.

‘I hadn’t noticed.’

I go to the cleaning aisle next. There’s a new antibacterial spray fragrance, which I can’t help picking up, even though I’ve

already brought two for this trip.

I bring my basket up to the check-out. At the till I turn to Blade.

‘What’s your monthly disposable income?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve read that expenses are most fairly split according to income. A percentage based on salary seems fairer than fifty-fifty.

I myself belong to the high-average bracket.’

‘I figured—or the basket wouldn’t be full of American-imported cereals and organic oat milk.’

The cashier’s gaze jumps between us. Then to the line, albeit short, that’s started to form.

‘So? I’m quick at maths.’

‘How about I get this one and we figure it out later? I’ll let you take a look at the receipts in the car, okay? I feel like

at this point it’s in the public interest.’ He nods to the people behind us.

Blade puts his juice on top of his lettuce, and my retinas physically hurt from the violation as I rush to tower my things

up appropriately inside my basket, making a base of tins, a next layer of cardboard boxed items and finally soft goods on

top followed by berries and crisps bags. By the time I finish he’s tapping his foot slightly, but he doesn’t shoot the people

behind us apologetic looks, roll his eyes or say, ‘Christ on a bike’ or, ‘You’re holding up the bloody queue, Sophia.’ like

my dad would.

When we exit the car park, an open bag of crisps between us, there’s a sound of a horn coming from behind.

‘What does he want?’ I ask.

‘Who? What do you mean?’

‘That driver. I think he beeped because we were blocking the way.’

I start to roll the window down to explain to the other driver that we were only parked there for a minute and I had to get

something out of the bag to pay the parking with and I hope he kindly understands, but Blade drives off and just waves to

him.

‘But I was going to explain! And what was your wave supposed to mean?’

‘I guess I meant it as an apology.’

‘But you didn’t do anything wrong. As my explanation would have pointed out.’

‘Then I guess the wave meant more “all good”?’

‘That makes no sense.’

I look out the window, following the other car with my gaze.

‘He didn’t wave back. Why do you think he didn’t wave back?’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Well, no, but if we wave then he should acknowledge that, right?’

‘It’s a stranger on the road, Sophia. We’ll never meet again.’

This is why roads are confusing. As soon as people are in a car I’m meant to interact with them differently.

‘The intention, Blade. I’m meant to look for a driver’s intention. But they’re inside a car and that makes it hard. Is the

head turned or positioned to the right? To the left? Driving is not just a system of rules. I thought so when I did my test,

but no. The road is a social activity .’ I say.

‘Social?’

‘There are all these subtle interactions that you’re supposed to pick up on. It’s exhausting. This is why self-driving cars

will never work.’

‘As someone who’s been forced to drive and park a six-metre-long vehicle the past forty-eight hours, I regret to hear that.

That’s why you avoid driving? Because of other people?’

‘I don’t like when people are angry at me and I don’t know why. That happens a lot in traffic because I can’t chase them down

and ask.’

He smiles. Then the car comes to a stop and I can hear birdsong before I even open the door.

‘Okay. Here we are. Back in our spot.’

I go to sleep that night going over Vincent’s face.

Glasses. Age spots. Stubble in three shades of grey.

Damn it, this usually works . But now there’s this other face that keeps popping up.

And is useless for sleeping, because there aren’t enough imperfections.

It’s like I’m unable to see them. I know they’re there, but I keep seeing the brown eyes.

Then there’s the problem of wanting to think of all of that person.

Not just the face. I move off target. Because there are arms with tattoos. And a chest. Big hands. Thighs

where one hand at a time rests when their owner drives. Sheep , I interrupt myself. Maybe I should finally do what others do and try with actual sheep. There would be enough fields around

here that I can do a field trip and memorise their appearance well enough for it to work. Great, I have a plan . I abandon face mapping and close my eyes hard. Waiting in stillness for what feels like an eternity to be tired enough to

drift off without any help.