Father, please dont come to us any more! Whenever you leave, Mother starts weeping, and she cries until the morning, I heard the little voice say. Ill fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep again, and wake again, and shell still be wailing. I asked her, Mum, why are you crying? Is it because of Father?
She answered that she wasnt crying at all, merely blowing her nose because of a cold. By then I was old enough to know that a cold never makes one sob with a voice full of tears.
Father James sat with his daughter at a table in a modest tea shop in Camden, stirring his coffee with a tiny silver spoon in a white cup that had long since gone cold.
His little girl, Evelyn, never even touched the sundae before her. In the porcelain bowl beside it lay a miniature masterpiece: rainbowcoloured truffles, each capped with a fresh mint leaf and a single cherry, all glistening with a thin veil of chocolate.
Any sixyearold would have swooned at such a sight, but not Evelyn. She had, as far back as the previous Friday, decided it was time for a serious chat with her father.
James stayed silent for a long while, then finally spoke:
So, what shall we do, my dear? Should we stop seeing each other entirely? How am I to live then?
Evelyn crinkled her tiny noseso sweet, just like Mothersthought a moment, and replied:
No, Father. I cant live without you either. Lets make a pact. Call Mother and tell her youll collect me from the nursery every Friday. Well go for a walk, and if you fancy a coffee or an icecream we can sit in the shop. Ill tell you everything about how Mother and I live.
She paused, then continued after a beat:
And if you ever want to see Mother, Ill record her on my phone each week and show you the pictures. Does that sound good?
James looked at his wise little girl, smiled faintly, and gave a nod:
Very well, that shall be our way, my love.
Evelyn exhaled a sigh of relief and finally reached for her sundae. Yet she wasnt finished. As the coloured truffles left a faint imprint on the tip of her nose, she licked them clean, grew solemn, and spoke in a tone almost adult, almost womanly.
She was almost a woman herself, thinking of the man she would one day care for, even if that man were already in his twilight years. Just last week Fathers birthday had passed, and Evelyn had drawn a card for him at nursery, carefully colouring a large 28.
Her face grew serious again, eyebrows knitting together, and she said:
I think you ought to think about marriage
She added, with a generous stretch of the truth:
Youre not that old yet, are you?
Father chuckled at his daughters goodnatured gesture.
Youll say not that old too, wont you?
Evelyn, full of enthusiasm, went on:
Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Harold, who has visited Mother twice already, even a little balding Right here
She raised her hand, smoothing the soft curl of hair at her fingertips. Then, as James tightened his gaze, she realised she had let slip a secret her mother had kept.
She pressed both hands to her lips, widened her eyes, a picture of terror and bewilderment.
Uncle Harold? Which Uncle Harold keeps coming round? Is he Mothers boss? James blurted, his voice echoing through the whole tea shop.
I dont know, Father Evelyn stammered, flustered by the sudden outburst. Maybe he is a boss. He brings me sweets and a cake for everyone.
She hesitated, weighing whether to reveal such a delicate matter to a father who could be, in her mind, rather unsteady. She thought of the flowers Mother kept for the house.
James, fingers interlaced on the table, stared at them for a long time. Evelyn sensed that at that very moment he was wrestling with a decision of great import.
She, a young woman in waiting, did not rush him with conclusions. She already suspected, perhaps correctly, that many men are set in their ways and need gentle nudging toward the right path. And who better to give that nudge than the woman who holds a cherished place in his heart?
James stayed mute, then, with a heavy sigh, lifted his head and spoke, his tone oddly reminiscent of the tragic lines uttered by Shakespeares heroes.
Lets go, my dear. Its late; Ill take you home, and Ill speak with Mother then.
What he intended to discuss with Mother, Evelyn never asked, but she understood it was serious. She hastily finished her sundae.
She realised that whatever weight James was about to lift was far heavier than even the most delicious icecream. With a swift motion she jabbed her spoon onto the table, wiped the sticky crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand, gave a little sniff, and, looking straight at her father, said:
Im ready. Lets go.
They didnt stroll home; they nearly ran. James hurried up the stairs, clutching Evelyns hand so tightly she felt like a flag waving in the wind.
When they burst into the lift, its doors creaked shut, carrying a neighbour up to the next floor. James glanced at Evelyn, bewildered, and she, looking up, asked:
So? What are we waiting for? Who are we expecting? Were only on the seventh floor
James scooped his daughter onto his shoulders and bolted up the stairwell.
When at last Mother opened the door, James launched into his plea:
You cant do that! Which Harold are you talking about? I love you, and we have Evelyn
Without letting go, he embraced Mother, while Evelyn wrapped both of them around their necks and closed her eyes, for the adults were now locked in a tender kiss.
Thus it was that two bewildered grownups found solace in the love of a little girl who adored them both, and they, in turn, loved her, each other, and their pride.
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