Youre not my mother! Leave us and my dad alone! Get out!
heard every girl who ever dreamed of sharing a bed, a loaf of bread and a battered sofa with Simon. Little Molly hissed, flinging plush rabbits, sharp plastic bits, even a heavy bottle whenever the wouldbe stepmom crossed the threshold of their cramped council flat. You should’ve taken that toddler to a therapist, she snarled, or shell grow up a screaming mess, spitting foam everywhere. The last woman to call Simon dad snarled when Molly smashed a porcelain pigeon against the wall.
Im sorry, please forgive me. I never thought shed throw it Simon muttered, sweeping the trembling birds head and tail into a dustpan. I warned you shed never recover from her mothers death.
Listen, I just lost my dog too, but Im not shrieking like a banshee or hurling things!
A dog? You compare a mothers loss to a dog?
I loved her. Now leave us, you lot of freaks.
Molly sniffed the air, as if catching a foul smell, and twisted the key until it stuck, then turned it the other way. She slammed the door so hard the hallway lights flickered on every floor in a chainreaction.
Darling, why? Its been almost four yearsdont you see I cant manage alone? Simon knelt before his daughter, eyes pleading.
Dont worry, Ill help. That aunt of yours isnt needed; shes bad, all of them are, whispered Molly, hugging Simons neck.
Each day Simon retreated further into himself. Octobers cold wind seemed to follow him yearround, until one day a stranger named Lucy warmed his heart. She didnt just warm his chest; she also drenched his trousers spilling coffee in the underground. She then stepped on his foot three times and, with an umbrella, flicked at his eye. All of this happened after a thousand apologies.
Just in case, in case you break your nose or sit on a painted bench, Lucy said, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes as she dabbed Simons trousers.
Does this happen often?
Occasionally, she replied without hesitation.
After that first coffee on the tube, Simon asked Lucy out again, then again. Lucy, sweethearted, seemed a magnet for absurd mishaps: a bus door caught her foot, a neighbours cat scratched half her face, and she collected fines for jaywalking like an Olympic champion. She never seemed to notice the chaos, never got angry, and Simon fell for her harder than a schoolboy.
When we get home, ignore her snubs. Shes good, I just dont know how to reach her. And all those women Im to blame, but
Calm down, breathe deeper, Lucy soothed, stroking his hand as they reached the lift. We dont have to go to your flat. How about we meet here, on the street?
On the street? Simon frowned.
Yes, you said she gets nervous at home. Besides, my shoes smell of cats, she admitted shyly. The neighbour asked me to watch her Maine Coon, but he isnt fond of me. she smiled.
No worries. Ill bring her over. Simon pressed the intercom button, and as the door hissed open he rushed inside.
Lucy was scrolling aimlessly online when a voice from behind called:
Is that your wallet?
Oh! Lucy jumped, turning to see a sevenyearold girl clutching the wallet, brimming with cash, cards and a prescription. Thanks, I almost lost it, Lucy smiled.
Be more careful, the girl tutted.
Right. And why are you alone?
Im not. Im with my granddad and Owen, she pointed to an elderly man tinkering under the bonnet of a black foreign car, while a boy of the same age held a wrench.
A parcel fluttered from a lamppost onto Lucys shoulder.
Oh, a flying rat left a mess, the girl giggled.
Just another days bother, Lucy replied, pulling a pack of wipes from her bag. Actually, theyre pigeons, not rats.
Grandpa says theyre rats.
Pigeons, not rats. Can rats deliver letters to angels?
To angels? Lucy laughed. Pigeons used to be couriers; now they ferry messages to the sky. The birds above seemed to listen.
The girls head tilted.
So they could deliver to ordinary people too?
Why not? Just give the right postcode.
You dont
Before she could finish, the lift doors whooshed open and Simon stepped out.
There you are! You vanished without a word. I thought youd been kidnapped. He scooped the girl up.
Granddad called, you didnt answer. Did you see the note?
Saw it, saw it. Meet Lucy, Simon introduced. And this is Molly.
Mollys face hardened, her stare burning into Lucy. The next halfhour dripped with awkward silence; conversation fizzled, tension hung like stale air.
Sorry, Simon said as he escorted his daughter home.
Its alright, Lucy whispered, barely audible.
A week later Lucy passed the council block and spotted Molly hiding behind a bench.
Hey. What are you doing?
Catching pigeons, Molly replied, eyes glued to a grey bird pecking mouldy bread. Oh, you she muttered, turning toward Lucy.
How do you plan to catch it? Lucy asked, ignoring the hostile glare.
With my hands.
Youll catch very little that way. You need a net.
Where will I get one? Molly asked, looking foolish.
Ill bring one.
You?
Of course. Wait here, feed them, Ill go to the Childrens World and back.
Molly could not answer before Lucy sprinted to the bus stop. She returned forty minutes later with a huge net and a sack of sunflower seeds.
Better to use more bait, raise the odds, Lucy said, scattering half the sack on the pavement. Molly nodded.
Within minutes a grey, murmuring cloud eclipsed the sky. Pigeons descended in a noisy swoop, gathering on the asphalt.
Your turn, Lucy handed the net.
Molly lunged, flinging the net over the flock. The birds scattered in every direction.
Got one! Got one!
Great, now a letter! Lucy fished a pigeon from the net.
I havent written yet
What now? What do we do with it? Lucy stared at Molly, who stared back, the startled pigeon wobbling in a 340degree view.
What are you doing here? The whole pavements a mess, boomed the building caretaker, her voice as harsh as a kettle about to boil.
Lets go home, Lucy nudged the girl toward the lift. Is dad there? she asked as they climbed.
Yep. Should I say youve arrived?
No need, Lucy smiled, seeing the sadness in the childs eyes. Were here for other reasons. Write the letter; Ill wait for you on the stairs.
Molly grinned and slipped into the flat. She returned five minutes later with a bundle of thread in her hands.
Shh Lucy pressed a finger to her lips, pointing at the pigeon perched on the windowsill. Mollys eyes sparkled with excitement.
Lucy placed a palm full of seeds near the bird; it pecked cautiously, one after another. When the pigeon finally relaxed, Lucy lunged, but the bird was quicker, darting straight at her. A screech rose as it flapped wildly, clawing at Lucys face. She spun across the landing, trying to shake it off, while neighbours peeked out, laughter and curses spilling into the corridor.
For ten minutes Lucy scrubbed herself and half the landing with wet wipes. The pigeon finally escaped through the window, never to trust humans again. Molly vanished behind a door, emerging with a bucket of water and a mop.
Faster that way, she said, slapping the mop against the floor. The air filled with the smell of damp stone.
Molly, where are you going? Simons bewildered face appeared in the doorway, surprised to find his daughter and Lucy mopping the stairwell. What are you doing?
Dont ask any more, Lucy winked.
Yeah, Dad, no need to know everything, Molly muttered.
Alright, I get it, Simon closed the door.
You know, I wondered why were catching these birds. There are proper dovecotes with professional pigeon couriers, not freelance flyers, Lucy said once the floor was clean.
Seriously? Why didnt you tell me before?
I just forgot. Havent sent a skymail in ages.
Can we visit them? Please! Molly bounced, impatient.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work.
Yay! she squealed.
That evening Lucy called Simon, spilling everything.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and learns the truth, she might hold a grudge for being deceived.
If Id been told the whole truth as a child, Id probably have gone mad.
Youre right. Youll be okay without me tomorrow?
Yes, I think well manage. Shes clever; Id love to talk to her.
Thanks.
The next day Lucy collected Molly, and they jumped into a black cab bound for the pigeon sanctuary.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Molly gazed at the birds. Can I pick any? Will it deliver the letter to the right person? Wont it get lost? Do they have GPS? I need it to reach my mum, please, she begged the keeper, who answered in short bursts.
The key is the correct postcode, Lucy reminded.
I wrote our home address; that should be fine, right? And I added whos writing, so the angels dont mix it up, Molly said seriously.
Lucy handed the keeper a handful of pounds, and they tied the letter to a pigeons leg before releasing it into the sky.
Dont feel sorry, the man whispered, wiping tears with his sleeve as he closed the cage.
Thank you, Lucy, Molly hugged the girl. Lucy only stroked the childs head.
Two days later Simon called.
Molly says a reply arrived from the sky, and its about you. Want to read it?
Of course, Ill be there soon.
The news shook Lucy so much she left work early, accidentally deleting the project shed been polishing all day. She raced up the building, rang the flat, and Simon answered.
Mollys out with the neighbour boy in the courtyard. She left a letter on the table, probably too shy to hand it to you.
Lucy entered, unfolded the crumpled sheet, and read the childs crooked script:
Thank you, daughter, for the letter. I miss you and love you so much. I think about you and dad every day. I saw Lucy, shes nice. She isnt your mum, but you could be friends. Id like that. Your mum.
Lucy swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat, as the ink began to bleed from the tears.
She understood, Simon said, coming up behind her and pulling her into an embrace.
Lucy nodded, unable to stop sobbing.
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 more than that, she whispered, spotting a pigeon perched on the window, staring as if eavesdropping, ready to fly up and tell the angels everything that had happened.
