Page 39 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

London

I’ve gone shopping with Zara. It all started when a lady about my own age began chatting to me outside the town hall last

week.

‘Are you properly equipped for the winter?’ she asked me. She has been bringing me cappuccinos with chocolate powder on top

for some time now and we have apparently progressed to conversational friendship. I promised Zara not to take coffees from

strangers and I haven’t: this woman I have known for months.

Now I look at her and think her question over carefully. I had thought we were still in summer and the mention of winter confuses

me.

‘Not yet.’ Winter clothes are kept in large boxes in the attic, that much I know.

‘I’ll see what I can find. I work in an Oxfam shop, and if you come in we should be able to figure something out.’

‘I usually buy my coats from John Lewis,’ I reply.

‘Oh?’ she says, and I do agree that John Lewis does sound quite posh but at the same time I’m standing in the borough of Kensington and Chelsea, and they do have their own range which isn’t that much more than M they melt into each other like ice cream flavours.

I stop and pause. The marble floor below us looks like a swimming pool full of waves, no edges or boundaries.

A deep black hole leading who knows where.

I feel nauseous and grip onto the handrail.

Tone and contrast, everything that holds life together is blurry to me.

How am I supposed to know what’s real? Blade put a purple pillowcase over the mounted flat-screen in my bedroom so it wouldn’t look like a black hole in the wall, but sometimes I take it off and just stare into the hole which feels like space and think what if they’re all wrong and I’m right and it really is a hole I’m seeing?

How do we really know what is real and who is right?

We decide on Next because it feels like a good place to go when you’re unsure of what to do next.

When we get off the moving stairs and make it inside the shop, Zara immediately starts grabbing and touching things.

‘There’s only one colour.’ I eye the black padded jacket she’s holding up for me. Lots of straight lines and dull material.

‘Paying for one colour seems a waste when I can have many for the same price.’

‘Right—colours. A better value for the money. No problem.’ Zara does a quick stroll around the shop floor whilst I stand there,

the bright lights overhead burning my skin. I wrap my scarf around my shoulders trying to block out the sensation.

‘Look at this!’ Zara yells. ‘I’ve counted five colours, and although I would say the addition of purple would really lift

it to the next level, I reckon it’s good value for money and that we should get it. What do you think?’

I look at the garment which has an Aztec pattern in orange and red tones with green, black and white added in. It looks a

bit like a rug, but I’d be able to find it on the hooks by the door. No risk of it blending into a black hole.

‘Excellent,’ I say. When I get to the till I ask, ‘Can I wear it now, please?’ I walk through the shop feeling very prepared for winter indeed, and the feeling lasts the drive and all the way home. When Zara unlocks the front door I squeeze her free hand.

‘Thank you. Thank you for preparing me for winter.’