Dont come back, Father, she whispered, as if the words could stitch the night together. When you leave, Mum starts weeping, and she cries till dawn. I fall asleep, wake, fall asleep again, and shes still sobbing. I asked her, Mum, why are you crying? Because of you? She snorted, saying it was just a runny nose, but I knew a sniffle never sounds like a river of tears.
In a cramped tearoom on the high street, David sat opposite his sixyearold daughter, Poppy, stirring a cooled latte with a minuscule silver spoon in a dainty white cup. In front of her, a porcelain bowl held a miniature masterpiece: jewelcoloured spheres capped with a tiny green leaf and a cherry, all slick with chocolate. Any child would have lunged at it, but Poppys eyes were fixed elsewhere; the previous Friday she had decided it was time for a serious talk with her dad.
David lingered in silence, the clatter of teaspoons echoing like distant clockticks, before finally breaking the hush.
What shall we do, love? Stop seeing each other? How am I to live without you? he asked, his voice trembling like a loose thread.
Poppy lifted her buttonnosejust a shade of potatoskinned, like her mothersand thought for a heartbeat before answering.
No, Father. I cant be without you either. Heres what well do: call Mum and tell her youll collect me from nursery every Friday. Well wander together; if you fancy a coffee or an icecream she gestured at the bowl, we can sit here in the café. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I get on.
She paused, her forehead crinkling, then added, And if you ever want to see Mum, Ill film her on my phone each week and show you the pictures. Does that sound good?
David gave her a small, approving smile, nodding. Alright, thatll be our new way, then, my girl.
Relief washed over Poppy; she sighed, then turned back to her untouched dessert. Yet the conversation was not yet finished. As the colourful sprinkles on her nosetiny, vivid whiskerstwitched, she licked them clean, her face settling into a solemn, almost adult expression. She was becoming a lady who would one day tend to her own man, even if that man were already old. A week earlier, David had celebrated his twentyeight birthday, and Poppy had drawn a huge 28 on a card in the nursery, colouring it with careful strokes.
Her brows knitted, she declared, I think you should get married She added with a generous lie, Youre not that old yet, after all.
David chuckled at the goodwill of his daughters suggestion. Youll say Im not that old too, he teased.
Poppys enthusiasm surged. Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Simon, whos visited Mum twice alreadyhes even a bit bald now. She touched her forehead, smoothing her soft curls with a tiny hand, mimicking a thoughtful pose as Davids eyes narrowed, as if shed unintentionally spilled a family secret. Both hands pressed to her lips, eyes widened in feigned horror and bewilderment.
Uncle Simon? Which Simon has been dropping by? Davids voice rose, filling the little café. Is he Mums boss or what?
II dont know, Poppy stammered, startled by his sudden outburst. Maybe hes a manager. He brings sweets, a cake for everyone and, um, Mums flowers. She hesitated, weighing whether to reveal such treasured details to a father she sometimes found inadequate.
David clasped his fingers together on the table, staring at them for a long moment. He sensed that, in that very instant, he was on the brink of a decision that would shape his life. Poppy, sensing the weight of his contemplation, waited patiently, understanding that men often needed a gentle nudge toward the right choiceespecially from a woman as cherished as she was.
Silence stretched, then David finally exhaled, loosening his knuckles, lifting his head, and speaking in a tone that might have been lifted from a tragic Shakespearean soliloquy, though Poppy knew nothing of such plays. She was simply gathering the fragments of life, watching people laugh and ache over petty things.
So, he said, lets go, love. Its late; Ill take you home and have a word with Mum.
Poppy didnt ask what he intended to discuss; she sensed its importance. She resumed eating her icecream, but as the spoon clattered against the porcelain, she realised his decision outweighed even the most delicious treat. With a swift flick, she tossed the spoon aside, slid off her chair, wiped the chocolate from her lips with the back of her hand, and, looking straight at David, declared, Im ready. Lets go.
They didnt walk home; they sprinted. David ran, holding Poppys hand tightly, as if she were a flag fluttering from a lance, like a banner held aloft by a gallant knight charging into battle.
When they barreled into the lift shaft, the doors sighed shut, whisking a neighbour upward into the dim void. David glanced bewildered at Poppy, who stared up from the floor to the ceiling, then, resolute, asked, And now? What are we waiting for? There are only seven floors, after all.
David lifted her onto his shoulders and bolted up the stairs. When he finally reached the landing, and his motherMum Sarahthrew open the door, he burst out, his voice cracking.
You cant act like this! Whos Simon? I love you, and we havePoppy
He then wrapped his arms around both Sarah and Poppy, drawing them close. Poppy clung to both of them, squeezing her eyes shut, as if the world of adults were a strange, tender kiss in the midst of a bewildering dream.
