Dad, please dont come over any more! Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and she keeps on crying until morning.
I fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep again, and shes still sobbing. I ask her, Mum, are you crying because of Dad?
She says she isnt crying; shes just sniffling because she has a cold. Im old enough to know a cold doesnt make your voice sound like its leaking tears.
Mark sits at a little table in a teashop with his sixyearold daughter Blythe, stirring his coffee with a tiny spoon in a tiny white mug thats already gone cold.
Blythe doesnt even touch the icecream in front of her. It sits in a glass bowl like a piece of art: multicoloured truffles topped with a green leaf and a cherry, all drizzled in chocolate. Any child her age would be drawn to it, but Blythe has been quiet since last Friday, when she decided she needed a serious talk with her dad.
Mark remains silent for a long while, then finally asks:
What are we going to do, love? Not see each other at all? How am I supposed to live then?
Blythe twitches her noseher nose is as cute as Mums, a little buttonshapedthen answers:
No, Dad. I cant be without you either. Heres what well do: call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday.
Well go for a walk, and if you want coffee or icecream we can sit in a café. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I live together.
She pauses, thinks for a minute, then adds:
And if you want to see Mum, Ill record her on my phone each week and show you the videos. Sound good?
Mark looks at his clever daughter, smiles faintly and nods:
Alright, thats how well live from now on, sweetheart.
Blythe lets out a relieved sigh and finally reaches for her icecream. The conversation isnt over yet; she still has the most important thing to say. When the colourful truffles sit against her nose, she licks the little whiskers that have formed, then becomes serious, almost adultlike.
Almost a woman, she thinks about caring for her husband someday, even if hell be olderMarks birthday was just last week. Blythe had drawn him a big 28 on a card at nursery, colouring it carefully.
Her face turns solemn, she furrows her brows and says:
I think you should get married.
She adds, with a generous lie:
Youre not that old yet.
Mark chuckles at his daughters goodwill gesture and replies:
Youll also say Im not that old.
Blythe continues enthusiastically:
Not that old! Uncle Robert, whos visited Mum twice already, is even a bit balding. See here
She smooths her soft curls over the top of her hand, then realises, after Marks sharp stare, that shes revealed Mums secret.
She presses both hands to her mouth, widens her eyes, a look of horror and confusion crossing her face.
Uncle Robert? Which Uncle Robert keeps dropping by? Is he Mums boss? Mark says loudly enough for the whole teashop to hear.
I dont know, Dad Blythe stammers, taken aback by his sudden outburst. Maybe hes the boss. He brings me sweets and a cake for everyone.
And also, Blythe weighs whether to share the secret with her dad, who seems a bit unreasonable, Mums flowers.
Mark interlocks his fingers on the table and watches them for a long moment. Blythe sees that, right this minute, he is making a very important decision in his life.
She waits patiently, not rushing him with conclusions. She already suspects that men can be setintheirways and need a gentle push from the women they love most.
Mark stays silent, then finally sighs loudly, lifts his head and says If Blythe were a little older she would have recognised the tone, reminiscent of Othellos tragic question to Desdemona.
But she doesnt know Othello or Desdemona or any of those great lovers; shes simply gathering life experience, watching people laugh and worry over little things.
So Mark says:
Lets go, love. Its late; Ill take you home and talk to Mum on the way.
What he plans to discuss with Mum, Blythe doesnt ask, but she knows its important and keeps eating her icecream.
She then realises that what Mark is about to decide outweighs even the tastiest icecream, so she thrusts her spoon onto the table, slides off her seat, wipes her sticky lips with the back of her hand, sniffs, looks straight at her dad and says:
Im ready. Lets go.
They dont walk home; they almost run. Mark rushes ahead, but he holds Blythes hand, and she flutters like a flag.
When they burst into the lift lobby, the elevator doors close slowly, taking a neighbour up a floor. Mark looks a little baffled at Blythe, who then looks up and asks:
So? What are we waiting for? Who are we expecting? Were only on the seventh floor.
Mark scoops Blythe up in his arms and darts up the stairs.
When his longstanding nerves finally soothe and Mum opens the door, Mark starts straight away:
You cant do that! Whos this Robert? I love you, and we have Blythe
He doesnt let go of his daughter, pulls Mum into a hug, and Blythe wraps both of them around the neck, closing her eyes because the adults are now kissing.
Thats how a little girl can soothe two bewildered adults who love each other, love her, and cling to their pride and old hurts.
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