‘Soon.’
Emily looked down at her hands and whispered, ‘OK.’
Nick would have preferred a tantrum to the deep sadness he couldn’t do anything to fix. As Emily hung her head, he fought off a wave of despair. In the cheeriest voice he could muster and with a smile on his face, he said, ‘Why don’t you get your coat and we’ll explore?’
‘OK.’ She kept her eyes on her hands.
Nick helped her down off the bar stool, and she shuffled towards the spare bedroom. Tears welled in his eyes at the sight of her sagging shoulders. He wished Carla had known someone more capable to care for the child. He was ill-equipped for the responsibility and couldn’t shake the feeling that Emily would be better off anywhere apart from with him.
When she returned, she was carrying a coat in one hand and a hairbrush in the other. She held out the hairbrush to him. He eyed it with suspicion. ‘What’s that for?’
‘For my hair. Mummy always does my hair when I go out, otherwise, it gets tangled.’
‘I see. OK, I’ll try if you promise to help me.’
Without a word, Emily walked into the living area and sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the sofa.
‘Should I sit here?’ Nick pointed to the sofa.
Emily nodded.
He took the hairbrush and stared at the mass of tight ringlets facing him. ‘How do you normally wear your hair?’
‘In plaits or a ponytail.’
Nick swallowed. Emily might as well have been speaking a foreign language. ‘Hang on a second.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and scoured the internet for help. Plaits were a no-go. It would take him years to master the fiddly technique, and he couldn’t understand why anyone bothered with something so complicated. Thank goodness, the ponytail seemed easy enough. He picked up the brush, held it against Emily’s scalp, and pulled. She screamed and jumped up, the brush hanging from her head like an instrument of torture.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Mummy starts at the bottom and is gentle.’ Her tone was mildly accusing.
Nick despaired. He couldn’t even brush hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Can you sit down, and we’ll try again?’
Emily sat down and twisted to peer up at him. ‘Why can’t you brush hair?’
Nick ran a hand across his own cropped, stylishly messy hair, and smiled. ‘I don’t need a brush to achieve this look. A bit of styling product and I’m ready in the mornings.’
‘That’s silly.’ Emily frowned. ‘Everyone needs to brush their hair.’ She climbed onto the sofa beside him and took the brush from Nick’s hand. As the bristles slid through his hair, Nick’s eyes filled with tears. Emily’s movements were careful, gentle, and the affection he felt for her in that moment overwhelmed him.Don’t be an idiot, he told himself.You’ve known the kid for less than a day, and she might not even be yours.
Emily sat back, satisfied with her effort.
‘Thank you,’ said Nick.
‘You do the same for me. Remember, my hair is longer, so start at the end. OK?’
‘OK.’ Nick followed her instructions, making it through her full head of hair with only the occasional flinch or cry of ‘ow!’ He put down the brush and studied a YouTube video, then took a hairband from Emily’s wash bag and pulled her hair into something resembling a ponytail.
‘There. I’m done,’ he said, wondering why butterflies danced in his stomach.
Emily scrambled up and skipped across the room to where a gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall. She stared at her reflection for a moment, then burst into a fit of giggles.
‘What is it?’ asked Nick. ‘What’s wrong?’
Emily pointed to her head. ‘It’s full of worms!’
‘Worms?’
‘Look, these bits are like worms.’ She pointed to sections of hair that stood up from her head and giggled again.
‘Shall I have another try?’ asked Nick, his heart sinking.
