she called out a dog and two horses to his solitary fish. “Oh, that’s so unfair!” he groaned, a minute later. “Look at all those cows! That’s, uh, 98–3 to you.” She giggled at his plucked-from-the-air number but kept concentrating. She didn’t miss a trick, with her heart-shaped, pixie face and shining blue eyes and the same out-of-control curly hair as her dad’s. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. It wasn’t clear who was more snuggled into whom. I knew how she would smell to him: not
what
she would smell like, but
how
, to
him
, her father. “Let’s play again,” she said. “But I always lose,” he said. She insisted. This time they were car-spotters. For a few pages it was close, and he kept up a running commentary—“One to me, two to you, oh, another to me, we’re both winning,oh, now I’m ahead, I’ll beat you this time, I’m winning 3–2.” Her legs kicked up with pleasure. I forced myself to sit back. I could see what page they were on, and began turning my own paper in time with theirs. Together we turned, and again, and then there came a story about floods in Italy, and a photograph of a car park full of floating cars, dozens of them, on the right-hand page. “I give up,” the father said. “Why are they swimming?” the daughter asked. My eyes stung, my tongue was suddenly choking me. Her wonderful, innocent question ached in my ears. I stood up and pressed the bell, and lurched from the bus a mile short of my usual stop. I thought I was going to be sick with jealousy.
I walked the rest of the way home in tears, remembering Alice’s first day at school. Emily hadn’t wanted to upset her by crying when she had to let her go, and so we’d agreed that I would take her. It was a ten-minute walk to the school. Alice chatted all the way, telling me the exact contents of her school bag, which we’d packed together the night before and repacked in the morning; and then, as the school building loomed and she saw all the other children in their new blue shirts, and the other fathers and mothers, converging on the gate, she fell silent and clutched my hand more tightly, and I felt my own pulse quicken and my throat tighten. But she was brave, we were both brave. She said, “Will it be all right?” I said, “It’ll be fantastic, just you see.” And she said, “Are you coming with me?” “No,” I said, “but I’ll get you to the door, and make sure somebody is there to show you where to go, and then you’ll be fine.” “But where will I go?” she asked. “You’ll see when you get inside,” I told her.And she accepted that, because it came from me, and said, “Okay,” quite casually, as a girl ten years older might have said it.
So we came to the door and I said, “Now give me a kiss and a hug,” and she did, and her teacher was there, who recognised her from the visit we’d made at the end of the previous term. “Hello, Alice,” she said. “Do you remember me?” “I think so,” Alice said, and she took the teacher’s hand and in she went. I let go of her, and she of me, so easily that I hardly realised we had done it. She didn’t look back, and it was over, not such an ordeal for either of us, but at the end of that first day, and all the too few schooldays that followed, either Emily or I would be there to greet her and take her home, and that was the thing, that was the joy and the pain of the man and his little girl on the bus, the thing that could never happen for me and Alice again. And I hoped that Emily had been able to keep holding her hand all the way, and that if there was a door maybe they had gone through it together.
Emily had wanted Alice to experience Thanksgiving. Rachel wasn’t keeping well again so she and Alfred couldn’t—wouldn’t—come to Scotland. “But it would mean taking Alice out of school,” Emily said.
“So, take her out of school,” I said.
“The school disapproves.
I
disapprove. I don’t want to get into that
what
she would smell like, but
how
, to
him
, her father. “Let’s play again,” she said. “But I always lose,” he said. She insisted. This time they were car-spotters. For a few pages it was close, and he kept up a running commentary—“One to me, two to you, oh, another to me, we’re both winning,oh, now I’m ahead, I’ll beat you this time, I’m winning 3–2.” Her legs kicked up with pleasure. I forced myself to sit back. I could see what page they were on, and began turning my own paper in time with theirs. Together we turned, and again, and then there came a story about floods in Italy, and a photograph of a car park full of floating cars, dozens of them, on the right-hand page. “I give up,” the father said. “Why are they swimming?” the daughter asked. My eyes stung, my tongue was suddenly choking me. Her wonderful, innocent question ached in my ears. I stood up and pressed the bell, and lurched from the bus a mile short of my usual stop. I thought I was going to be sick with jealousy.
I walked the rest of the way home in tears, remembering Alice’s first day at school. Emily hadn’t wanted to upset her by crying when she had to let her go, and so we’d agreed that I would take her. It was a ten-minute walk to the school. Alice chatted all the way, telling me the exact contents of her school bag, which we’d packed together the night before and repacked in the morning; and then, as the school building loomed and she saw all the other children in their new blue shirts, and the other fathers and mothers, converging on the gate, she fell silent and clutched my hand more tightly, and I felt my own pulse quicken and my throat tighten. But she was brave, we were both brave. She said, “Will it be all right?” I said, “It’ll be fantastic, just you see.” And she said, “Are you coming with me?” “No,” I said, “but I’ll get you to the door, and make sure somebody is there to show you where to go, and then you’ll be fine.” “But where will I go?” she asked. “You’ll see when you get inside,” I told her.And she accepted that, because it came from me, and said, “Okay,” quite casually, as a girl ten years older might have said it.
So we came to the door and I said, “Now give me a kiss and a hug,” and she did, and her teacher was there, who recognised her from the visit we’d made at the end of the previous term. “Hello, Alice,” she said. “Do you remember me?” “I think so,” Alice said, and she took the teacher’s hand and in she went. I let go of her, and she of me, so easily that I hardly realised we had done it. She didn’t look back, and it was over, not such an ordeal for either of us, but at the end of that first day, and all the too few schooldays that followed, either Emily or I would be there to greet her and take her home, and that was the thing, that was the joy and the pain of the man and his little girl on the bus, the thing that could never happen for me and Alice again. And I hoped that Emily had been able to keep holding her hand all the way, and that if there was a door maybe they had gone through it together.
Emily had wanted Alice to experience Thanksgiving. Rachel wasn’t keeping well again so she and Alfred couldn’t—wouldn’t—come to Scotland. “But it would mean taking Alice out of school,” Emily said.
“So, take her out of school,” I said.
“The school disapproves.
I
disapprove. I don’t want to get into that
Similar Books
