The Girl Who Couldn't Smile

‘You made a mistake,’ I said. ‘It’s not too late to fix it.’

He looked out of the window at the village street. Spring was coming in. It was still bright. ‘You should not leave Little Scamps,’ he said.

‘I have another job,’ I said. ‘I was on loan.’

He stood. ‘I am going to try and persuade my wife to have me back,’ he said.

I held out my hand, and he shook it this time. ‘Good luck,’ I said.

‘What will you do?’ he asked.

‘I think I might have another cup of coffee,’ I said.

I watched him walk across the road to where his car was parked, then pull out into the narrow road and drive away. I knew I should go home, but it was warm and friendly in Kate’s. The cook laughed behind the long counter, and a waitress smiled and winked at me as she went past. I suddenly felt very alone. Lonnie and Tush would be sitting around the little table in his kitchen, by then, probably having an early-evening drink. I didn’t feel like going home to sit in an empty house.

I finished my second cup of coffee and went to my old Austin, got in and drove until the dull reverberations of the road numbed me, and I went home to my dog.

You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get to me.’

He didn’t say anything for what seemed like an age. Then: ‘Milandra seems happy.’

Kate brought my cake. Despite Milandra and Arga’s reviews, it was very good.

‘Your daughter is happy,’ I said. ‘She’s clever, sensitive, warm and content. She is a valued member of the crèche, and of this village. You should be very proud of her.’

‘I am,’ he said.

I had some more cake. It had cinnamon in it. I like cinnamon. ‘It took me and my friends quite a long time to get her to a place where she could function alongside other people,’ I said. ‘I think some good work was done at home with her, too. I don’t know how much of that success is down to you. I suspect not too much. I think your lovely wife was instrumental, though.’

‘I want to explain something to you,’ Tony said, leaning in close.

He had bags under his eyes, the look of a man who had lost a lot of weight quickly, weight he could not afford to lose.

‘I’m listening,’ I said.

‘You do not understand what it is like to grow up in poverty.’

I thought I might be able to mount a pretty good argument to that statement, but decided to keep my mouth shut for a bit.

‘Where I come from a child has to fight,’ Tony said, ‘fight for every single morsel of food, every article of clothing. Every accomplishment is hard won. When I was six years old, I saw a friend of mine, a boy who was only ten, killed for his shoes. His murderer was barely twelve.’

There was other chatter going on in the café, but I couldn’t hear it any more. It was just me and Tony.

‘I am here, talking to you, because my parents taught me to be fierce. To never give in, to trust nobody but myself. Those skills have stood me in good stead my whole life. If I did not have them, I would be dead.’

I nodded. Felicity had explained as much that evening back at the crèche.

‘I swore to myself long ago that, if I ever had a child, I would teach him or her those skills too, so that if they ever found themselves in such dire need, they would be able to fight, as I did.’

‘But did you not also swear that your children would never be in those circumstances?’ I asked. ‘You worked hard to rise above the awful place you grew up. You educated yourself, got a job and clawed your way to the top. You were lucky enough to marry an Irish girl whose family is well off, and you are now a man of means. Even if you lost your job in the morning, if by some ill fortune you had to sell your house and get a smaller one, if you ended up on social welfare – if all of that happened, Tony, and it would be terrible, you will never be destitute again. Milandra will never have to live rough or fight for scraps with other street children.’

His eyes were huge. ‘I love my daughter,’ he said.

‘I know you do.’

‘I have wronged her.’

Tony came to see me shortly before I left Little Scamps to return to work at Drumlin. He was waiting outside the building as I locked up, looking remarkably unkempt for a man who was usually so dapper.

‘Tony, if you’re here to have another shouting match, I’m not interested,’ I said.

‘I would just like to talk,’ he said. ‘I do not want to fight with you.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s go get a cup of coffee.’

Kate’s café was a short walk away, and we sat by the window.

‘What can I do for you, Tony?’ I asked.

‘Felicity has left me,’ he said. ‘Or, more accurately, she threw me out.’

I sipped my coffee – Kate, as well as giving nice hugs, made a mean cup. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said.

‘You didn’t know?’

‘I did not. Felicity doesn’t exactly volunteer information, and Milandra has made no reference to it. She seems as happy and relaxed as she has been of late.’

Kate bustled over to see if we were okay. ‘Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?’

‘I’d love a slice of carrot cake,’ I said.

‘And you, sir?’

Tony shook his head and Kate went to get my cake.

‘What is it with you people and vegetables in cakes?’

I just smiled. I’d had the reaction I was after. ‘You still haven’t told me what you want,’ I said.

‘I want you to make sure Milandra starts school in September.’

‘You know I’m leaving Little Scamps,’ I said.

‘Yes. But you can see to it before you go.’

I nodded. ‘I can do that. Why the change of heart?’

Tony looked utterly dejected. It was hard for me to feel sorry for him. I could see no reason why he had behaved so badly towards me. As far as I was concerned, he was in a situation of his own making.

When he didn’t answer, I said, ‘I looked up the meaning of ôkùnrin ábökùnrinlò.’

Tony gazed at me dolefully.