Dear Diary,
This evening I sat with Father at a little café on the high street of Bath, stirring the remaining coffee in a tiny white mug that had gone cold long ago. Mother was home, her eyes red from the tears that seemed to start as soon as I left the door each morning. I often wondered why she weptwas it because of Fathers absence? She would tell me she wasnt crying at all, just clearing her nose from a cold, but I knew a runny nose never sounds like sobbing.
I, now six, had been offered a bowl of vanilla icecream, but I didnt touch it. In front of me sat a tiny masterpiece: colourful truffles capped with a fresh mint leaf and a cherry, all drizzled in chocolate. Any other little girl would have swooned, yet Id decided, ever since last Friday, that I needed a serious talk with Father.
He sat silent for a long while, then finally said, What shall we do, love? Should we stop seeing each other altogether? How will I get on without you? I wrinkled my nose, which, like Mothers, is a little buttonshaped, and replied, No, Daddy. I cant live without you either. Lets make a plan. Call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from the nursery every Friday. Then we can walk together, have a coffee or an icecream, and Ill tell her how were getting on.
A moment later I added, If you want to see Mum, Ill film her on my phone each week and send you the footage. Does that sound alright? Father smiled, gave a small nod, and said, Very well, my dear, that shall be our new arrangement.
Relief washed over me and I finally took a bite of my icecream. Yet I wasnt finished. The colourful truffles had left little whiskers on my nose, which I licked off before turning seriously, almost adultlike.
I thought of Fathers birthday, which had been last week. At nursery I had painted a huge 28 on a card for him, colouring it carefully. My face set, I said, I think you ought to think about marriage soon. I added, halfjoking, Youre not that old yet, are you? He chuckled, You could say Im not very old either
I went on, Uncle Sergeyyes, that Sergey whos visited Mum twice already, a bit baldingwhat about him? I lifted my hand, smoothing my soft curls, and I could see the puzzlement flicker in Fathers eyes when he realized Id just spilled Mums secret.
I pressed both hands to my lips, widened my eyes in a mix of terror and confusion, and asked, Uncle Sergey? Who is this Uncle Sergey who comes to visit? Is he Mums boss? Father, his voice raised just enough to be heard across the café, replied, I dont know. I swallowed my own surprise and whispered, Maybe hes a boss. He brings us sweets and cake.
I hesitated, considering whether to share Mommys flowers with him, but Father clasped his fingers on the table and stared at them, deep in thought. I sensed he was about to make a very important decision.
I waited, not hurrying him, because I know men can be stubborn and need a gentle nudgeespecially the man I love most. When he finally spoke, his tone reminded me of some tragic Shakespearean line Id never read, but the gravity was clear.
He said, Come on, love. Its getting late. Ill take you home and speak to Mum then. I didnt ask what he would say, but I knew it mattered, so I kept eating my icecream.
Soon the weight of his upcoming conversation outweighed even the most delicious treat. I thrust my spoon onto the table, wiped the chocolate off my lips with the back of my hand, and, looking straight at him, declared, Im ready. Lets go.
We didnt walk home; we almost ran. Father hurried ahead, but he held my hand tightly, and I felt like a flag waving proudly. When we reached the lift, its doors creaked shut, and a neighbours voice drifted up from above. I looked up, annoyed, and asked, What now? Who are we waiting for? Its only the seventh floor.
Father scooped me up and raced up the stairs. When Mum finally opened the flat door, he burst out, You cant do that! Who is this Sergei you keep mentioning? I love you, and we have little Olivia. He tightened his arms around Mum, and I hugged both of them around their necks, closing my eyes as they kissed.
In that moment I realised how a small child can soothe two bewildered adults, each loving the other, each clinging to pride and old hurts. And I, armed with my little icecream bowl and a pocketfull of secrets, felt a little taller than before.
Olivia.
