Youre not my mum! Leave us alone, you two! shouted a tired voice from the hallway.
It was the same refrain every girl who tried to share a bed, a loaf of bread and a foldout sofa with Andrew would hear. Little Poppy hissed, flinging plush bunnies, cheap plastic toys and, when the hopeful stepmum crossed the threshold of their cramped council flat, even sharp bits of cardboard.
You should take her to a counsellor, you know, before she grows up into another little monster spitting foam at everyone, sneered the last woman who dared to call herself Andrews partner when Poppy smashed a guestbrought pigeon figurine against the wall.
Im sorry, please forgive me. I didnt think shed throw it Andrew apologised, sweeping the trembling head and tail of the broken pigeon into a dustpan. I warned you she could never get over her mothers death
Look, Ive just lost my dog myself, but I dont scream like a banshee or hurl things!
A dog? You compare losing a mother to a dog?!
I loved her. Now, go away, you lot of misfits.
Sniffing the air as if detecting something foul, Poppy twisted the key in the lock, first one way, then the other. When she finally managed it, she slammed the door so hard the bulbs on the four floors above flickered on as if powered by the sound.
Darling, why did you do that? Its been nearly four yearsdont you see I cant cope alone? Andrew knelt before his daughter.
Dont worry, Ill help you. That aunt of yours isnt needed; shes bad, all of them are bad, Poppy whispered, clutching his shirt.
***
Each new day drew Andrew deeper into himself. The chill October wind seemed to follow him all year, until one day a woman named Emily warmed his heart. Not only did she thaw his spirit, she also drenched his trousers with half a coffee she spilled on the Underground. After that she stepped on his foot three times and even jabbed him in the eye with an umbrella. All of this happened after countless apologies and a thousandplus Im sorry.
Just in case, you never know when youll break your nose or sit on something painted, Emily warned, pulling out a second pack of wet wipes to clean Andrews trousers.
Does this happen often with you?
Occasionally, she answered without hesitation.
After that first tube coffee, Andrew invited Emily for a second, then a third. She turned out to be a walking magnet for absurd mishaps: a bus door would pinch her, a neighbours cat would scratch half her face, and she seemed to win gold medals for jaywalking fines. Yet she never minded; such chaos was simply part of her life, and she never let anger or resentment take hold. Thats what made Andrew fall for her, head over heels, like a seventhgrader with a crush.
Poppy, meanwhile, could hardly imagine a stepmother any more dangerous than Emily, for wherever Emily went, anything within five miles seemed to tremble.
***
Listen, when we get home, try not to mind her teasing. Shes goodhearted, really. I just dont know how to reach her. And all these women Im to blame, but
Calm down, breathe deeper, Emily soothed, patting Andrews hand as they approached the lift. We dont have to go to yours. Maybe we could meet here, on the street?
On the street? Andrew blinked.
Yes, you said she gets nervous at home, so why not outside? Besides, my boots smell of cats, Emily confessed sheepishly. My neighbour asked me to look after her Maine Coon, but he doesnt much like me.
No worries. Come on, Ill bring her in. Andrew pressed the intercom button, and as the door hissed open he hurried inside.
Emily was aimlessly browsing the internet when a voice called from behind:
Is that your wallet?
Startled, Emily turned and saw a small girl, about seven, clutching her own wallet full of cash, cards and a prescription.
Thanks, I almost lost it, the girl smiled.
You need to be more careful, the girl tutted, rubbing her nose.
Right. And why are you here alone?
Im not. Im with my granddad and Oliver, she pointed to an elderly man tinkering under the bonnet of a black foreign car parked nearby, while a boy of the same age held a toolbox.
A parcel then fluttered down from a nearby postbox onto Emilys shoulder.
Oh, a flying rat left a droppings on you, the girl giggled.
Just another everyday thing, Emily shrugged, pulling a pack of wipes from her bag. And its not a rat. Its a pigeon.
Grandpa says its a rat,
Pigeons, not rats. Do you think rats can deliver letters to angels?
To angels?
Of course. Pigeons used to be postmen; now they carry messages to the sky. Emily spoke so convincingly that a few pigeons perched above seemed to listen.
The girl tilted her head.
So they could bring letters to people on earth as well?
Why not? Just give the right postcode.
And you dont
Before she could finish, the lift doors whooshed open and Andrew stepped out.
There you are! You vanished without a word. I thought youd been kidnapped. He lifted the girl onto his arms.
Granddad called, you didnt answer. Did you see the note?
I saw it. Meet Emily, Andrew introduced. And this is Poppy.
Poppys face hardened, her eyes flashing.
The next half hour was a study in awkward silence; conversations stumbled, tension hung like stale air.
Sorry, Andrew said as he left with his daughter.
Its all right, Emily whispered, barely audible.
***
A week later Emily passed the block and spotted Poppy crouched behind a bench.
Hi there. What are you doing?
Catching pigeons, Poppy replied, eyes fixed on a grey bird pecking at mouldy bread. Oh, you she muttered, turning toward Emily.
How do you plan to catch it? Emily asked, ignoring the fierce stare.
With my hands.
Youll barely catch anything that way. You need a net.
Where will I get one? Poppy asked, looking clueless.
I can bring one.
You?
Sure, why not? Wait here, feed the birds; Ill be back from the Childrens World and return.
Poppy could not answer before Emily was already off to the bus stop. She returned forty minutes later with a huge net and a bag of seeds.
Better to use plenty of bait so the odds improve, Emily advised, scattering half the bag on the pavement. Poppy nodded.
Within five minutes a grey, cooing cloud descended. Pigeons landed with a rustle, clustering together.
Here, your turn, Emily offered the net.
Grabbing it, Poppy sprang from behind the bench, flinging the net over the flock, which scattered in all directions.
Got it! Got it!
Great, now the letter! Emily pulled a pigeon from the net.
I havent even written it yet
What then? What do we do with it? Emily asked, watching Poppy and the bewildered pigeon, which seemed to see the world at a 340degree angle.
Why have you brought all this trouble? The whole pavement is now a mess, snarled the building caretaker, as loud as a boiling kettle.
Lets head home, Emily nudged the girl toward the lift. Is your dad there?
Hes inside.
Should we tell him were here?
No need, Emily smiled, noticing the sadness in the childs eyes. Were here for another reason. Write the letter; Ill wait for you on the landing.
Poppy smiled and slipped back into the flat. Five minutes later she emerged with a bundle of thread in her hands.
Shh Emily placed a finger to her lips, pointing at the pigeon perched on the windowsill. Poppys eyes sparkled with excitement.
Emily offered the bird a handful of seeds; it pecked delicately, one by one. When the pigeon finally relaxed, Emily tried to catch it, but it was quicker than she was. Instead of flying away, it swooped straight at her, flapping wildly, claws raking her face. Emily scrambled across the landing, trying to shake it off while neighbours began to peek, laughter and curses breaking the silence.
For the next ten minutes Emily dabbed herself and half the corridor with wet wipes. The pigeon eventually fluttered back to the window and, from that day on, never trusted humans again. Poppy slipped back into her flat, emerging with a bucket of water and a mop.
Thatll be faster, she said, smacking the floor with the mop. The air filled with the smell of damp stone.
Poppy, where are you going? Andrews puzzled voice called from the doorway, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement as he watched his daughter and Emily cleaning the hallway. Whats this about?
No more questions, Emily winked.
Yeah, Dad, you dont need to know everything, Poppy muttered.
Alright, I get it, Andrew shut the door.
You know, I was wondering why were catching them. There are proper pigeon lofts where professional carrier birds live, not freelance freeloaders, Emily said once the cleaning was done.
Seriously? Why didnt you say that before?
I just forgot. Its been ages since I mailed a letter to the sky.
Can we visit them? Please! Poppy bounced, impatient.
We can, but only tomorrow. Ill pick you up after work, okay?
Yay! she squealed.
That evening Emily phoned Andrew, spilling the whole plan.
Do you think its a good idea? When she grows up and understands, she might hold a grudge for the deception.
Youre right. If Id been told the truth from the start, Id have gone mad.
Exactly. Will you be there tomorrow?
Yes, I think well manage. Shes clever; Id love to talk to her.
Thanks.
***
The next day Emily collected Poppy and they took a taxi to the pigeon loft.
Wow, theyre so white and beautiful, Poppy cooed, eyes wide at the flock. 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.
The only thing that matters is the correct postcode, Emily reminded her.
I wrote our home address; its duplicated, right? And I added who the daughter is, so the angels dont mix it up, Poppy said seriously.
Thank you very much, Emily handed money to the keeper as they tied the note to the pigeons leg and released it skyward.
No problem, the man muttered, wiping a tear from his sleeve, securing the cash and closing the cage.
Thank you, Emily, Poppy hugged the woman.
Emily simply patted the girls head.
Two days later Andrew called.
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 shook Emily so much she left work early, forgetting to save the project shed been drafting all day, and accidentally deleted it when she shut down her computer.
She rushed up to the flat, rang the doorbell, and Andrew opened it.
Poppys out playing with the neighbours boy in the courtyard. She left a letter on the table, probably shy to hand it over herself.
Emily entered, took the crumpled paper, and read the childs shaky handwriting:
Thank you, dear, for the letter. I miss you and love you very much. I think about you and Dad every day. I saw Emily; shes nice. She isnt your mum, but you could be friends. Id like that. Love, Mum.
A lump rose in Emilys throat; the ink smeared as her tears fell.
She understands, Andrew said, coming up behind her and pulling her into an embrace.
Emily nodded, unable to hold back sobs.
I always thought I needed to find her a mother, but she just needed a friend, because she already has a mum,
I never wanted to overstep, Emily whispered, glancing out the window at a pigeon perched on the sill, as if listening, ready to carry the story to the heavens.
And in that moment she realised that love isnt about filling empty spaces with new roles, but about honoring the ties that already exist. The pigeons soft coo reminded her that patience, honesty, and a willing heart can bridge any gapno matter how high the sky.
