Dont come round here any more, Dad, I told him, wiping away the tears that always seemed to start when he left. Mum would wail all the way until the sunrise, and Id drift off, wake up, drift off again, and each time Mum would still be sobbing. Id ask, Mum, are you crying because of Dad? and shed sniffle, insisting it was just a cold. Im old enough to know a cold never sounds like a sobbing chorus.
Later, Dad sat at a little table in a cosy tea shop with his sixyearold daughter, Pippa, stirring the cooling coffee in a dainty white cup with a teenytiny spoon. Pippa didnt even touch the icecream in front of her a masterpiece of rainbow sprinkles, a green leaf and a cherry, all drizzled in chocolate, sitting in a tiny glass dome. Any other sixyearold would have dived right in, but Pippa had, since last Friday, decided it was time for a serious chat with her dad.
Dad kept his mouth shut for ages, then finally said,
What’s the plan, love? Do we just stop seeing each other? How am I supposed to go on like this?
Pippa pinched her cute little nose a perfect little button like Mums, a smidge potatoshaped and thought a moment before answering,
No, Dad. I cant live 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 fancy a coffee or a lick of icecream (she gave a sideways glance at her glass dome), we can sit in the shop. Ill fill you in on everything Mum and I get up to.
She paused, then added,
And if you ever want a peek at Mum, Ill film her on my phone each week and send you the snaps. Sound good?
Dad gave her a faint smile, nodded and said,
Alright, thats how well do it, then, sweetheart
Pippa let out a relieved sigh and tackled her icecream. But she wasnt done. She twirled the colourful sprinkles that now looked like tiny moustaches on her nose, licked them, and suddenly adopted a serious, almost adult air. Shed even drawn a big 28 on a card at nursery for Dads birthday last week, the one hed turned twentyeight.
Her face hardened, eyebrows knit, and she declared,
I think you ought to get married.
She sweettalked herself a bit, adding,
After all, youre not that old yet
Dad chuckled at her goodnatured push,
Youll call it not that old, will you?
Pippa beamed,
Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Steve, whos dropped by Mum twice already, is even a bit balding. See?
She pointed at her own forehead, smoothing her soft curls with a palm. Then she stared straight into Dads eyes, as if shed unintentionally spilled Mums secret, and pressed both hands to her mouth, eyes widening in mock horror.
Uncle Steve? Whats this Uncle Steve you speak of? Mums boss? he shouted, halfloud enough for the whole tea shop to hear.
I dont know, Dad maybe hes a boss. He brings us sweets, a cake for everyone and Pippa hesitated, wondering whether to unload this juicy gossip on a father she deemed a bit eccentric, especially when Mum had just sent him a bouquet.
Dad intertwined his fingers on the table, stared at them, and suddenly seemed to be making a lifechanging decision right then and there. Meanwhile, the little lady knew, or at least guessed, that men are often slow on the uptake and need a gentle nudge preferably from a beloved daughter.
Silence stretched. At last, Dad let out a theatrical sigh, spread his fingers wide, lifted his head and spoke. If Pippa were a touch older she might have caught the tragic Shakespearean tone of his words, but she didnt know Othello or Desdemona yet; she was still gathering life lessons from the world around her.
So, love, its getting late. Ill take you home and have a word with Mum.
Pippa didnt pry for details, but sensed it mattered, and hurriedly finished her icecream. Realising what Dad was about to decide outweighed even the best scoop, she flung her spoon onto the table, slid off her chair, wiped her sticky lips with the back of her hand, sniffed, and, looking straight at Dad, declared,
Im ready. Lets go.
They didnt stroll; they practically ran Dad leading, Pippa clutching his hand like a flag fluttering in a breezy battle, reminiscent of a noble standard being carried into charge.
When they burst into the stairwell, the lift doors closed slowly, whisking a neighbour away to the upper flats. Dad glanced down at Pippa, puzzled, and she, from bottom to top, asked,
Well? What now? Who are we waiting for? This is only the seventh floor
Dad scooped her up and bolted up the stairs.
At last, Mum flung the front door open. Dad lunged forward, hands out,
You cant do that! Whos this Steve? I love you, and we have Pippa
He kept Pippa in his arms, then wrapped Mum in the same embrace. Pippa slipped her arms around both of them, shut her eyes, and watched the adults kiss.
And that, dear reader, is how a sixyearolds earnest scheming can turn a familys ordinary evening into a slightly chaotic, lovingly absurd drama.