Page 64 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

Svedala

My heart beats an extra beat, and I break a sweat when I see his name pop up on the screen. Then I see that it’s only the

rental details for the camper-van. It’s obviously paid, you just return to any Sixt location, hope you’re doing okay , he writes underneath. I read it fifteen times as if there ought to be some hidden meaning in there. Then I read it backwards

but still can’t find anything more.

‘I hope you had a good trip,’ the man at the desk says as I hand the keys over and he prints the invoice.

‘It was good until Markaryd, thank you,’ I reply, and I don’t even care about the look I get. This man, with brown hair and

blue eyes is a blanket flower (Gaillardia aristata). He is a common feature on our streets and I’ll forget him when he’s out of sight.

‘There you go—your invoice.’

‘Great,’ I say.

Once I finish the bus journey from the car rental office and finally get off at Svedala station I hesitate.

It’s empty apart from a stream of teenagers exiting the youth club and a couple of cars in the supermarket car park.

I have three options now: my house, Lina’s house or the shop.

I’m not sure I want to talk about what happened.

Kept inside me, I can pretend it’s not doing any harm, that it isn’t as big as it feels.

I go and settle Cornflakes in my flat, and he goes straight to sleep, not realising I need him for company. The journey has

exhausted him, and I sit on the floor and stroke him gently before I get up and slip my feet into my trainers and head out

to the store, picking up the same bottle of wine I bought last time I was here. Turns out I can’t stand the loneliness after

all. I take the Welcome Home notes I left myself and toss them in the paper bin.

It’s just before seven o’clock when I knock on Lina’s door. The first thing that’s different is that it takes her almost five

minutes to make it to the door. When she does open it, she looks surprised and flustered.

‘I have wine,’ I say. ‘It goes well with vegetables and Sophia.’

‘You’re back!’ She hugs me and when my face is leaned against her shoulder, I notice the second unusual thing, and that’s

a pair of men’s shoes next to the doormat.

‘You have company,’ I say, my voice deflated despite me willing it to sound excited.

‘I met someone.’ She looks so pleased that I hug her a second time. ‘Please may I introduce you to Tim.’

‘Hello, Americano,’ I say and stretch my hand out to the tall, handsome coffee customer my best friend has had her eye on

for months. ‘Nice to meet you.’

He laughs, and the grumpy attitude that we would joke about seems to belong to another person entirely.

‘Usually it’s just Tim, but I accept in a small town like this I’d stand out enough to earn that nickname.’

‘How did this happen?’

‘Remember that he started to buy two drinks? And we thought he’d lost his mind as we saw him go to his car and there was no

one in the passenger seat?’

I nod. We had plenty of theories. Including that he just wanted to show off his disposable income and that he found life choices

so hard he bought two different types of drinks. All of them turned out to be wrong.

‘Well, the other drink was for me ,’ Lina says, unusually flushed and pink-faced. ‘He just couldn’t bring himself to give it to me.’

‘She was always so busy and stern-looking. Every day I’d tell myself I’d offer it and ask if she’d sit with me and every day

I bailed,’ Tim chips in.

‘That’s the cutest thing I ever heard,’ I agree.

‘Right?’ Lina says and clings to his arm.

‘Do you want a drink?’ Tim says. I think how quickly he already seems to feel at home here, and my stomach sinks at the memory

of how I shared a space with someone too, just a couple of days ago.

I give them the bottle of wine I brought.

‘I’ll leave you to it. I’m so happy for you guys. Actually, this wine also goes well with lamb and new love, I’ve been told.’

Lina promises to call me tomorrow and that we’ll have wine night this week now that I’m home. I walk back to mine, the now

wine-less shopping trolley rolling behind me like a dark shadow bouncing and struggling over the rough pavement, with a strange

mix of happy and sad that I can’t categorise. But then suddenly I can, because this is a feeling I know well: happy for them,

sad for myself.

And I thought it had finally changed.