‘Mummy.’ As a torrent of tears exploded from Emily’s eyes, Nick struggled to stay composed.
‘It will take two minutes!’ His words were drowned out by Emily’s sobs, and he ran a hand through his hair. Should he take her in his arms? Her body was rigid, and he sensed a cuddle was the last thing his daughter wanted. ‘You’ll see your mummy soon!’
‘I want my mummy.’ Emily stood like a statue, hands balled at her sides, the only moving parts her blinking eyes and wobbly lips. ‘Please, I need Mummy.’
Nick looked on in horror as her pyjama bottoms dampened and a puddle formed below her on the floor. ‘What the—’
Now Emily was shaking. ‘Mummy,’ she wailed.
Nick grabbed one towel and threw it on the floor at Emily’s feet, then took another from the rail and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘I think we’re going to need a bath as well as teeth brushing,’ he muttered.
Words had failed Emily, her cries now howls. Nick turned on the tap with one hand and tried to peel her pyjama bottoms off with the other.
‘Do you think you could help me?’ he asked, tugging on the elastic waistband. His own hands were shaking, despair dulling his movements until his fingers no longer worked properly. ‘Please, Emily, stop crying just for a minute.’
‘I want Mummy!’
Nick took a step back, swallowing a sob. ‘Please stop crying, please stop crying.’
‘I want Mummy!’
‘I know you want Mummy!’ he shouted. ‘I know you want Mummy, I know I’m crap and useless but I’m trying my best!’ In an instant, all the fight left him and he collapsed to the bathroom floor, knees up to his chin, tears flowing down his cheeks.
Emily must have been shocked into silence, for her crying had stopped. He lifted his head, guilt preventing him from meeting her gaze. When she crossed the room and joined him on the floor, he tensed. As she laid her head on his shoulder, a sob escaped his lips.
‘I’m sorry, Emily. I’m so sorry.’ Nick scuffed tears away with the cuff of his hoodie. ‘I’m sorry you’re with me, not Mummy. I’m sorry I’m not very good at this. I want to be better, I’ll try to be better, I promise.’
Emily sniffed, then stood. ‘I think I should have a bath and brush my teeth,’ she said, the echoes of tears causing her to hiccup.
‘Good idea,’ said Nick, climbing to his feet and grabbing a handful of tissue to blow his nose. ‘And once we’ve done that, why don’t we video call your mum? I know it’s late, but she said we can call any time?’
Emily nodded. Nick tentatively held out his arms, and as the little girl stepped into his embrace, more silent tears broke free, dampening his cheeks.
It was a further hour before Nick crept out of the spare bedroom exhausted. In the kitchen he grabbed a beer from the fridge then wandered through to the living room, Emily’s cries still ringing in his ears. The responsibility placed on him was overwhelming. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t good enough. Emily deserved more than he could give.
Nick stumbled, then sank to the floor, his back against the sofa. The first sob took him by surprise, and he choked. Shouldn’t he be all cried out by now? He shoved his fist into his mouth, biting down hard. His shoulders shook, silent, angry bursts of emotion rocking his entire body. The beer sat untouched on the coffee table as Nick dropped to his side, curling up into a ball, his knees hugged tight to his chest. Tears soaked into the rug beneath him. He couldn’t bring them under control.
It could have been five minutes or fifteen, he wasn’t sure, before he finally righted himself and pulled in a series of deep breaths. He was wrung out. If only he hadn’t been invited to the stupid dinner, he could have stayed in control. Watching Tom fawn all over Kitty had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. In contrast to the perfect male specimen charming everyone in the room, Nick knew he’d behaved badly. He’d been sullen, distant, thinking only of himself when his priority shouldhave been Emily. It had been like a reflex, something he couldn’t help. Tom was everything he wanted to be and wasn’t. He couldn’t bear everyone finally seeing him for the fraud he was.
Nick stood, set his feet apart and rolled his shoulders. He eased his stiff neck from side to side, stretched his arms above his head. He couldn’t go on behaving like a spoiled child and pretending none of this was happening. What could help? Perhaps if he could remember what it felt like to be a kid, he’d be able to connect with Emily more easily.
It took a bit of digging around in the polished antique bureau to find what he was looking for. Nick placed the box of photo albums on the coffee table and sank onto the sofa.
There seemed little point in covering years when he was younger than Emily, so the first album he picked up spanned his life from five to eight years old. Nick grinned as the ancient plastic crackled and the first photograph came into view. Only reaching his dad’s thigh in height, and with several teeth missing, he grinned at the camera, standing outside the gates of Saffron Bay Primary School. A far-too-large backpack slipped down his shoulders. The next photo was similar, except in this one he was beside his mother, pride evident on her pretty face.
A fizz of sadness that he’d never managed to be the son she longed for washed through Nick. He pushed it away. He’d done his crying, and twice in an evening was more than enough. Once a year was more than enough, in fact.
The primary school years were easy to flick through, golden years when life was simple and the biggest thing Nick had to worry about was which friend to invite to tea. Yes, the problems he experienced reading and writing were becoming increasingly evident, but the cushion of creativity the school prided itself on had been enough to mask most of his struggles.
He turned to a thinner album. Just one, documenting his teenage years. Here was where the tide had turned, where thesmiles on his parents’ faces became tight and forced. On the first page, a handsome boy with hair gelled up in spikes grinned out at him, and Nick’s body responded to the echo of excitement evident in the boy’s smile. High school had felt like an adventure on that first day. He’d outgrown Saffron Bay Primary and couldn’t wait to jump into all that big school offered.
It turned out there were fewer places to hide at high school. As the first year wore on and Nick slid further and further down the academic sets, socially he’d masked his fear of failure by acting up and being the class clown. The approach had won him plenty of friends among the students. Most of the teachers hated him. He remembered parents’ evenings, sitting beside his mum, her pinched face mirroring whichever teacher was telling her thatif only Nick tried harder, his life might amount to something.
By the third year of high school, his father had muttered about sending Nick to boarding school. Thank goodness, nothing ever came of the idea. By the time Nick reached the page of prom photos, his palms were sweaty and his heart raced. A wry smile covered his face as he looked at his younger self. If nothing else, at least his looks had blossomed during high school, and he’d suffered none of the acne or awkwardness of his peers. As an early developer, he was already shaving twice a week by year eleven. Nick subconsciously ran a hand over the stubble on his chin.
Good looks aside, and ignoring how fit he looked in his suit with the prettiest girl in the year hanging on his arm, Nick could remember all too vividly the panic lurking behind the projected self-confidence. He didn’t need to wait three months for a piece of paper to tell him he’d achieved nothing during his school career. Even at prom, when they were meant to be partying, the conversation had focussed on the recently taken exams and whether the results would be enough to lead to the desired next steps. At the time, Nick had consoled himself thatbeing certain of the results in advance was a blessing. No one expected anything of him, which was just as well, as he’d flunked every exam he’d sat. Still, the underlying panic of what life would hold had been impossible to shift, even when he tried to bury it beneath the contraband booze he’d smuggled in to prom.
Nick slammed the photo album shut. Rather than gaining any insight into his daughter, all he’d succeeded in doing was making himself feel even more despondent. There was one album left to look through. He eyed it, unable to open it. Nick knew what was inside – the brief glimmer of hope when it finally looked as though he might amount to something. He couldn’t bear to see the unfilled pages left blank, ready for memories he’d never made.
