Page 35 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

Norrl o sa

I’m onto Sven number three, having discounted the Sven whose funeral I attended and Sophia’s uncle. The first thing I see

when I arrive at the Norrl o sa retirement home is the row of neatly parked mobility scooters. I’m shown into a communal living room where I nod to two

ladies on a sofa. The smell of coffee and wool is comforting. I try to imagine my mum in a similar room, her address book

in hand, organising and planning for things that may or may not happen. There would be a book circle, surely. And some sort

of residents’ association to get involved with. I haven’t dared look into places yet, but maybe Zara is right, maybe just

the fact that I came here will be enough for her, and we can start to think about our options when I’m back.

The man I’m here to meet isn’t Sven, I already know that, but I’m hoping he can give me some clues. This is a man who was

listed at the same address as the Sven I’ve singled out as the most likely match. Born the right year, lived in the town Mum

remembers Sven being from. I couldn’t find any photos of him online, but I’m hoping his friend might have one.

‘Good afternoon,’ Thomas greets me, reaching out a hand.

‘Would you prefer to sit here or in my apartment?’ he asks, and I choose the latter. The apartment is a small, neat studio, and I pick the only armchair there is leaving him the sofa.

‘So you’re related to Sven?’

‘It’s a complicated story. I’m trying to find him on behalf of my mother who’s lost contact. She would very much like to know

what happened to him. Her name is Edith.’ A flicker of recognition passes through his face.

‘And she was English?’

‘Did you know her?’

‘I knew he met someone. This would have been years ago. But our contact was sporadic at that point.’

‘How come?’

‘We didn’t exactly fall out with one another, but I kept my distance. There were rumours going around, and I’m not one to

listen to them. I’d say I know a good person when I see one, but in the end I had a baby and a wife and wanted no involvement

with those types of crowds.’

‘Those types of crowds?’

‘The types that are up to no good, you know, who run kebab shops and laundrettes as a front for the real business, if you

know what I mean?’

No, I don’t know what he means. I’m pretty sure the launderette at the end of Mum’s road really does wash the sheets I give

them once a month. I shake my head slowly. I’m struggling to make out what this new information means and how it fits with

my mum and the love of her life.

‘Do you have a picture of him?’

Thomas shakes his head. ‘I only brought the essentials here. The rest is in stored in my daughter’s garage. Although, he wasn’t

one for the camera, Sven. Handsome enough, but just not interested in the attention. I’ll ask Julia, that’s my daughter, to

have a look for you, but don’t get your hopes up.’

I thank him and move on to the question that’s bothering me.

‘Do you know where he went after London? Have you seen him at all recently?’

‘I have no idea. He did give me a ring once and said he was moving back home, could we perhaps have a coffee when he was back

in Malm o , that sort of thing. Then I never heard from him again. I’d always assumed he moved over there. To London. I tried a Facebook

search some time ago, but the name didn’t come up.’

‘So the last time you heard from him was...?’ I search for the year in my memory, but somehow I know the answer already.

And something shifts inside me because suddenly another person, his best friend at the time, tells me that Sven went missing,

never to be heard from again, summer 1996. For the first time I realise that my mum could be right. Sven was supposed to meet

her, they had it all arranged, and then he really went missing. Thomas’s answer sends shivers down my spine.

‘I think it was, what, 1996, springtime?’

Sven went to London and never came home again. Or went quiet when he did.

I feel the unease of the question genuinely nagging at me : If this is the right Sven, then where did he go?

Sophia sits outside the RV, with a mug in her hand and a fidget spinner on her lap.

‘You finished early.’

‘We should try fishing,’ she replies. She sometimes does this. Doesn’t say hello or hi and goes straight into whatever was

on her mind.

‘Fishing? As in worm on a string, standing for hours by a waterfront?’

‘You’ve never fished?’

‘It feels like something a dad should do with you. Like learning to ride a bike.’

‘You don’t know how to ride a bike?’

‘I know how to ride a bike, Soph.’

‘I used to love fishing because you get to hang out, sit side by side with someone and look out over the water. No talking.

Parallel play at its best. Sometimes my brother would take me.’

‘Not any longer?’

‘We’re adults now.’

‘You don’t have to stop hanging out because you grow up. I wouldn’t if I had siblings.’

‘My siblings are not very hangoutable.’

‘Mattias seems all right when you talk about him.’

‘He is the exception to the rule.’ She fiddles with a small stick. Seems there’s always something in her hands. ‘But even

he still needs to be paid half a million for his share of the shop.’

Wait, what?

‘But you’re family! He didn’t seem like he needed money. What are your other brothers doing?’

‘One is a teacher, and one works for the fire station, handling the incoming calls. They are both fine. But it’s the principle

of the thing, isn’t it? There are four of us, so my uncle couldn’t just give the shop to only me. He loved us all, really,

didn’t want to play favourites. So it belongs to all of us and they’ve no real interest in keeping it, would rather have the

money. My uncle’s will put a time cap on it—five years, and we could then either sell it or in order to keep it I’d have to

buy the three of them out. I’ve only one year left and even if I stopped going for the organic oats I still won’t be able

to come up with that kind of money.’

‘Maybe not, but surely they can see what it means to you? How can they ask you to give it up?’

She shrugs and drops the small stick back onto the ground.

‘I think they just assumed I would run it into the ground. Have a go of it then sell once it hit the fan and cash out. Go back to school. They never expected me to still be going five years in.’

‘You took it over when you were twenty-one? That’s incredible.’

‘It was the best option. I mean it. I loved the shop, and my uncle, a lot. He was easy for me to talk to, and he understood,

he slowed down for me. And I understood flowers. Besides, school was never a good fit for me. I liked the school part, not

so much the other kids. I’d have to hold my bladder all day because the minute I’d make my way to a bathroom, people would

crowd in and climb on the door and look and laugh at me. Hard to want to keep going with school when that’s the reality of

it.’

‘Where were the teachers?’ Who can blame her for wanting to leave school, when you’re that bullied?

‘My uncle used to say When there’s a will, there’s a way . He was referring to growing orchids in shady conditions but the boys in school were successfully applying it to torment

me.’

I clear my throat, which feels strangely clogged.

‘Tell me more about your uncle.’ I’ve finally managed to ask the question, but find I haven’t done it for the reason I thought

I would. I don’t see how he could be my mum’s Sven, but he seemed to have been a good man, a good uncle to Sophia. And all

I want it some sort of proof that she was okay.