Youre not my mum! Leave Dad and me alone! Go away!
Every girl who ever wanted to share a bed, a loaf of bread and a foldout sofa with Adam has heard that. Little Blythe hissed, flung plush rabbits and even the odd sharp plastic whenever a stepmomtobe crossed the threshold of their tiny councilflat. Maybe you should take your hysterical little brat to a therapist, she’d snap, or else shell grow up into some crazy thing spitting foam at everyone. That was the last girl to speak when Blythe smashed the dove figurine a guest had given onto the wall.
Forgive me, please, I didnt think shed throw it Adam said, scooping up the trembling head and tail of the dove with a dustpan. I warned you she could never get over her mothers death
I lost my dog not long ago, but Im not screaming like a lunatic and Im not hurling stuff!
A dog? You compare losing a mum to a dog?
I loved her. Back off, you bunch of freaks.
Sniffing something nasty, the girl twisted the lock all the way, then the other way. When she finally slammed the door shut, the lights on the whole fourstorey block flickered on as if theyd been switched by the noise.
Love, why did you do that? Its been almost four years and I cant handle this on my own, Adam knelt before his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help you. That aunt of yours isnt needed, shes terrible, all of them are, Blythe whispered, hugging his neck.
Every new day Adam withdrew further. The chill October wind seemed to follow him all year, until one morning a woman named Rosie warmed his heart. She didnt just warm his heart she almost drenched his trousers with her halfspilled coffee on the Tube. After that she stepped on his foot three times and even jabbed an umbrella at his eye. Shed already said a thousand apologies by then.
Just in case you break your nose or end up with a painted one, Rosie said, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes and cleaning Adams pants.
Does this happen to you often?
Occasionally, she answered without thinking.
After that first coffee on the Tube, Adam kept asking Rosie out for a second, then a third. She turned out to be a magnet for mishaps: a bus door would pinch her, a neighbours cat would scratch half her face, and she seemed to win every illegalcrossing fine like an Olympic champion. Surprisingly, Rosie never seemed to notice any of it; she just rolled with it, never getting angry or hurt. Thats how Adam fell for her, head over heels, like a kid in Year7.
When we get home, try not to mind her snark. Shes actually good, I just dont know how to reach her. And all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, breathe deeper, Rosie soothed, patting his hand as they reached the lift. We dont have to go to yours. How about we meet here, on the street?
On the street? Adam blinked.
Yeah, you said she gets nervous at home, so lets keep it out. And my boots smell like cats, she admitted shyly. The neighbour asked me to look after her Maine Coon, and he isnt a fan of me.
Dont worry. Ill bring her over, Adam said, tapping his intercom key. The door buzzed open and he rushed in.
Rosie was scrolling aimlessly when a voice from behind called, Is that your wallet?
She jumped, turned, and saw a little girl, about seven, holding her wallet full of cash, cards and a prescription. Thanks, I almost lost it, Rosie smiled.
Be more careful, the girl tutted.
Why are you here alone?
Not alone Im with my granddad and Nigel. She pointed to an elderly man tinkering under the bonnet of a black foreign car, while a boy about her age held a toolbox.
A parcel flew off a nearby postbox and landed on Rosies shoulder.
Oh, a flying rat left a mess on you, the girl giggled.
Its just a little thing, Rosie laughed, pulling out another pack of wipes. And its not a rat its a pigeon.
My granddad says its a rat.
Rats dont deliver mail to angels, love.
Angels?
Pigeons used to be the postmen of the sky. They still take letters up there. She said it so convincingly a few pigeons perched above seemed to listen.
The girls head tilted.
What if they deliver letters to ordinary people instead of angels?
Why not? Just get the right postcode.
Before she could finish, the lift doors whooshed open and Adam stepped out.
There you are! You vanished and I thought youd been nicked. He scooped the girl up.
Granddad called, you didnt answer. Did you see the note?
Seen it, seen it. Meet Rosie, thats her, Adam introduced. And this is Blythe.
Blythes face hardened, her stare burning at Rosie. The next half hour was a cringefest of awkward silences and stretched conversations.
Sorry, Adam said as they left.
Its fine, Rosie whispered, barely audible.
A week later Rosie passed the block and spotted Blythe tucked behind a bench.
Hey, what are you up to?
Catching pigeons, Blythe replied, eyes glued to a grey bird pecking at mouldy bread. Oh, you. She turned toward Rosie, annoyed.
How do you plan to catch it? Rosie asked, ignoring the glare.
With my hands.
Youll catch very little that way. You need a net.
Where would I get one? Blythe asked, looking dumbfounded.
I can bring one.
You?
Sure, why not? Wait here, feed them, Ill be back from the Kids World and back.
Rosie dashed off to the bus stop, returning forty minutes later with a huge net and a sack of sunflower seeds.
Better to lay out a bigger bait, boost your odds, she said, sprinkling half the sack on the pavement. Blythe nodded.
Within five minutes a grey, cooing cloud covered the sky. Pigeons descended noisily, forming a feathered mass on the asphalt.
Your turn, Rosie said, handing over the net.
Blythe lunged, flinging the net over the flock, which scattered in all directions.
Got em! Got em!
Great, now the letter! Rosie pulled a pigeon from the net.
I havent even written it yet
What do you do with a pigeon that hasnt got a note? Rosie asked, watching Blythe stare at the bird from a threehundredfortydegree angle.
Why all this fuss? The grounds covered in droppings now, grumbled the janitor as she passed, sounding like a kettle about to boil.
Lets go home, Rosie nudged the girl toward the lift. Dad home? she asked as they walked up.
Yes. Should we say we came?
No need, Rosie smiled, noticing the childs sad, wary eyes. Were just here on business. Go write the letter, Ill wait for you on the stairs.
Blythe smiled and slipped into the flat. Five minutes later she emerged with a bundle of thread in her hands.
Shhh Rosie put a finger to her lips, pointing at the pigeon perched on the windowsill. Blythes eyes sparkled with excitement.
Rosie offered the bird some seeds; it pecked cautiously, one after another. When it finally let its guard down, Rosie tried to grab it, but the bird was quicker. It swooped straight at her, flapping wildly, claws scraping, feathers tearing. Rosie chased it around the landing, trying to shake it off. Neighbours peeked out, laughter and curses rose from the hallway.
For the next ten minutes Rosie wiped herself and half the landing with wet wipes. The pigeon finally fluttered back to the window and, from then on, never trusted people again. Blythe disappeared behind a door, returning with a bucket of water and a mop.
Itll be faster this way, she said, slapping the mop on the floor. The air smelled of damp stone.
What are you doing, Blythe? Adams voice appeared in the doorway, looking bewildered at his daughter and Rosie cleaning the stairwell. Whats going on?
Dont ask any more questions, Rosie winked.
Yeah, Dad, you dont need to know everything, Blythe muttered.
Alright, I get it, Adam closed the door.
Rosie thought aloud, Why are we catching them? There are proper pigeon lofts with professional skymail carriers, not freelance flyers.
Seriously? Why didnt you say something earlier?
I just forgot. Its been ages since I sent a letter to the heavens.
Can we visit them? Please! Blythe bounced with excitement.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! Blythe squealed.
That evening Rosie called Adam and laid it all out.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and finds out, she might hold a grudge for the deception.
If Id been told the truth from the start, Id probably have gone mad, Adam admitted.
Youre right. Are you both okay without me tomorrow?
Sure, well manage. Shes sharp, Id love to chat with her.
Thanks.
The next day Rosie collected Blythe, and they hopped into a cab heading for the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Blythe cooed, admiring the birds. Can I pick any? Will it definitely deliver the letter to the right person? Will it get lost? Do they have GPS?
The crucial thing is the correct postcode, Rosie reminded.
Got it, I wrote our home address, its the same as ours, right? And I added whose daughter is writing so the angels dont mix it up, Blythe said seriously.
Rosie handed the keeper some pounds, watched as they tied the note to a pigeons leg and released it into the sky.
Dont feel sorry for me, the keeper muttered, wiping a tear from his sleeve as he closed the cage.
Thank you, Rosie, Blythe hugged her. Rosie simply ruffled the girls hair.
Two days later Adam rang.
Blythe says a reply letter came from the sky, and its about you. Want to come read it?
Of course, Ill be there soon.
The news shook Rosie so much she left work early, accidentally deleting the project shed been working on all day when she shut down her computer.
She rushed up to the flat, rang the doorbell. Adam answered.
Blythes out playing with the neighbours boy in the courtyard. She left you a letter on the table, probably too shy to hand it over herself.
Rosie entered, unfolded a crumpled piece of paper scribbled in a childs shaky hand:
Thank you, mum, for the letter. I miss you a lot and love you. Every day I think about you and Dad. I saw Rosie, shes nice. She isnt your mum, but you could be friends. Thats what Id like. Your mum.
Rosie swallowed a lump, almost swearing as the ink smeared from her tears.
Looks like she got the message, Adam said, coming around behind her and giving her a hug.
Rosie nodded, still fighting back sobs.
I always thought Id find a mother for her, but I didnt realise she needed a friend, because she already has a mum.
I never wanted to overstep, she whispered, then glanced out the window at a pigeon perched on the sill, staring straight at them as if eavesdropping, ready to fly up and tell the angels what had just happened.
