28October2025
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning with the heavy feeling that has settled over the house since Father stopped coming home. Dad, please dont come back, I whispered to Mother, because when you leave she starts to weep. She cries all night, and I hear her sobbing until the sunrise. I ask her, Mum, are you crying because of Dad? and she says shes not crying, just blowing her nose because of a cold. But Im old enough to know a cold never makes the sound of tears.
Later, Father and I were sitting at a little café in Camden, stirring the alreadycooled coffee in a tiny white mug with a miniature spoon. In front of me sat a sundaebright coloured marshmallows under a leaf of mint and a cherry, all drizzled with chocolate. Any sixyearold would have dived straight in, but I, Poppy, held my spoon untouched. Last Friday Id decided it was time for a serious talk with him.
He was quiet for a long while before he finally asked, What are we going to do, love? Should we stop seeing each other completely? How will I get on without you?
I crinkled my nosejust like Mothers, a little potatoshapedand thought before replying, No, Dad. I cant be without you either. Lets make a plan. Call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday. If you feel like having a coffee or a sundae together, we can sit here. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I live.
I paused, then added, And if you ever want to check on Mum, Ill film her on my phone each week and send you the clips. Does that sound alright?
Father gave me a small smile, nodded and said, Alright, thats how well do it, then. I exhaled a sigh of relief and turned back to my sundae. Yet my mind wasnt done. The rainbowcoloured sprinkles on my nose made little moustaches, which I licked off before I became serious again, almost adultlike, almost a woman who must look after her maneven if that man is already getting on in years. Fathers birthday had been last week; Id drawn him a card at nursery, carefully colouring a huge 28 in bold ink.
My face grew solemn, my eyebrows knitted, and I said, I think you should think about marrying I added, trying to sound generous, Youre not that old yet, are you?
He chuckled, Youd say Im not that old too
I pressed on enthusiastically, Not that old, not that old! Uncle Simon, whos visited Mum twice already, is even a bit bald. Look I tapped my forehead, smoothing my soft curls with a fingertip, then pretended to understand when Father stared sharply at me, as if I had just spilled Mums secret. My hands went to my mouth, eyes widened, hoping to convey shock and confusion.
Fathers voice rose a little, echoing through the café, Uncle Simon? What uncle is that, showing up so often? Is he Mums boss?
I dont know, I stammered, suddenly nervous. Maybe hes the boss. He brings us sweets, cakes and sometimes, Mum gets flowers.
Father clasped his hands on the table, staring at them for a long moment. I sensed he was about to make a very important decision at that very instant. He didnt rush me; he seemed to wait for a young woman to nudge a man towards the right choice. Ive always thought men are a bit slow on the uptake, and its up to the womenespecially the ones they love mostto steer them.
Silence stretched, then Father finally exhaled loudly, unfurled his fingers, lifted his head and said something that sounded almost Shakespearean, the way Othello might have spoken to Desdemona. I hadnt learned those plays yet, but the weight of his words settled over me like a lesson in life, watching people love and suffer over trivial things.
He finally said, Come on, love. Its late; Ill take you home and speak to Mum. I didnt ask what he would say to her, but I knew it mattered. I hurried to finish my sundae, then, feeling the gravity of his decision outweighed even the sweetest treat, I flung my spoon onto the table, slid off my chair, wiped my sticky lips with the back of my hand, sneezed politely, and looked straight at him, saying, Im ready. Lets go.
We didnt walk home; we almost ran. Father was the one sprinting, but he held my hand tight, and I felt like a flag waving high, as if a proud lord were leading his men into battle at Austerlitz.
When we barreled into the flats hallway, the lift doors barely closed, taking a neighbours parcel up with a soft thud. Father glanced at me, slightly bewildered. I stared back, from the ground up, and asked, So? What are we waiting for? Which floor? Were only on the seventh, after all.
He scooped me up, and we bolted up the stairs. When Mother finally opened the door, Father launched straight into it: You cant do this! Whos Simon? I love you, and we havePoppy He wrapped both Mother and me in a fierce hug, and I clung to them, closing my eyes, because the adults were kissing each other in the doorway.
Thats all for tonight. I feel a strange mix of relief and apprehension, but I think today a small piece of our familys puzzle finally fit together.
Poppy.
