be such a puzzle for her to solve.
Mum pushes Dad away from her tummy.
“How can I trust you when we’ve just watched four coffins flying back from the very place you’re flying out to tomorrow?” she snaps. “For God’s sake, James, I’m not stupid, I know what happens in war. It’s me you’re talking to now, not the kids. Don’t patronise me, please.”
Dad looks at her and sighs. He says nothing to comfort her.
I creep back upstairs. If lightning strikes our house tonight my dad will keep us safe.
But not if it comes tomorrow.
Later, when the black storm rages right over our roof, my dad comes into my room. He rests his hand on my back. He rubs soft warm circles, round and round, like he did when I was small. I want to curl into him like a kitten, but I’m scared I might break like the clouds.
“I’m sleeping, Dad,” I lie. “Leave me alone.”
“Hey,” he whispers, leaning right over me so he can see my face. “Don’t do this, sweetie, not now. I know it’s late, but I just wanted to check you’re OK with the storm, to tell you that you’re safe. I’ve checked all the windows and locked all the doors. Nothing’s going to happen. I promise. Let’s say goodbye, shall we? Just one last time.”
“Don’t say things like one last time, OK?”
I turn over to look at him and drink him in like an ice-cold lemonade on a hot summer’s day. I must never forget him. The dark whiskers sprouting from his chin. The map of blue veins like motorways on his hands. The puddle of curry stain yellowing his shirt. The waft of smelly underarm odour that’s drifting up my nose. I must memorise him, just in case… and I’ll keep him safe and undisturbed in a beautiful heart room where he’ll shimmer in the light.
“Don’t go, Dad,” I squeak. “Please?”
“I have to, sweetie,” he says, nuzzling tickly whiskers in my neck. He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself? And be kind to Milo and really good for Mum? I need you to be a big girl and look after her for me while I’m away. She’s got a lot going on with the baby coming. She’ll need your help, Mima, so try not to stress her out, OK?”
I nod even though I don’t want to. At least my dad understands me.
“Good girl. I’m leaving really early in the morning so I won’t wake you again.”
When he leaves my room I touch his kiss and wish it would grow into a flower.
At five the next morning my dad creeps into my room. I lie still and hold my breath. He pulls my duvet up to my chin and strokes my hair. He gives me one last clean-shaven kiss and creeps away. My tummy sinks. It sinks right through the bed and through the floor, and as if a huge crack in the earth has opened up I feel like I’m falling, falling, falling into a deep black hole.
“Please don’t go,” I whisper.
I hear him in the other rooms. Now he’s going down the stairs and into the hall. I hear scrapes and scuffs and clunks and I know he’s putting on his sparkling black boots, shuffling his kit about and loading it on to his back. I hear someone hug him. Then the front door clicks shut and I freeze. My hand flies to my cheek, to his kiss where the flower didn’t grow. I jump out of bed and race like lightning down the stairs. I open the front door and step out into the storm. A soldier with a silver car salutes my dad. A river of rain runs down his sleeve.
“Dad!” I call.
My dad spins round.
“Jemima! Sweetie! You’re getting soaked!”
“I don’t care,” I say, paddling up to him. “Dad, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Afghanistan is too far away. I just need to be near you.”
“Oh, darling,” he sighs. “As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go, you know that. Let’s not make it any harder than it already is, eh?”
“But, Dad,” I whisper, “what if something bad happens. There might be a fire or a burglar. Or someone might get hurt. We might need you.”
“Mima,” he says, “this is why I didn’t wake you, sweetheart. It’s much easier if I just slip away.”
“Not for me it isn’t,” I say. “Just one more hug then?”
And Dad scoops me into his arms as if I were a tiny toddler. He squeezes me so tight I think my lungs might burst out of my chest and splat down on the floor. We’re not crying, but tears from the thundering black storm clouds soak us through and settle like diamonds on our lashes. We find each other’s eyes and tie a knot in our gaze.
“Love you, pipsqueak,” Dad says. He kisses my nose.
“Love you, Lieutenant Colonel Taylor-Jones.”
He stands me down. We salute one another. The soldier drives my dad away.
The rain puddles between my toes and bounces off my skin. My tummy sinks through the tarmac road, through the earth’s muddy crust, right down to the blackest, darkest hole at the bottom of the world. I can’t let him go. I can’t. I run after the car. I shout.
“Dad, quick, stop!” He moves further and further away. “Dad, please, stop! Please!”
The road is empty. I leap into the middle and wave my arms like mad.
“Dad!” I call.
At last, the red brake lights go on and the soldier reverses the car until it’s level with my feet.
“What is it, Mima?”
I stand frozen like a dummy in the road, with a million words raining on my mind.
“I… erm…” I stumble. “I… I… What would make you come back home, Dad? I mean, how bad a thing would have to happen?”
My face is soaked with rain. He can’t see my tears.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says, checking his watch. “I haven’t got time to talk about it now – everyone’s waiting for me. But I promise you you’ll be OK. Everything will be fine. Mum’s here, Granny’s here and I’ll be home for a two-week R & R break before you know it. Then my tour will be halfway done, Mima, and then I’ll be back home for good.”
“Until they send you away again,” I sigh.
Dad salutes me one last time.
“Trust, Mima, trust.”
The soldier drives him away and my words tumble like rocks through the air.
“I’m scared you’re going to die, Dad. I’m scared you’re never coming home.”
The house feels so quiet without Dad
