Dad, dont come round any more! Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and she doesnt stop until morning.
I fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep again, and shes still weeping. I ask her, Mum, why are you crying? Is it because of Dad?
She says she isnt crying, just sniffling because she has a cold. Im old enough to know a cold never sounds like a sob.
George sits at a tiny table in a little café in Covent Garden with his sixyearold daughter, Poppy. He stirs his coffee with a spoon in a microscopic white mug thats already gone cold.
Poppy doesnt even touch her icecream, though in front of her sits a little work of art: multicoloured truffles capped with a green leaf and a cherry, all drenched in chocolate.
Any other sixyearold would be drooling, but not Poppy. She seemed to have decided last Friday to have a serious talk with her father.
George stays silent for a long while, then finally asks,
So what are we to do, love? Stop seeing each other altogether? How would I live then?
Poppy wrinkles her nose, which looks just like Mumsslightly potatoshapedand thinks before answering,
No, Dad. I cant live without you either. Lets work this out. Call Mum and say youll pick me up from nursery every Friday.
Well go for a walk, and if you want coffee or icecream we can sit in the café. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I live together.
She pauses, then adds a minute later,
And if you want to see Mum, Ill record her on my phone each week and show you the footage. Want that?
George looks at his thoughtful daughter, smiles a little and nods,
Alright, thats how well do it, love
Poppy sighs with relief and finally reaches for her icecream. She still has a line left to say, though, so when the coloured truffles leave little whiskers on her nose, she licks them clean and becomes serious again, almost grownup.
Almost a woman, she thinks about caring for her husband someday, even if hes already oldGeorge had his birthday last week. She drew a huge 68 on a card for him in nursery, colouring it carefully.
Her face turns serious, she furrows her brows and says,
I think you should get married
She adds, with a generous stretch of the truth,
Youre not that old yet.
George evaluates his daughters goodwill gesture and chuckles,
Youd also say not that
Poppy, full of enthusiasm, continues,
Not that, not that! Look, Uncle Simon, whos visited Mum twice already, even a little balding Here
She lifts her hand, smoothing her soft curls, then realises, after Georges sharp stare, that shes spilled Mums secret.
She presses both palms to her mouth, widens her eyes, a mix of horror and confusion.
Uncle Simon? Which Uncle Simon keeps dropping by? The one whos Mums boss? George says, almost loudly, half the café hearing him.
I dont know, Dad Poppy stammers, taken aback. Maybe hes the boss. He brings me sweets and a cake for everyone.
And also, Poppy hesitates whether to share such a private detail with her dad, especially one who seems a bit erratic, Mums flowers.
George interlaces his fingers on the table, staring at them for a long time. Poppy understands that right now, right this instant, hes making a very important decision.
So the young woman waits, not rushing him with conclusions. She already suspects that all men are setintheirways and need a gentle nudge, preferably from one of the most cherished women in their lives.
George remains silent, then finally exhales loudly, lifts his head and says If Poppy were a little older, shed recognise the tone as the one Othello uses when asking Desdemona a tragic question.
But she doesnt know Othello or Desdemona or any of those famous lovers. Shes just gathering life experience, watching people rejoice and suffer over small things.
George finally says,
Lets go, love. Its late, Ill take you home and then speak with Mum.
What he intends to discuss with Mum, Poppy doesnt ask, but she realises its important and keeps eating her icecream.
She then sees that what George 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. George is the one sprinting, but he holds Poppys hand, and she waves it like a flag.
When they burst into the lift lobby, the doors close slowly, carrying a neighbour up the shaft. George looks bewildered at Poppy, who looks up at him and asks,
So? Why are we waiting? Who are we expecting? Were only on the seventh floor
George scoops his daughter into his arms and darts up the stairs.
When the lift finally opens and Mum appears, George jumps straight into his speech:
You cant do that! Which Simon are you talking about? I love you, and we have Poppy
He doesnt let go of his daughter, pulls Mum into an embrace, and Poppy wraps both of them around the neck, closes her eyes because the adults are kissing.
Thats how it goes sometimes: two bewildered grownups are soothed by a little girl who loves them both, and they love her and each other, but they cling to pride and old hurts.
What do you think about all this? Let us know in the comments and give it a like.
