Youre not my mother! Leave my dad and me alone! Get out!
Heard it from every girl who ever hoped to share a bed, a loaf of bread and a foldout sofa with Andrew. Little Emma hissed maliciously, flinging words, expensive plush rabbits and sometimes sharp pieces of plastic whenever a stepmomtobe crossed the threshold of their cramped terraced house. You ought to take your hysterical little brat to a psychologist, she snarled, or shell grow up into another nightmare, spitting foam at everyone. The last girl to speak about Andrews stepmother shouted when Emma smashed a guestgifted dove statue against the wall. Sorry, for heavens sake, I didnt think shed throw it Andrew apologized, trembling as he swept the broken birds head and tail into a dustpan. I warned you she could never get over her mothers death
Listen, Ive just lost my dog too, but Im not shrieking like a madwoman or hurling things!
A dog? You compare losing a mother to a dog?
I loved her. Thats all, get out, you lot of lunatics.
Sniffing something foul, Emma twisted the door key all the way, then the other way. With a decisive turn she slammed the door so hard the lights on four floors flickered on from the sound.
Darling, why would you do that? Its been almost four years, cant you see I cant manage alone? Andrew knelt before his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help you. That aunt isnt needed; shes bad, theyre all bad, Emma whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Each day Andrew retreated further into himself. The cold October wind seemed to follow him yearround, until one day a woman named Emily warmed his heart. Not only his heartshe also drenched his trousers with half a coffee spilled on the tube. Afterwards she stepped on his foot three times and, for good measure, jabbed him in the eye with an umbrella. All of this happened after a thousand apologies.
Just in case, Emily said, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes, you never know if youll break your nose or sit on a painted floor.
Does this happen to you often?
Occasionally, she replied without missing a beat.
After that first tube coffee, Andrew invited Emily for a second, then a third. She turned out to be a walking magnet for absurd mishaps: a bus door would pinch her, a neighbours cat would scratch half her face, and she collected more fines for jaywalking than an Olympic champion. Yet Emily never noticed any of it; the chaos was simply part of her everyday life. She never held grudges or got angry, which is why Andrew fell for her headoverheels, like a seventhgrade boy.
Listen, when we get home, dont mind her teasing. Shes good, really. I just dont know how to reach her, and all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, take a deep breath, Emily soothed, rubbing his hand as they reached the lift. We dont have to go to your flat. What if we meet right here, on the street?
On the street? Andrew blinked.
Yes. You said she gets nervous at home, so lets meet outside. And my shoes smell of cats, Emily admitted shyly. My neighbour asked me to look after her Maine Coon, and hes not a fan of me.
Dont worry. Andrew handed her the intercom key, and as the door buzzed open he hurried in.
Emily was aimlessly scrolling the net when a voice called from behind:
Is this your wallet?
Oh! Emily jumped, turning to see a girl about seven or eight holding her purse, complete with cash, cards and a prescription. Thank you, I almost lost it, Emily smiled.
Be more careful, the girl tutted.
Why are you alone?
Im not. Im with Granddad and Oliver, the child pointed to an elderly man rummaging under the bonnet of a black foreign car, while a boy of the same age stood nearby with a toolbox.
A parcel then fell from the lamppost onto Emilys shoulder.
Oops, a flying rat pooped on you, the girl giggled.
Just another days bother, Emily laughed, pulling a pack of wipes from her bag. And its not a rat. Its a pigeon.
Granddad says its a rat.
Pigeons are the original postmen, not those freelance messengers, Emily explained, convincing a few pigeons overhead to listen.
Before the girl could finish, the lift doors buzzed and Andrew stepped out.
There you are! You vanished without a word. I thought youd been kidnapped. He lifted the girl into his arms.
Granddad called, you didnt answer. Did you see the note?
Saw it, yes. Emily, meet her, Andrew introduced. And this is Emma.
Emmas face hardened, her stare burning at Emily. The next halfhour was a cold, awkward silence; conversation sputtered, tension hung heavy.
Sorry, Andrew said as he escorted Emma home.
Its all right, Emily whispered, barely audible.
A week later, Emily passed Emmas building and spotted her hiding behind a bench.
Hi. What are you doing?
Catching pigeons, Emma replied, eyes glued to a grey bird pecking at mouldy bread. Oh, its you she muttered, turning toward Emily.
How do you plan to catch it? Emily asked, ignoring the steely glare.
With my hands.
Youll catch very little that way. Use a net.
Where will I get one? Emma asked, looking foolish.
Ill bring one.
You?
Sure, why not? Wait here, feed it, Ill be back from the childrens centre.
Emma could not answer before Emily was already off to the bus stop. She returned forty minutes later with a huge net and a bag of sunflower seeds.
Better to use plenty of bait, improves the odds, Emily said, sprinkling half the bag on the ground. Emma nodded.
Within five minutes a grey cloud of pigeons descended, cooing and settling on the pavement.
Your turn, Emily handed over the net.
Emma lunged, but the flock scattered.
Got one! she shouted.
Great, now the letter! Emily lifted a pigeon from the net.
I havent even written it yet Emma stammered.
What then? What will you do with it? Emily asked, watching the bewildered bird wobble on a threehundredfortydegree angle.
A cleaning lady appeared, growling, The whole pavement is a mess now!
Lets go home, Emily suggested, guiding Emma toward the entrance. Dad home? she asked as they climbed the stairs.
Yes. Should we tell him you came?
No need, Emily smiled, sensing the girls sadness and mistrust. Were here for another reason. Write the letter, Ill wait on the landing.
Emma entered, returned five minutes later with a rolled piece of paper and a thread.
Shh Emily placed a finger to her lips, pointing at the pigeon perched on the window. Emmas eyes sparkled.
Emily offered seeds; the bird pecked cautiously, then, distracted, swooped straight at her. Its wings flapped wildly, feathers raked her eyes, and it clawed at her. Emily darted around the landing, trying to shake it off while neighbours peeked, laughing and shouting.
For ten minutes Emily wiped herself and the hallway with wet wipes. The pigeon finally fled through the window, never to trust people again. Emma disappeared behind a flat door, emerging with a bucket of water and a mop.
Thatll be quicker, she declared, slapping the mop on the floor. The air filled with the smell of damp stone.
Emma, where are you going? Andrews puzzled face appeared in the doorway, surprised to see his daughter and Emily cleaning the stairwell. Whats happening?
Dont ask any more questions, Emily winked.
Right, dad, no need to know everything, Emma muttered.
Fine, I get it, Andrew closed the door.
You know, Ive been wondering why were catching pigeons. There are proper pigeon lofts with professional couriers, not freelance birds, Emily said once the cleaning was done.
Seriously? Why didnt you say that earlier?
Id forgotten. I havent sent a letter to the sky in ages.
Can we visit them? Please! Emma pleaded.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! Emma squealed.
That evening Emily called Andrew, recounting everything.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and understands, she might harbour resentment for the deception.
If Id been told the truth from the start, I might have gone mad.
Youre right. Will you be there tomorrow without me?
Yes, I think well manage. Shes clever; Id love to talk to her.
Thanks.
The next day Emily and Emma took a taxi to the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Emma cooed, admiring the birds. Can I pick any? Will it deliver the letter correctly? Does it have a GPS? I need it to reach my mum.
The key is the correct address, Emily reminded.
I wrote our home address, its duplicated, right? And I added who the daughter is so the angels dont mix it up, Emma said seriously.
Emily handed the keeper a handful of pounds, tied the note to a pigeons leg, and released it.
Its not a waste, the keeper muttered, wiping a tear from his sleeve as he closed the cage.
Emma embraced Emily, who gently patted the girls head.
Two days later Andrew called.
Emma says she got a reply from the sky, and its about you. Want to read it?
Of course, Ill be there soon.
The news shook Emily so much she left work early, accidentally deleting the project shed been drafting all day. She rushed to the right floor, rang the doorbell, and Andrew opened it.
Emma and the neighbours boy are playing outside. She left a letter on the table, maybe she was shy to hand it over.
Emily entered, unfolded a crumpled sheet of paper scribbled in a childs uneven handwriting:
Thank you, mum, for the letter. I miss you and love you. I think about you and dad every day. I saw Emily, shes nice. Shes not your mum, but you could be friends. I would like that. Your mum.
Emily swallowed hard, her throat tightening as the ink smeared.
She understood, Andrew said, hugging her from behind.
Emily nodded, tears still streaming.
I always thought I needed to find her a mother, but she just needed a friend, because she already has a mum.
I never wanted anything more, Emily whispered, spotting a pigeon perched on the window, watching them. It seemed to listen, then flapped its wings as if ready to carry the story to the heavens.
In the end, Emily learned that love isnt about filling a missing role, but about offering companionship and honesty. The simple act of listening and being present can mend more wounds than any grand gesture ever could.
