‘Nothing,’ Isla repeats.
‘This weekend?’
When I shake my head Dan turns away, exasperated.
‘We’re going to America,’ I tell him, his back still facing me.
‘Holiday,’ Isla says. ‘A doctor fix my legs.’
Dan turns round, looks at me with concern. ‘How long for?’
‘Chrissmass!’ says Isla.
‘Can I have your number?’ He feels in his pocket, produces a business card. He hands me a pen, glances down at Isla again. She looks up at him curiously, kicking her legs. I clock him noticing her trainer-type boots, big enough to allow room for her splints.
He kneels down and smiles as he says, ‘Hello, Isla, what a pretty name.’
I turn away, unable to watch. I grip the pen. Do I make up a number?
Later that day, when I’ve barely arrived home and put the kettle on, my mobile rings.
‘What’s this about America?’ says Dan.
I fill him in on the whole story. In a way I want him to know what has happened; I long for him to understand what we have been through, what Isla, his daughter, struggles with day after day. I tell him we’ll be on the BA6945 flight to Chicago tomorrow morning. I give him every single detail of our lives, making sure he understands the risk involved, making sure he realises that he has no part in this. Dan doesn’t interrupt me once. As I’m about to hang up he says, ‘I’m coming,’ and before I can protest, ‘You can’t stop me.’
I glance through the kitchen door, towards Isla. ‘You’re a stranger to her.’
‘Say I’m an old friend.’
‘No. Dan you can’t just—’
‘This is a massive deal. She might never walk again, she’s my child.’
‘A child you never wanted.’
The doorbell rings, making me jolt. ‘Granny!’ says Isla.
I hang up. When my mobile rings again I reject his call.
Shaken, I let her in. Granny opens her arms. ‘Hello!’ She stops when she sees my face. ‘What’s wrong?’ In the midst of all this, there was one person I forgot. ‘January?’ She pushes her cases inside, grabs my hand. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He won’t come,’ Granny whispers after I have recounted our meeting. ‘He’ll let you down.’ I can hear the tremor in her voice, the fear that she is trying to hide. ‘I don’t want that man anywhere near us,’ she blurts out now, unable to suppress her feelings. ‘Hecan’tcome.’
The following day, as Granny and I are about to hand our passports over to security one final time before boarding the plane, I feel a mixture of enormous relief but also acute disappointment that Granny is right. What was I thinking believing him?
‘Thank you,’ the attendant says, ushering us through alongside all the other families with children.
Granny, Isla and I enter the plane and locate our seats. I help Granny put her bags in the overhead lockers. She wants to keep hold of the paper to do the crossword. Isla wants to keep her special pink heart fleece cushion that travels everywhere she goes.
He hasn’t come. He’s woken up and decided to keep his life simple. People don’t change.
A stream of passengers boards now. Granny unwraps a packet of mints, offers one to me.
I settle back into my seat and close my eyes, exhaustedfrom lack of sleep. I try to catch one minute of rest before Isla demands something.
‘Funny man, ha ha,’ she says.
Immediately I open my eyes. Granny has never met him, but she knows, just from the way he is walking towards us, that it’s him. I catch the daggers look in her eye.
