“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you on this bus,” says the bus driver. He smells like an old person, and doesn’t take his eyes off Marnie’s chest while he speaks.

“Please, I need to get to London!” Marnie begs.

“If you can’t pay the fare, I can’t let you on,” he says matter-of-factly.

“All I have is £5,” she looks down sadly at the crumpled notes in her hand.

The bus driver won’t budge, but he does drive off. Marnie’ll have to walk. Good thing it isn’t raining. She’s hardly slept and she’s running on fumes, still feeling that sick sensation of looking out the window and realising you’ve stayed up till sunrise. She can’t complain. Mum is much worse.

Marnie got the call last night. She knew what it was before she even answered.

“How bad is it?” she’d sounded like a zombie.

“You should probably take the first bus to London in the morning,” the nurse had replied.

At least she was still there. Deep in medical sleep, but still alive. Marnie could still say goodbye.

She arrives at the hospital and her legs carry her through the doors. Most of the staff know her by name at this point, and they simply guide her to her mom’s bedside. It’s almost midday now.

“Hey mum,” Marnie says tearily, “sorry I’m late.”

Her mum’s eyes flutter open. The painkillers are wearing off.

“It’s okay, love,” her mum’s voice is raspy, “Oh! You bought me lilies. My favourite flower.” The old woman smiles upon noticing the bouquet.

“I wish I could’ve gotten more,” Marnie kisses her mum’s forehead, “but all I had was £5.”