Youre not my mother! Leave Dad and me alone! Go away!
Every girl who ever hoped to share a bed, a loaf of bread and a foldout sofa with Andrew has heard that scream. Little Agatha hisses, throws plush rabbits and, when shes angry enough, hurls sharp plastic pieces at anyone who steps over the threshold of their cramped council flat.
You should take your teenage tantrum to a counsellor, she snarls, because otherwise another something will grow up spitting foam at everyone.
The last woman to try on the stepmother role watches Agatha smash a porcelain pigeon gifted by a guest against the wall.
Im sorry, for Gods sake, I didnt think shed throw it Andrew apologises, sweeping the trembling 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 I dont scream like a madwoman or fling things!
A dog? You compare losing a mother to a dog?
I loved her. Now get out, you bunch of misfits.
She sniffs the air, turns the key hard, then the other way, slams the door so loudly that the lights on four floors flicker on.
Love, why did you do that? Its been almost four years, dont you see I cant cope alone? Andrew kneels before his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help you, and that aunt of yours isnt needed; shes bad, all of them are, whispers Agatha, hugging Andrews neck.
Each new day sees Andrew retreat further into himself. The October wind feels like it blows all year, until one day a woman named Eve warms his heart. She not only thaws his spirit but also his trousers, spilling half her coffee on him in the Tube. She then steps on his foot three times and, for good measure, flicks an umbrella at his eye. All of this happens after a thousand apologies.
Just in case, you never know if youll break your nose or end up painted, Eve says, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes to clean Andrews trousers.
Does this happen to you often?
Occasionally, she answers without missing a beat.
After that first coffee in the Underground, Andrew invites Eve for a second, then a third. She turns out to be a walking magnet for absurd mishaps: a bus door crushes her, a neighbours cat scratches half her face, and she wins a gold medal for jaywalking fines.
Eve doesnt even notice the chaos; she just sails through life, never holding a grudge. Thats why Andrew is headoverheels for her, like a seventhgrader in love. Even Agatha cant picture a better stepmother, though shes certainly dangerous. Wherever Eve goes, anyone within five miles feels the impact.
When we get home, ignore her teasing. Shes good, I just dont know how to reach her. And all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, breathe deeper, Eve soothes Andrew as they reach the lift. We dont have to go to yours. How about we meet out here, on the street?
On the street? Andrew asks, surprised.
Yes, you said she gets nervous at home, so lets meet outside. And my boots smell of cats, she adds shyly. My neighbour asked me to look after her Maine Coon, but it doesnt like me.
No worries. Alright, Ill bring her in. Andrew pushes the intercom button, and as the door buzzes open, he darts inside.
Eve is aimlessly scrolling online when a voice from behind says:
Is this your wallet?
Eve jumps, turns, and sees a girl of about seven or eight holding her wallet, full of cash, cards and a prescription.
Thanks, I almost lost it, Eve smiles.
You should be more careful, the girl admonishes, rubbing her nose.
Agreed. Why are you alone?
Im not; Im with my granddad and Oleg, the girl points to an elderly man rummaging under the bonnet of a black foreign car nearby, while a boy of the same age holds a toolbox.
A parcel drops from a lamppost onto Eves shoulder.
Oh, a flying rat left something on you, the girl giggles.
Just another everyday thing, Eve replies, pulling a pack of wipes from her bag. And theyre not rats, theyre pigeons.
My granddad says theyre rats.
Pigeons, not rats. Can rats deliver letters to angels?
Angels?
Exactly. Dont you know pigeons used to be postmen, now they carry messages to the sky? Eve explains so convincingly that a few pigeons above perk up.
The girl stares at her head.
What if they deliver to ordinary people instead of angels?
Why not? Just give the right postcode.
You dont
Before she can finish, the lift doors buzz open and Andrew steps out.
There you are! You vanished and said nothing. I thought youd been kidnapped. He scoops the girl into his arms.
Granddad called, you didnt pick up. Did you see the note?
Saw it, saw it. Meet Eve, Andrew introduces. And this is Agatha, he adds, nodding toward the girl.
Agathas face hardens and she gives Eve a venomous glance. The next half hour drifts in awkward silence; conversation stalls, tension hangs like a cloud.
Sorry, Andrew says as he escorts his daughter home.
Its fine, Eve replies barely audible.
A week later, Eve passes Andrews block and spots Agatha hiding behind a bench.
Hi. What are you doing?
Catching pigeons, Agatha answers, eyes glued to a grey bird pecking at mouldy bread. Oh, you she mutters, turning toward Eve.
How do you plan to catch it? Eve asks, ignoring the fierce stare.
With my hands.
Youll barely nab one. You need a net.
Where will I get one? Agatha asks, looking daft.
I can bring one.
You?
Yep, why not? Wait here, feed them, Ill be back from the Childrens Centre.
Before Agatha can answer, Eve darts off to the bus stop. She returns forty minutes later with a huge net and a sack of sunflower seeds.
Better to use more bait, increase the odds, Eve says, sprinkling half the bag on the pavement. Agatha nods silently.
Within five minutes a grey, cooing cloud descends. Pigeons alight on the asphalt, forming a flock.
Your turn, Eve hands over the net.
Agatha darts from behind the bench, flings the net over the birds, which scatter.
Got one! Got one!
Great, now the letter! Eve pulls a pigeon from the net.
I havent written it yet
Then what do we do with it? Eve asks, looking at the bewildered bird, which seems to have a 340degree view.
What are you doing here? The pavements a mess, a cantankerous cleaning lady shouts, sounding like a kettle about to boil.
Lets go home, Eve nudges the girl toward the entrance. Is Dad home?
Yep. Should I tell him youre here?
No need, Eve smiles, noticing the childs sad, distrustful eyes. Were here for other business. Write the letter, Ill wait on the landing.
Agatha smiles and disappears into the flat. She returns five minutes later with a roll of thread.
Shh Eve places a finger to her lips, pointing at a pigeon perched on the windowsill. Agatha nods, her eyes glittering with excitement.
Eve offers the bird some seeds; it pecks slowly, then, growing bold, swoops toward her. Its wings flap, feathers ruffle her eyes, and it scratches at her. Eve darts around the landing, trying to shake it off. Neighbours peek out, laughter and shouting rise.
For the next ten minutes Eve wipes herself and half the landing with wet wipes. The pigeon finally darts out the window and never trusts humans again. Agatha disappears behind a door, reappearing with a bucket of water and a mop.
Thatll be quicker, she says, slapping the floor. The air smells of damp stone.
Agatha, where are you going? Andrews face appears in the doorway, looking bewildered at his daughter and Eve scrubbing the stairwell. Whats happening?
Dont ask any more questions, Eve winks.
Yeah, Dad, its none of your business, Agatha mutters.
Alright, I get it, Andrew closes the door.
You know, I wondered why were catching them. There are proper pigeon lofts where professional couriers live, not freelance freeloaders, Eve says once the cleaning is done.
Seriously? Why didnt you say that before?
Forgot. Havent sent a letter to the sky in ages.
Can we visit them? Please! Agatha jumps.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! she squeals.
That evening Eve calls Andrew and explains everything.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and learns the truth, she might hold a grudge for the deception.
If Id been told the truth from the start, Id probably have lost my mind,
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 Eve picks up Agatha, and they hop into a black cab heading to the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Agatha marvels, eyeing 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.
The most important thing is the correct postcode, Eve reminds her.
I wrote our home address; its the same, right? And I added whos writing so the angels dont mix it up, Agatha says seriously.
Thank you both, Eve hands the keeper a few pounds as they tie the letter to a pigeons leg and release it.
No problem, the man wipes a tear from his sleeve, pockets the cash and closes the cage.
Thank you, Eve, Agatha hugs her. Eve simply pats the girls head.
Two days later Andrew calls.
Agatha says she got a reply from the sky, and its about you. Want to read it?
Of course, Ill be there soon.
The news shakes Eve so much she asks to leave work early, and in her rush she accidentally deletes the project shes been working on all day.
She rushes up to the flat, rings the bell, and Andrew opens the door.
Agathas out playing with the neighbours boy in the courtyard. She left a letter on the table, probably too shy to hand it over herself.
Eve, eyes misty, steps into the room and picks up a crumpled sheet scrawled in childish handwriting, full of spelling errors:
Thank you, dear, for the letter. I miss you a lot and love you. I think about you and Dad every day. I saw Eve, shes nice. She isnt your mum, but you could be friends. Id like that. Your mum.
Eve swallows hard, barely curses as the ink smears from her tears.
She finally understood, Andrew says, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
Eve nods, still unable to stop sobbing.
I always thought I needed to find a mother for her, but she just needed a friend, because she already has a mum.
I never wanted more than that, Eve whispers, noticing a pigeon perched on the window, staring straight at them as if eavesdropping, ready to fly up and tell the angels everything that just happened.
