“Yes.” I look my daughter in the face. “I love it. And you’re right, pink is what I would have chosen for myself.” I did, in fact.
“Real men wear pink,” she says, parroting back my phrase and obviously pleased with my admission.
“Indeed. But you’re sure it’s not too scary for me to wear at Halloween?” I can do this. I can talk around a seven-year-old without hurting her feelings, so that I don’t have to put on a mask that has very problematic associations for me. “I don’t want to scare your brothers and sisters. Or your friends.”
“Pftt.” She waves her hand. “You couldn’t bescary, Daddy.”
A muffled snort comes from the doorway, and I look up to see Tess watching us with laughter dancing in her eyes.
I raise one eyebrow severely, and that sets Tess off into giggles she has to cover her mouth to contain. My beautiful, understanding, naughty wife.
“Good to know,” I reply faintly.
“Especially not in apinkmask,” she goes on, destroying my intimidating reputation with every word. Totally unknowing, too. None of the kids are aware of what I do. They’re very well protected, and will be for many more years yet.
“You don’t think Daddy could bea bitscary?” Tess says.
Katy looks up and tilts her head, listening to her mother like a confused puppy trying to understand.
“You can be scary sometimes, Mummy,” she declares.
A surprised bark of laughter jumps from me. Tess is the scary one?
“Why is that?” Can’t wait to hear.
“At bedtime, she’s very fierce,” Katy says seriously.
“Can’t argue with the truth,” I say, and Tess rolls her eyes.
“You’re doing bedtime tonightandwake up tomorrow, so you get all the consequences of being not-scary,” Tess says under her breath.
“I’ll be the big bad wolf then. Scaring you to bed. Grrrr!” I do my best growl.
Katy giggles. My pride is in tatters.
I don’t care.
“What about Daddy’s tattoos?” Tess asks. “Lots of people think tattoos are scary.”
“But you have tattoos too, so they’re not scary.” Katy’s logic is impeccable.
Tess does indeed have a tattoo. It’s a soft curved line, organic almost, that wraps around her wrist and hand, cutting off abruptly at the base of her thumb. And when we hold hands, it links up
perfectly with the straight lines of my tattoos that mimic a computer’s circuit board.
She’s my connection to being human.
“Maybe I need to practice my scariness.” I turn to Katy. “You could give me some tips.”
My daughter thinks about this, her brow furrowed. “We could have lessons.”
“That sounds fun,” Tess says, and thankfully Katy doesn’t notice the mirth in her mother’s tone.
“I’ll talk to Molly next time I see her,” she says, mentioning one of Westminster’s daughters. “Herdaddy is very scary.”
“That’s sorted then,” Tess replies before I can lose it that I’m ranked as less intimidating thanWestminster, a man so posh his butlers probably have butlers. For fuck’s sake.
“I’ll keep this not-scary mask here, shall I.” I drop the mask into a drawer. “Perhaps it’ll inspire me.”
“It’s alright, Daddy,” Katy says reassuringly. “You don’t have to be scary to be a good Daddy.”
“I’m glad you’re not afraid of me.” I push to my feet, sweeping Katy with me, and she giggles with delight. “But maybe Mummy will help me learn how to be scary.” I wink at Tess, who gives me a secret smile. “We could use the pink mask.”
