Youre not my mum!Leave me and Dad alone!Go away!
every girl who ever dreamed of sharing a bed, a loaf of bread and a foldout sofa with Mark has heard it. Little Poppy hissed maliciously, flinging plush rabbits and, on occasion, sharp bits of plastic whenever the candidate for stepmum dared cross the threshold of their cramped council flat. Maybe you should take your hysterical youngster to a therapist, she snarled, or else shell grow up into another thing that spits foam at everyone. The last girl to date Mark muttered that as Poppy smashed a porcelain dove gifted by a guest against the wall.
Im sorry, for heavens sake, I didnt think shed throw it Mark apologized, sweeping the trembling head and tail of the dove into a dustpan. I warned you she cant get over her mothers death.
Listen, I just lost my dog, but Im not screaming like a lunatic and hurling things!
Your dog? Youre comparing a mothers death to a dog!
I loved her. Now, leave us, you bunch of eccentrics.
Sniffing the air as if shed caught a whiff of rot, Poppy twisted the key in the lock until it clicked, then slammed the door so hard the bulbs on four storeys lit up in synchrony.
Darling, why are you doing this? Its been almost four yearsdont you realise I cant handle it alone? Mark knelt before his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help. That aunt of yours isnt needed; shes terrible, all of them are, Poppy whispered, clinging to his neck.
Each new day Mark retreated further into himself. The cold October wind seemed to follow him all year, until one day a woman named Ivy warmed his heart. Not only his heartshe also managed to soak half her latte on his trousers in the Tube. She then stepped on his foot three times and, for good measure, flicked an umbrella at his eye. All of this happened after a thousand apologies and a brief acquaintance.
Just in case, Ivy said, pulling out a second pack of baby wipes, you never know if youll break your nose or sit on a painted floor.
Does this happen often to you?
Occasionally, she replied without a second thought.
After their first Tube coffee, Mark invited Ivy for a second, then a third. Ivy, with a heart of gold, seemed magnetised to mishaps: a bus door would pinch her, a neighbours cat would claw half her face, and shed win every fine for jaywalking like an Olympic champion. She barely noticed the chaos; it was just life to her, and she never got angry. Mark fell for her hard, like a seventhgrader in love.
Listen, when we get home, ignore her sniping. Shes good, really. I just dont know how to reach her. And all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, breathe deeper, Ivy soothed, smoothing his hand as they reached the entrance. We dont have to go to yours. How about we meet here, on the street?
On the street? Mark blurted.
Yes, you said she gets nervous at home, so lets meet outside. My boots smell of cats, by the way, Ivy confessed shyly. The neighbour asked me to look after her British Shorthair, but it doesnt like me.
Dont worry. Ill bring it over. Mark pressed the intercom button, and as the door buzzed open he hurried inside.
Ivy was aimlessly browsing the internet when, from behind, a voice called: Is this your wallet?
Startled, Ivy jumped and turned to see a small girl, about seven, holding her full walletcash, cards, and a prescription. Thank you, I almost lost it, Ivy smiled.
You should be more careful, the girl tutted, rubbing her nose.
Agreed. Why are you here alone?
Im not alone. Im with my granddad and Owen, the girl gestured to an elderly man tinkering under a black foreign car nearby, while a boy of the same age held a toolbox.
A parcel fell from a lamppost onto Ivys shoulder.
Oops, a flying rat left a mess on you, the girl giggled.
Its nothing, just lifes little quirks, Ivy replied, pulling out a pack of wipes. And no, those arent rats. Theyre pigeons.
The granddad says theyre rats, the girl insisted.
Rats delivering mail to angels? Please.
Angels?
Yes, pigeons used to be postal carriers for people, now they deliver messages to the heavens. Ivy spoke so convincingly that a few pigeons overhead seemed to perk up.
The girl muttered something about indices and addresses when the intercom buzzed and Mark 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?
Seen it, yes. Ivy, meet my daughter. Mark introduced. And this is Poppy. He gestured toward the girl, who glared at Ivy with barely concealed malice.
The next halfhour was a masterclass in awkwardness; conversation fizzled, tension hung like stale tea.
Sorry, Mark said as he escorted his daughter home.
Its fine, Ivy whispered, barely audible.
A week later Ivy passed the entrance and spotted Poppy hiding behind a bench.
Hey. Whatre you up to?
Catching pigeons, Poppy replied, eyes locked on a grey bird pecking mouldy bread. She turned to Ivy, irritation clear.
How do you intend to catch it? Ivy asked, unfazed.
By hand.
Good luck. Youll need a net.
Where will I get one? Poppy asked, looking as if Ivy were an idiot.
I can bring one.
You?
Sure, why not? Wait here, feed it, Ill be back from the Childrens Centre.
Before Poppy could answer, Ivy sprinted to the bus stop and returned forty minutes later with a massive net and a bag of sunflower seeds.
Better to use a good bait from the start, Ivy suggested, scattering half the seeds on the pavement. Poppy nodded.
Within five minutes a grey, cooing cloud settled over the area. Pigeons descended, forming a messy flock.
Your turn, Ivy handed the net.
Poppy lunged, thrusting the net over the flock, which scattered instantly.
Got it! Got it!
Great, now the letter! Ivy fished a pigeon from the net.
I havent even written it yet
What do you mean? What are we doing with it? Ivy stared at Poppy, the pigeon, and the surrounding chaos, as if the sky offered a 340degree view.
What are you two doing here? The pavements a mess of droppings, grumbled the buildings caretaker, sounding like a kettle about to boil.
Lets go home, Ivy nudged the girl toward the entrance. Is dad home? she asked as they climbed the stairs.
Yes. Should we tell him were here?
No need, Ivy smiled, noticing the girls downcast eyes. Were just on a different mission. Go write that letter, Ill wait for you on the landing.
Poppy smiled and disappeared into the flat. She returned five minutes later with a bundle of thread and a tiny needle.
Shh Ivy placed a finger to her lips and pointed at the pigeon perched on the window. Poppys eyes glittered with excitement.
Ivy offered the bird a handful of seeds; it pecked cautiously, then more confidently. When the pigeon finally let its guard down, Ivy tried to grab it, but the bird was quickerthough not cleverer. Instead of flying out, it dove straight at Ivy, flapping wildly, pecking at her eyes and claws raking her cheeks. Ivy scrambled across the landing, trying to shake it off, while neighbours peeked out, hearing laughter and curses.
For the next ten minutes Ivy wiped herself and half the hallway with baby wipes. The pigeon eventually fled through a window and never trusted humans again. Poppy vanished behind a flat door, returning with a bucket of water and a mop.
Itll be faster this way, she declared, slapping the mop against the floor. The air smelled of damp stone.
Poppy, where are you going? Mark appeared in the doorway, looking bewildered at his daughter and Ivy scrubbing the stairwell. Whats happening?
Dont ask any more questions, Ivy winked.
Right, dad, no need to know everything, Poppy muttered.
Alright, got it, Mark shut the door.
You know, I was thinking, why are we catching pigeons? There are proper pigeon lofts with professional postal birds, not freelance freelflappers, Ivy said once the cleaning was done.
Seriously? Why didnt you say that earlier?
I just forgot. Its been ages since I sent letters to the sky.
Can we visit one? Please! Poppy bounced with impatience.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! Poppy squealed.
That evening Ivy called Mark and recounted everything.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and realises the truth, she might hold a grudge for this deception.
If Id been told the truth from childhood, I probably wouldve gone mad.
Youre right. Are you coming tomorrow without me?
Yeah, well manage. Shes clever, Id love to talk to her.
Thanks.
The next day Ivy collected Poppy, and they rode a black cab to the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Poppy cooed, 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 get straight to mum, please.
The important thing is the correct postcode, Ivy reminded.
I wrote our home address; its duplicated, right? I also added whose daughter is writing, so the angels dont mix it up, Poppy replied solemnly.
Ivy handed the attendant a few pounds, and they attached the tiny note to a pigeons leg before releasing it skyward.
Dont feel sorry for me, the man muttered, wiping a tear from his sleeve as he closed the cage.
Thank you, Ivy, Poppy hugged the woman. Ivy simply patted the girls head.
Two days later Mark phoned.
Poppy says she got a reply from the sky, and it mentions you. Want to come read it?
Of course, Ill be there soon.
The news hit Ivy so hard she asked to leave work early, and in her haste she accidentally deleted the project shed been polishing all day.
She rushed up to the flat, rang the doorbell, and Mark opened.
Poppys out in the courtyard with the neighbours boy. She left a letter on the table, probably too shy to hand it over herself.
Ivy entered, took the crumpled sheetchildish scrawl, errors, and correctionsand read aloud:
Thank you, dear, for the letter. I miss you and love you. Every day I think of you and Dad. I saw Ivy, shes nice. Shes not your mum, but you could be friends. Id like that. Your mum.
Ivy swallowed a lump, her voice barely a whisper as the ink smeared from tears.
Looks like she got the message, Mark said, sliding behind her and pulling her into an embrace.
Ivy nodded, still trembling.
I always thought Id find a mother for her, but I didnt realise she just needed a friend, because she already has a mum.
I never wanted more than that, Ivy exhaled, spotting the pigeon perched on the windowsill, staring in as if itd been eavesdropping and was now ready to fly back to the heavens to tell the angels what had happened.
