Now two females owned me heart and soul, and there was not a bloody thing I could do about it.
There was not a bloody thing Iwantedto do about it.
The bell rang for the end of school, and the receptionist gestured for me to go ahead. I was already arguing with Rose’s teacher in my head and I had no idea why I’d been called in.
Children filed past me excitedly as I strolled down the corridor to the primary two classroom where Rose was educated each day. There were silly drawings of iconic Scottish things on the walls outside, and I caught sight of Rose’s unicorn (the national “animal”), by far the best among all the drawings. It had her name written under it in very tidy writing too.My genius child.
Yes. I thought it. And I’d say it out loud too.
I knocked on the classroom door as I stepped in, my eyes moving from the teacher behind her desk to Rose sitting at a little one in the corner. The classroom was set up for the play-to-learn style the Scots favored. Much of the classroom had different play areas for learning and just a few desks in one corner for more concentrated work.
My daughter’s eyes lit up at the sight of me. “Daddy.”
Daddy.
It got me every time.
Sarah was forever reminding me that we’d ruin Rose if we let her have her way all the time. I agreed. However, it was tiresome to constantly remind myself every time she said Daddy because the urge to do as she wished was very, very real.
“Hullo, turtle dove.” I’d nicknamed her after the pretty little bird because she pecked at her food (we often had to coax her to eat more because she had such a wee appetite) and, like the turtle dove, she was rare. To me, she was a rare, precious little being who had to be protected at all costs.
On that note, I turned my attention to her teacher.
Ms. Carson was young and extremely nervous around me. It didn’t stop me from glowering at her.
She stood from her desk and twisted her hands together, giving me a strained smile. “Mr. Cavendish, thank you for coming in.”
“What’s it all about?”
She winced at my cool tone. “Well, while Rose is usually very well-behaved, lately we’ve had some issues with her making up words.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rose is speaking gibberish in class, and when asked to stop, she insists she’s not making up gibberish. I had to send her to see Mr. Adams this morning because she got very frustrated and angry.” The teacher’s tone was gentle and placating. “So I thought we should all have a wee chat and see if we can sort this out.”
“Daddy, I’m not making up words.”
“I know, turtle dove.”
Ms. Carson’s expression tightened. “Mr. Cavendish, I know it can be difficult to?—”
“What words do you think she was making up?” I interrupted impatiently.
“We were talking about doggies and cats,” Rose spoke up. “I said I was a canophile.”
I nodded and turned back to the teacher. “And?”
The teacher frowned. “It’s a made-up word and it sounds like … well, it doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It is not a made-up word,” I gritted out. “It means a person who loves dogs.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Google it if you don’t believe me.”
The woman pulled out her phone and bloody googled it. “Oh.”
“What other words do you believe my daughter is making up?”
