Page 45 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

J o nk o ping

Flowers can start out as one type of plant and then be reclassified. Name change in the nineties.

I sit with these thoughts all afternoon. The animal sounds don’t bother me any longer. Sure, I still wouldn’t want a bat crashing

into me, but I’ve definitely hardened these past weeks. I’m also less anxious.

Am I jumping to conclusions? What grounds do I even have? A gut feeling from a comment about flowers. Seriously. But I can’t help wondering, could Mum’s Sven have changed his name? Is that why I’m finding nothing on this last guy I’ve

been trying to track down? Who keeps records of name changes in Sweden? Google Translate and a search on Swedish search engines

tells me where I need to apply to view records. Am I seriously contemplating applying for records of every name change involving the name Sven? All this rather than look closer at Sophia’s uncle. Because it’s clear now. I have only two options left: it’s either Sophia’s

uncle or one of the Svens changed his name.

This is it. I’ve cracked it. I must have. Sven must have changed his name. Which means he’s still out there somewhere.

I need to speak to Sophia, properly, discuss everything there is to know about her uncle and at the same time share my mum’s story.

I’m putting it off. If I’ve really found Sven, it means my trip has come to an end, and I only have days left to talk to her about what I have no choice but to label feeling s.

In the end I can’t blurt it out however hard I try, but I manage to get the message across that the evening will involve

her, me and a location that isn’t the camp site.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere tonight?’

‘Clarification, please.’

‘Similar to the way I went to the garden centre with you, I’m hoping you’ll join me. In town.’

I jump around the camper-van and open the door for her. Her long legs descend. I’ve started opening the door for her because

it takes her a while just to gather her things and get out of the vehicle. I’m waiting for her with the door open like a valet

car-park employee. Can’t believe Sophia has agreed to go out with me. Sort of.

‘It’s just a short walk from here.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she says, and I give her a curious look.

‘Have to what?’

‘Take me out.’

‘I know I don’t have to. Tell me if this doesn’t beat the garden centre. Or the sheep spotting,’ I say.

‘I did come out of there with a new pelargonium, didn’t I?’ she says.

‘I’m not sure pelargoniums are the right tell for whether or not a date is successful.’ Then I kick myself. Mentally. Obviously.

Mentally kick myself because since when is this a date? Since when was last time a date? Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Here we are.’ I stop in front of an American-style up-market diner which I found after extensive googling.

‘You’re taking me for breakfast?’ she asks, delight on her face.

‘All-day breakfast. I called to confirm they can do a porridge, and it’s no problem as long as the order is put in before

kitchen closes at ten.’

Instead we order omelettes and pancakes with Nutella and powdered sugar. She eats like I’ve never seen her eat before.

‘Go ahead. It’s got your name on it,’ I nudge at the last pancake.

‘No it doesn’t.’

I drizzle the letter S across it in melted chocolate.

‘Now it does,’ I say.

She eats it.

‘So. I can eat with you around. I can sleep with you around. I’m starting to think maybe you have my name on you as well.’

This may not be a date. But if it were, it would be the best date of my life.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Her sweet voice cuts through the heavy silence. I don’t know if I can be honest now. Or maybe

just not yet.

‘Just questioning every choice I’ve ever made.’

‘Same.’

I glance at her.

‘Really?’

‘Currently questioning why I put this strapless dress on when the straps feel like iron wires on my skin.’

‘Why did you put it on?’

‘I wanted to look nice.’

From her forehead to her chest, Sophia’s skin goes pink.

It always makes me think of strawberry milk it she does this.

She looks down at the dress. It’s dark green, tight around the waist then flares out into a skater skirt ending just above her knees.

I literally was speechless when she came from the back cabin to the cockpit, climbing over the basket of dirty laundry with a few swift moves.

‘It looks amazing on you,’ I admit. I clear my throat.

Get your shit together, Blade. You still have questions for her.

‘Shall we go?’ I wish I could stay here forever, watching her, but close to ten is apparently when the waitstaff start to

hover around your table and the till machine in a small town like this.

‘You ask for the bill, and I’ll go ahead and calculate the split.’ She is already bringing up the phone calculator.

‘Sophia, I’m paying for this.’

‘No, no. Disposable-income split is fair, Lina and I do it all the time—although we make similar amounts, so it’s easy maths—and

it’s only acceptable to let slip when signalling romantic interest, when you ask someone out with the intention of romance,

meaning in a date situation—’ She stops and stares at me. I can literally see the realisation forming in her brain: Oh.