We take the long way home, along the north side of Hyde Park and then down Park Lane, sitting on the upper deck so we can enjoy the beautiful hotels on one side and the hurdy-gurdy delights of Winter Wonderland on the other. Bea seems happy enough. We’ve salvaged the afternoon.
No thanks to Miles.
MILES
I slide my keycard through the door at seven. I’m shattered. Emotionally drained. I brace myself for bright lights and godawful Christmas pop, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, the lights are dimmed. The tree and fireplace garland aren’t quite so monstrous when they’re not competing with the chandeliers overhead. The fire is on, low, and Saoirse has someatmospheric panpipe music on. The two of them are laid out, in the space between the kitchen and the sofas, on yoga mats, doing downward dogs.
It should be a reassuring scene. It should be exactly the welcome I want after the afternoon I’ve had. But it’s the opposite, and I flip.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ My voice sounds rough and choked, even to me, and Saoirse’s head snaps up.
‘Daddy!’ My loyal little Bea flops to the floor, rolls over, and runs to me. Her little arms go around my thighs. She’s the sweetest thing: always so generous with her love. Even when I’m at my absolute worst, my lowest lows.
‘Hi, baby.’ I cup my hand around her glossy little head, attempt to ground myself. Saoirse’s kneeling on her mat, her hands on her thighs, staring at me.
‘Get rid of that stuff. Now.’ I gesture at the mats.
‘What? The mats?’ Her voice has ayou can’t be seriousedge.
‘Yes. Now. Please.’
She gets to her feet and starts to roll them up.
I sigh and pick Bea up, carrying her through to my room. I need to be alone with her for a few minutes, away from that woman who can’t begin to know the pain my daughter and I are in.
I lower us both onto my bed and put her on my lap.
‘My baby.’ I rub my nose against hers. ‘My beautiful girl. Look at you. You look like a real ballerina.’ She’s still in full regalia. Palest pink from head to toe.
‘You missed it, Daddy.’
‘I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I would never, ever miss it if I could help it, but I had to take Angela to the hospital. You remember Angela? My assistant?’
‘Is she sick?’ Bea’s hand strokes my jaw, plays with my earlobe.
‘No. She’s not sick, thank God. But she’s having a baby, and she was feeling… a bit sick, earlier. So we had to go to the hospital so the doctor could check her out. But she’s fine. And so is her tiny baby.’
‘When will her baby come?’
‘In springtime. March. That’s three months from now. But she needed my help, sweetheart. I didn’t want her to go to the hospital on her own, because she was a bit scared. Otherwise I would never, ever have missed your recital.’
She’s quiet for a moment. ‘That’s okay. Did you hold her hand?’
‘I did. I squeezed it like this. She said it made her feel better.’
‘Can I show you my snowflake dance?’
‘I would love that, sweetheart. I’d love that so much.’
We walk back into the drawing room together. Saoirse’s pottering around, tidying things up. Avoiding my eyes. The yoga mats are rolled neatly by the front door. She must have borrowed them from the wellness centre.
Bea breaks the tension. ‘Daddy said I can do my snowflake dance for him.’
‘Whatan excellent idea!’ Saoirse’s voice is artificially high and unnecessarily enthusiastic. ‘Here, pet.’ She hands Bea a bowl. ‘Why don’t you go into the bathroom and tear up some toilet paper into tiny bits, and we can use it as your snowflakes? I’ll come and help you in a sec.’
Once Bea’s out of earshot, I take a step towards her. ‘Saoirse.’
She stands and turns to me, crosses her arms over her chest.
