The Blue House

"Are you alright, love?"

The bus driver looks down at me, sitting on the wooden bench outside the bus depot. He studies me. His eyebrows bunch together like he's concerned about me being there alone.

"Yes, I'm okay." I briefly smile at him, hoping he'll leave me to sit and wait. He lingers as though he's waiting for more information, and when the silence starts to feel uncomfortable, I say. "I'm going home to see my mum. Someone is coming to get me soon."

"That's Good because no more buses are going out tonight. It's an early close-down for the bank holiday tomorrow." He says, gently tapping the end of his roll-up, ash falling to the rain-soaked pavement.

He waits for me to answer, but I don't. Mum always says never to talk to strange men. I look down at my shoes, waiting for him to go.

After a few more seconds of silence, he heads towards the bus depot's brightly lit office. It's the only light left on in the depot; the others were switched off once the last bus arrived.

The wooden bench feels damp against the back of my legs. I sit thinking about my teddy, but I'm unsure why. I certainly don't remember having a toy with me earlier that day. When I try to focus on the events from the day, it feels like a grey fog has descended upon me, smothering my thoughts.

The bus driver starts talking to a man in a dark grey suit inside the office. I assume he must be the boss. As they talk, they both stop and look at me momentarily. Are they talking about me? I wonder. Then the bus driver continues talking, shaking his head as he looked my way again.

I look away quickly and focus on the row of closed shops opposite the depot.

 When I look back at the office, the man in the suit beckons me. I stay on the bench, waiting to hear a car engine approach. Then steps forward, opens the office door and shouts over to me.

 "Why don't you come in and have a nice hot cuppa while you wait? You'll catch your death out there." And then, when I don't answer, he smiles, "I've got biscuits." He shakes an almost full tin of biscuits my way.

Then, I realize that I can't remember when I last ate. Some biscuits would make the wait far more bearable.

 I get up and slowly cross the road into the depot, my footsteps echoing through the dark forecourt.

As I reach the office, the bus driver opens the door.

 "See you soon, Bill," he says, fixing his gaze upon me. "And you take care, love. You shouldn't be out this late in the dark and the cold."

He shakes his head at me again, and I step to the side to let him pass.

 "Someone's coming to get you then?" The man in the suit, Bill, asks. He pours the hot water from the kettle into two cups.

 "Yes," I reply, "a man is coming in a motor car soon. He's taking me home to see my mum." I beam as I think about her opening the door, standing there with her arms open wide to me.

 The office is warm compared to the wet bench outside. As I look around, I see the walls filled with bus timetables and notices about staff rota changes and union regulations. A radio sits next to the kettle, playing softly in the background.

 "Who is the man coming to collect you, then?" Bill asks. He sets a cup down in front of me and one down in front of himself. He offers me a biscuit, and I greedily snatch two chocolate ones.

 "I'm not sure. I think he's a lodger. My mum always lets out the top bedroom for lodgers. I think this one has been with us a while." I try to picture the lodger, but the image in my head is hazy.

 I take a bite at my biscuit, then another and another in quick succession.

 "And where is he taking you to?" he asks, looking at his watch. He offers me the biscuit tin again, and I take another couple.

 "Acer Road, just along from Finsbury Park Underground Station. The blue house, do you know it? It's the only painted house in the street, so everyone calls it the blue house." I brush the biscuit crumbs from my lap onto the floor.

 Bill has the same look on his face as the bus driver. I can't work out what it means. He's either concerned for me or confused about something. Maybe it's just because it's late and he wants to go home, too.

"He'll be here soon. He's coming to get me in a motor car." I say excitedly.

 "I know; I spoke to him just before you came in." He points to a telephone sitting on the corner of his desk. "Edward is coming to collect you." He pauses for a second, shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then asks, "Do you remember coming here before, quite recently?"

"Well, yes, I always come here on the way home. Sometimes I get the bus, or sometimes I get collected."

I wonder how he knows how to contact the lodger. I don't question this, though. I think I'll just ask Mum later or Edward when he arrives.

Moments later, I hear an engine coming to a halt behind me, and I turn to see a very modern car coming to a halt. The driver, Edward, looks familiar to me. He walks up to the office and speaks to Bill before he speaks to me.

 "Has she been here long?" He looks sad, tired, maybe.

 "A good while this time. She can't keep turning up like this and just sitting there."

Both men look away from me and murmur quietly, only turning to look at me once they finish talking. It feels as if they are hiding something from me; it feels dishonest.

 "I'm grateful to you for looking after her and calling me. Hopefully, this will be the last time, but thank you."

The two men shake hands, and then Edward looks at me and says in a friendly voice, "Come on, then. Let's get you home."

"Goodbye, Frances," says Bill.

I wonder how he knows my name, but then I'm in the comfort of the car and finally feel relaxed. I'm so excited to be going home.

"Is Mum waiting for me?" I ask Edward. Staring at his face in the flashes of the streetlights as we pass them by. I'm trying to work out how old he is. Maybe in his fifties? Older? His hair is streaked with grey, and he has a fine grey moustache.

He doesn't answer my question about Mum but keeps his hands on the wheel and his focus firmly ahead of him.

 "I always come home to my mum. I remember during the war, we were all evacuated to the countryside. I was nine years old and sent to a farm in Standon. It was so lovely and clean, and the air was fresh." I look at Edward. He has that sad look on his face again, but I'm just so excited, and I want to tell him stories about Mum, so I continue.

"But while I was in the country, I missed London, the dirt and the noise. But mostly, I missed Mum. I missed her smile and how she made the world feel better when she hugged me. I missed smelling her lovely meat puddings cooking away on the stove. I came back the first chance in nineteen-forty, and so did my brother. I knew it was safer away from London, but I also knew I could face anything with Mum protecting me."

Edward turns the steering wheel, and we turn into a quiet street. I suddenly get a sense of deja vu. I wonder if I've told him about these stories before, but I keep talking as he doesn't interrupt.

"When the air raids started, we'd sleep in sleeping bags on Finsbury Park tube station. Deepest place around you see. There were whole families and communities down there. Mum always got me a Cadbury Tiffin from the platform machine, she knew that was my favourite."

I look over at Edward to see tears forming in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," I say. "Those years were hard on us all."

 He pulls the car over and turns off the engine. We sit in a dark street, the occasional light glowing on the windows in the row of terraced houses outside. I look at Edward again and realize I've seen that face many times over many years.

 "I think maybe I'm related to you, but I don't know how. Are you my uncle? Or my cousin?" I say hesitantly.

He says nothing but reaches for a photo album from the back seat. I take it and then notice my hands. They are wrinkled, like I've been in the bath for a long time. I pull down the mirror on the passenger sun visor and, in the half-light inside the car, see that my face is also wrinkled. My once-auburn hair is grey and thin.

"I'm old now", I say, mostly to myself.

 The man takes my hand in his and speaks. "You have something called Dementia. Do you remember the doctors talking about that before?"

 I nod at him. Flashes of memory fill my brain. Being at the surgery, being told about my diagnosis and the prognosis, other words that I didn't understand.

 Edward, my nephew? Continues talking. "The doctor said it must feel like you're simultaneously living in two separate times. That must be exhausting for you." He strokes my hand and looks at me with such love in his eyes. "I was so worried when you disappeared from your flat this morning. The warden said you were talking about going home, but we couldn't find you. And then the manager at the bus depot called."

 I open the photo album on my lap and look through the collected photos of my life. Me with my older brother James and Mum outside the blue house, all smiles. James on Dad's shoulders. My Wedding Day. My William in a navy suit looking so handsome, long gone now, of course. I remember that sadness and loss so clearly. Then I see pictures of me with my baby. Of course, I had a baby. I had three babies. We were a family. I look up at Edward, my son, Edward, my Teddy as I've always called him. I stroke his face. Then, I look through all the photos again as we sit quietly in the parked car. And I remember all the happy times. I've had such a good life.

 Then I see the road sign outside the car, it reads Acer Road. But the house we are parked outside isn't blue anymore; it's painted white like most others in the street. It doesn't look full of vibrancy and love anymore; it is just an empty shell. I feel such sadness that Mum isn't there anymore; she died in the blue house in 1969, just before my fortieth birthday. I know that part of me will always try to get back to this house when she was here.

 Now it's my turn to cry, sad and happy tears all at once.

 I look at Teddy and have no words.

 He puts his arms around me, holds me tightly and speaks softly into my ear. "Everyone's okay, mum. You looked after us all for so many years. Now it's our turn to look after you. I'm taking you home with me, and tomorrow, we will have to face all this again, but we'll all face it together."