You’re not my mum! Leave us and my dad alone, go!
Every girl who tried to share a bed, a slice of bread and that battered sofa with James swore the same thing. Little Poppy hissed, threw cheap plush bunnies, even the odd sharp piece of plastic whenever the stepmum walked through the doorway of their cramped council flat. Maybe you should take your temperamental toddler to a therapist, one would snap, or well end up with another nightmare spitting foam at everyone. The last girl to try her luck even cursed when Poppy smashed a porcelain dove that a neighbour had left as a gift.
Im sorry, for Gods sake, I didnt think shed throw it James muttered, scooping up the trembling head and tail of the dove with a dustpan. I warned you shed never get over her mothers death
Listen, I just lost my dog too, but Im not screaming like a lunatic and Im not hurling things!
My dog? You compare a mothers death to a dog?
I loved her. Enough, you lot of eccentrics.
Poppy wrinkled her nose as if shed smelled something rotten, turned the key hard one way, then the other. The lock clicked and she slammed the door so loudly the lights on four floors flickered on in response.
Darling, why are you doing this? Its been almost four years, you realise I cant manage on my own, right? James knelt in front of his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help you. That aunt of yours isnt needed shes bad, all of them are, Poppy whispered, clinging to his neck.
Every day James drifted deeper into his own head. The cold October wind seemed to follow him all year round, until one day Olivia warmed his chest. She didnt just warm his heart, she also drenched his trousers with half her coffee on the tube. She then stepped on his foot three times and, for good measure, jabbed him with an umbrella. All of that happened after a thousand apologies and a few nervous giggles.
Just in case, you never know if youll break your nose or slip on paint, Olivia said, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes to clean his pants.
Does this happen to you often?
Every now and then, she replied without a pause.
After that first tube coffee, James asked Olivia out again, then again. She turned out to be a walking magnet for idiotic mishaps: a bus door would pinch her, a neighbours cat would gouge half her face, and she seemed to collect traffic fines for jaywalking like an Olympic champion. She never seemed to mind; she just kept smiling, never getting angry. Thats why James fell for her hard, like a seventhgrader in love.
Listen, when we get home, try not to mind her jokes. Shes decent, really. I just dont know how to reach her. And all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, take a deep breath, Olivia soothed, patting his hand as they reached the lift. We dont have to go back to yours. How about we meet out here, on the street?
The street? James blinked.
Yes, you said she gets nervous at home, so lets meet outside. And my boots smell like cats, she added shyly. My neighbour asked me to watch her Maine Coon, but hes not a fan of me.
No worries. Ill bring her over. James slipped his intercom key into the slot and, with a soft buzz, the door swung open.
Olivia was scrolling aimlessly on her phone when a voice called from behind, Is this your wallet?
She jumped, turned, and saw a girl about seven or eight clutching her wallet, full of cash, cards and a prescription. Thanks, I almost lost it, Olivia smiled.
Be more careful, the girl tutted.
Agree. Why are you alone?
Not alone Im with my granddad and Oleg, the girl pointed to an old man tinkering under the bonnet of a black foreign car, while a boy of the same age held a toolbox.
A parcel fluttered onto Olivias shoulder from a nearby post.
Oops, a flying rat pooped on you, the girl giggled.
Just another days trouble, Olivia replied, pulling a pack of wipes from her bag. And its not a rat, its a pigeon.
The granddad says its a rat.
Pigeons, not rats. Rats dont deliver letters to angels.
Angels?
Yes, pigeons used to be postal carriers, now they just fly up to the heavens. Olivia spoke so convincingly that a few birds above seemed to listen.
The girl wrapped her head in thought. What if they deliver to ordinary people instead of angels?
Why not? Just put the right postcode.
Before she could finish, the lift doors whooshed open and James stepped out.
There you are! I thought youd been stolen. He scooped the girl into his arms.
Granddad called, you didnt answer. Did you see the note?
Yes, I did. Meet Olivia, thats her, James introduced. And this is Poppy. He nodded toward the girl, whose eyes hardened at Olivia.
The next half hour was a cringefest awkward pauses, strained smiles, tension hanging like smoke.
Sorry, James said as he left with his daughter.
Its fine, Olivia whispered, barely audible.
A week later Olivia passed Jamess block and spotted Poppy crouched behind a bench.
Hey, whatre you up to?
Catching pigeons, Poppy replied, eyes glued to a grey bird pecking at mouldy bread. Oh, its you she muttered, turning toward Olivia.
How do you plan to catch it? Olivia asked, ignoring the fierce stare.
With my hands.
Right, youll catch hardly any. You need a net.
Where do I get one? Poppy asked, looking bewildered.
Ill bring one.
You?
Sure, why not? Wait here, feed it, Ill be back from the childrens centre.
Olivia raced to the bus stop, returned forty minutes later with a huge net and a sack of sunflower seeds.
Better to use a lot of bait, improve your odds, Olivia said, scattering half the seeds on the pavement. Poppy nodded.
Within five minutes a grey cloud of pigeons swooped down, settling on the concrete in a noisy flock.
Your turn, Olivia handed the net.
Poppy lunged, slinging the net over the birds, which scattered immediately.
Got it! Got it!
Great, now the letter! Olivia pulled a pigeon from the net.
I havent even written it yet
What do we do with it then? Olivia asked, watching Poppy, who stared at the pigeon as if it could read her thoughts.
Why are you all making a mess? The grounds full of droppings, growled the blocks caretaker, sounding like a kettle about to boil.
Lets head home, Olivia suggested, nudging Poppy toward the lift. Is dad there?
Yeah. Should we tell him we came?
No need, Olivia smiled, seeing the little girls doubtful eyes. Were just here for something else. Go write your letter, Ill wait on the landing.
Poppy grinned and slipped back into her flat. She returned five minutes later with a rolledup piece of paper and a thread.
Shh Olivia placed a finger on her lips, pointing at the pigeon perched on the windowsill. Poppys eyes lit up.
Olivia offered the bird some seeds; it pecked cautiously, then greedily. When it finally lost interest, Olivia tried to grab it, but the bird was faster. It flapped wildly, smacking her eyes and scratching with its claws. Olivia darted around the stairwell, trying to shake it off as neighbours peeked out, laughing and shouting.
For ten minutes Olivia wiped herself and the landing with wet wipes. The pigeon eventually fled out the window and never trusted humans again. Poppy disappeared behind her flat door, returning with a bucket of water and a mop.
Itll be quicker, she said, slapping the floor. The air filled with the scent of wet stone.
What are you doing, Poppy? Jamess voice came from the doorway, looking bewildered at the cleaning spectacle. Why are you both mopping the hallway?
Dont ask any more questions, Olivia winked.
Yeah, dad, you dont need to know everything, Poppy muttered.
Fine, I get it, James shrugged, closing the door.
Honestly, why are we catching pigeons? There are proper pigeon lofts with professional mailcarriers, not freelance freelancers, Olivia mused after the cleaning.
Really? Why didnt you say so earlier?
I just forgot. Havent sent any letters to the sky in ages.
Can we visit them? Please? Poppy bounced.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! she squealed.
That evening Olivia called James and spilled the whole thing.
Do you think thats 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.
Youre right. Are you coming tomorrow without me?
Yes, I think well manage. Besides, shes clever; Id love to chat with her.
Thanks.
The next day Olivia collected Poppy, and they jumped into a black cab heading for the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Poppy gawked at the birds. Can I pick any? Will it definitely deliver the letter to the right person? Does it have a GPS? I need it to reach my mum, please.
Just write the correct postcode, Olivia reminded her.
Ive written our home address; its duplicated, right? And I added whos writing so the angels dont mix it up, Poppy said seriously.
Olivia handed the keeper a few pounds, and they tied the letter to a pigeons leg before releasing it into the sky.
The man wiped his eyes with his sleeve, took the money and shut the cage.
Thank you, Olivia, Poppy hugged her. Olivia simply patted the girls head.
Two days later James rang.
Poppy says she got a reply from the sky, and its about you. Want to read it?
Sure, Ill be there soon.
The news hit Olivia so hard she left work early, accidentally deleting the project shed been working on when she shut down her computer.
She rushed up to the flat, knocked, and James answered.
Poppys out in the yard with the neighbours boy. She left a letter on the table, probably too shy to hand it over herself.
Olivia entered, unfolded a crumpled sheet written in a childs shaky hand:
Thank you, dear, for the letter. I miss you and love you. I think about you and dad every day. I saw Olivia shes nice. Shes not your mum, but you could be friends. Id like that. Your mum.
Olivia swallowed a lump, barely whispering a curse as the ink smeared from the tears.
Looks like she understood, James said, hugging her from behind.
Olivia only managed a nod, still unable to stop the tears.
I always thought Id find her a mother, but I didnt realise she needed a friend, cause she already has a mum.
I never wanted more than that, she sighed, spotting a pigeon perched on the window, watching them. It seemed to listen, as if ready to fly back up and tell the angels what had just happened.
