Dad, please dont turn up here any more. Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and she doesnt stop until the morning.
Ill fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep again, and shes still bawling. I ask her, Mum, why are you crying? Is it because of Dad?
She says shes not crying, just sniffling because shes got a cold. Im old enough to know a cold doesnt sound like someones sobbing.
Tom Harper was sitting at a little table in a café in Camden with his sixyearold daughter, Blythe, stirring his coffee with a tiny spoon in a tiny white mug that had already gone cold.
Blythe didnt even touch her ice lolly, even though in front of her sat a little masterpiece: rainbowcoloured candy balls covered with a green leaf and a cherry, all drenched in chocolate. Any other kid would have dived right in, but Blythe had been quiet since last Friday shed decided it was time for a proper chat with Dad.
Tom stayed silent for a long while, then finally said,
So what are we going to do, love? Stop seeing each other completely? How am I supposed to live then?
Blythe wrinkled her nose its the same adorable shape Mum has, just a bit potatoshaped and replied,
No, Dad. I cant live without you either. Heres what well do: you call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday. Well go for a walk, and if you want a coffee or an ice lolly we can sit in the café. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I get on.
She thought for a second, then added,
And if you want to see Mum, Ill film her on my phone each week and show you the clips. Sound good?
Tom gave her a small smile, nodded and said,
Alright, thatll be our plan, sweetheart.
Blythe let out a sigh of relief and finally picked up her lolly. She still had a few words to say, though, and as she brushed the colourful candy bits from her nose, she licked them off and went back to looking grownup, almost like a young woman who already has to think about caring for a man even if that mans a bit older.
Last week Tom turned thirtyeight, so Blythe had drawn him a big 38 card at nursery, all carefully coloured in.
She pulled her eyebrows together, looked serious and said,
I think you should get married.
She added, with a generous stretch of the truth,
Youre not that old yet.
Tom chuckled at the kindhearted suggestion and muttered,
Youll say Im not that old too?
Blythe, enthusiastic as ever, continued,
Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Simon, whos been over mums place twice already, even a bit balding
She smoothed the soft curl at the back of her hand, then caught Toms sharp gaze. She knew shed just let slip a secret Mum had kept.
She pressed both hands to her mouth, widened her eyes in a mix of horror and bewilderment and asked,
Uncle Simon? Which Simon are you talking about? The one whos always dropping by? Is he Mums boss?
Tom, almost shouting across the whole café, replied,
I I dont know.
Blythe, suddenly unsure whether to spill the secret to a dad who seemed a little unsteady, whispered,
He brings us sweets and cake sometimes.
She hesitated about sharing the news with Mums flowers, too.
Toms fingers, clasped on the table, stayed still for a long moment. Blythe realised he was about to make a big decision right then and there.
She waited, not hurrying him with conclusions. Shed already guessed that most men are set in their ways and need a nudge and who better to give that push than a woman, especially one who means a lot to him.
After a long silence Tom finally sighed, lifted his head and said, If you were a bit older youd understand the tone Im using, the way Othello asks Desdemona his tragic question.
Blythe hadnt heard of Othello or Desdemona, but she knew life was about watching people love and struggle over the little things.
So Tom said,
Lets go, love. Its getting late, Ill take you home and Ill have a word with Mum.
Blythe didnt ask what hed talk about, just felt it was important, and kept eating her lolly.
She then realised that what Tom was about to do mattered more than any tasty treat, so she jabbed her spoon onto the table, slid off her seat, wiped the back of her hand across her lips, gave a little sniff and, looking straight at her dad, said,
Im ready. Lets go.
They didnt walk home; they practically ran. Tom was the one sprinting, holding Blythes hand so tightly she felt like a flag waving.
When they burst into the lift, the doors closed slowly, taking a neighbour up a floor. Tom glanced at Blythe, a bit flustered, then she looked up and asked,
So? What are we waiting for? Who are we expecting? Were only on the seventh floor.
Tom scooped her up and rushed up the stairs.
When Mum finally opened the door, Tom blurted out,
You cant do that! Whos this Simon? I love you, and we have Blythe
He hugged Mum without letting go of Blythe, and Blythe wrapped her arms around both their necks, closing her eyes because they were kissing.
Thats how it goes sometimes two grownups, a bit muddled, get a little rescue from a sixyearold who loves them both, and they love her in return, though pride and old hurts linger.
What do you think about all that? Drop a comment and hit like.
