to meet him. One day.
By the way, to great jubilation from every single one of my colleagues at work, I’ve now shifted our first editorial meeting of the morning to a far more civilised nine a.m. start, mainly so that Lily and I can get to share these precious mornings together. Sod the whole lot of them in work, I figure; I’m making more time for Lily and if they don’t like it then as Jake says, they can feck right off. Helen gets to spend the rest of the day with her, but early mornings are mine, all mine. And it happens far, far less often than it used to, but Lily still sometimes stuns me by letting something slip that shows just how clearly the whole dad subject weighs on her little mind.
The other day being a case in point. Lily waddled into my bedroom just before seven, clambered up and snuggled into me, still warm and woozy from sleep and telling me all about a dream she had where she accidentally got locked into Smyths toy store for the night and had the best time of her life, till police came to rescue her the next morning and found her sleeping inside a Wendy house. Then, just as I was drowsily hauling myself out of bed and asking her if she’d like porridge or fresh fruit for brekkie while she was, as usual, demanding Coco Pops, suddenly she looked at me with those wise little eyes and out of nowhere said, ‘Mama, how come some kids have two daddies and I don’t have any?’
Well, that woke me up. And when I got to the bottom of it, it turned out that a little girl called Daisy she’d befriended in the park has not only a biological dad but now thanks to her mum’s remarriage, a stepdad too. So I give Lily my first line of explanation about how all families are different then proudly tell her that yes, I can safely promise that someday we’ll find her dad. That she’ll get to meet him properly. Well her round blue eyes, eyes so like Jake’s it would nearly astonish you, instantly brightened at this as she flashed me that gorgeous, gappy little smile, then happily scrambled down to the kitchen with me for breakfast.
You just wait, my little darling, I thought smugly to myself. You just wait till you see the rare gem that Mama is prepping for you. Because finally, finally, finally now my cunning masterplan is almost in place. Come the fine day, when I eventually think the time is right for Lily and Jake to meet, what’ll she find waiting for her? A tall, handsome, fair-haired, well-spoken teacher, with her exact size and shape eyes, same fair, freckly skin, same crinkly, slightly crooked smile. Someone Lily can be proud of and look up to, like all little girls’ dads should be.
Like I say though, the ‘where’s my dad’ chats are happening with far less frequency now, mainly, giving credit where it’s due, down to Helen and the unbelievable way that she’s bonded with Lily ever since she first moved in here, all those weeks ago.
Ah Helen. I feel churlish and mortified beyond belief at myself when I think back to how jealous I felt back then, listening to Lily excitedly rattle off all the fabulous, fun excursions she was having with her ‘new best fwiend, Auntie Helen’. Because now, with a hunk of burning humility in my gut, I have to admit, I was horrible to be so envious of her, and owe her nothing but the biggest debt of gratitude all round.
Most astonishing of all to report though, over the past few weeks, Jake and I have even become the unlikeliest of friends. Good friends too. I can tell him things that I can’t tell anyone else, that no one else could even possibly begin to understand. And he listens patiently and can always find something in whatever I’m stressing or fretting about to make me laugh at.
I know; me. Laugh. Actually throw my head back and hold my sides till the giggles pass. Before I met him, I hadn’t had a decent belly laugh in so long, I’d nearly forgotten what my teeth looked like.
Day after day, night after night, he’ll patiently give me wise and measured advice that I may not like hearing at the time, but which always and inevitably turns out to be the right course of action to take. And he’ll say absolutely nothing while I rant on and let off steam about whatever office politics happen to be in play, then calmly reduce all my stresses and worries to their proper proportions. A real friend, in other words.
That rare and precious jewel that I’ve never had before.
Not for the first time, another totally disconnected thought strikes me. Although I go around inwardly congratulating myself on changing him for the better, could it in fact possibly be the other way around? It is him that’s having even more of an effect on me? Because I see how he is around people and slowly, I’m learning from him. I see how friendly and unfailingly polite he is to everyone that comes into his orbit, from waiters in restaurants to the guy who sells The Big Issue on the corner of the street. How warm and interested he is; the way he always has a few words for everyone. And bit by bit, I’m starting to do the same.
Another thing too; can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s like ever since I met him, I’m a far more relaxed person to be around now. Not that I’m sure anyone’s even noticed, but I’m eating better, sleeping better, getting far fewer ulcer cramps (my own personal barometric stress warning). I’m just more contented, more grateful for everything I have. Laughter lines are starting to appear on my face in the most unexpected places.
In the past few weeks, after the longest time, I’ve somehow found my smile again.
‘So tell me this Eloise,’ Helen asks me, ‘what’s your long-term plan here? With Jake, I mean.’
It’s still relatively early but I’ve just managed to crawl home from a meeting with the night editor, so Helen and I can have a badly needed glass of wine and a catch-up chat about our respective days. Another new habit and one I’m really starting to enjoy.
Tonight though, she sounds a bit distant and stressed, which is unlike her. Throughout all this, she’s been a staunch supporter of the leg-up in life that I’ve been giving Jake, on the principle that what’s good for Lily is good for us all. So I grab the bull by the horns.
‘Helen, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what’s all this about? Is something bothering you? I mean, I don’t get it. Why are you asking me about long-term plans all of a sudden?’
‘Hmmm?’ she says distractedly, focused on an episode of Come Dine with Me on TV.
‘Are you listening?’
‘What? Oh, emm, yeah, I mean no, it’s nothing. I was just a bit … worried about where this is all heading, that’s all.’
‘Come on hon, if there’s something you want to say to me, then I really wish you’d just come straight out with it. Besides, what exactly is there to worry about here? Haven’t I for once in my life done someone a decent turn?’
One of the many, ahem, criticisms frequently levelled at my head in work is that not only do I never put myself out for anyone else, but that I’ve never done one single, disinterested nice thing for another human being ever in my life. And now, sod the lot of them, I have. So what in the name of God could be bothering Helen now?
I even reach out to grab the remote control and turn the TV onto mute, so there’s no avoiding my question.
‘Yes, yeah,’ she nods, ‘of course you have, it really sounds like you’ve worked wonders on the guy. I wasn’t for a second suggesting otherwise.’
‘So, what’s up then?’
‘Well,’ she goes on, swirling her wine round the bottom of the glass, ‘it’s just that …’
‘Just that what? Helen, please tell me. Because if I’ve done something I shouldn’t, I’d be very curious to know exactly what it is.’
‘No,
