12. Amie
twelve
Amie
M um steps over a pile of dinosaur toys into the absolute chaos that is my living room. There’s a cartoon playing on the TV, long since forgotten and ignored, and there are dinosaurs, planes and cars littering the floor. I nudge a model Airbus out of the way with my toe and pick my way through to Cam and Maisy.
“This is my mum, Suzanne. Mum, this is Cam.”
“Ah, the famous Cam. Nice to finally meet you, at last.” Mum rests a hand on Cam’s arm. He nods in response.
“Likewise,” he says with a smile. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little… stuck.” He tips his head to Maisy, who is lying across both of Cam’s arms, her little arms sticking out like the wings of a plane.
“Fly, Daddy!” she yells. Mum bends her knees to press a kiss to Maisy’s head before Cam swoops her around the room one more time.
“One more flight, and then we’re going, Maisy Mouse,” I call. Maisy giggles, kicking her feet, and Cam swings her around in a wide circle before setting her on her feet.
Ten minutes—and two more flights—later, all four of us are suited and booted and on our way to the park. Maisy and Cam walk ahead, Maisy sprinting as fast as her little legs can carry her, encouraging Cam to race with her. His long legs could easily eclipse the distance in just a handful of strides, but he keeps his steps small and slow, letting Maisy win every race with an excited shriek.
“He’s good with her,” Mum says, nudging my arm with hers. “He’s really good with her.”
“He is,” I agree. “He loves her. She loves him so much already.”
“Does that scare you?” Mum and I catch up to Cam and Maisy, and the four of us walk through the gate to the playground together. Immediately, Maisy rushes to the swings, yelling for Cam to join her. Mum and I find an empty bench.
“Maybe a little,” I admit. It does scare me. It scares me a lot, actually. For three years, I’ve been a single parent. I assumed I always would be. I never imagined Cam would come back into my life, or that he’d be so open—so willing—to come into Maisy’s. I’ve been the only one making the rules for so long. But now he’s here—he’s her parent, too. And while he’s still learning her, and us, he has just as much authority to let her have a mid-week ice cream treat as I do.
“I freaked out last night,” I admit quietly. Mum doesn’t say a word, just rests a hand on my knee and silently waits for me to continue. “I went out—I couldn’t stay in the house anymore, I needed to get out and run, you know?” Mum nods.
“Anyway. Cam let Maisy have ice cream.” Mum’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “And when I got home, she was in the bath.”
“Oh, Amie.”
“I know. I just… panicked, I guess. She’d been such a brat all day, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And he just took it all in his stride. Took care of her. And when I got back… I turned into a fucking crazy woman.”
“It’s understandable for you to have fears, honey,” Mum says. Her hand on my knee squeezes lightly. If anyone can understand the anxiety of being a single mum, it’s Suzanne Caine. Especially when it comes to letting someone else in. I tip my head to rest it on her shoulder, letting the familiar scent of her tea tree shampoo wash over me as her auburn hair blends with mine.
“It’s not just the ice cream. Or even the bath.”
“Did you talk to him? Tell him why you’re afraid?”
“A little. We talked about boundaries. And how I have to respect his, too. He tried to talk Maisy out of a tantrum and I jumped in, and maybe made it worse.”
“But you didn’t tell him the full story.”
“No,” I admit. I close my eyes against the surge of memories. “I just panicked.”
“He’s not your father, honey,” Mum says. She shrugs away from me, turning to face me. She takes my face in her hands and directs it to watch Cam, crouched in front of Maisy, gently tucking a wayward curl behind her ear before kissing her forehead and lifting her to the monkey bars. “Look at him. That man adores her.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I think that’s what scares me the most.”
I dip my elbow into the bathwater.
“Why elbow?” Cam asks over my shoulder. Behind me, I can hear Maisy hopping impatiently from foot to foot. I can hear the long belt from her dressing gown slapping lightly against the tile as she dances around. I turn the tap to add a little more cold water before snapping my head around to meet Cam’s curious gaze.
“Hmm? ”
“Why do you test it with your elbow? Specifically?”
“Because it’s more sensitive,” I explain. I dip my elbow again before turning off the water. “Our hands are desensitised to temperature. They experience extremes of it constantly. Elbows aren’t. It’s a much more accurate check.”
Cam nods. “That makes sense. I used my elbow last night. Just like I saw you do it. I figured there must be a reason for it.”
I smile tightly at him, blinking back the sheen of tears that threaten to cover my eyes. I let Cam take over bathtime duty, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet while he indulges Maisy’s imagination with some dinosaur swimming races. Once she’s in her pyjamas, and chanting story, story, story, Cam tucks her beneath the sheets with Roger and her new pilot bear while I hunt for her requested book.
“Goodnight, Maisy Girl. Have big dreams, sweetheart.” Cam kisses the top of Maisy’s head and she hums quietly, already almost entirely lost to sleep. He follows me out of her bedroom and I flick off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar before descending the stairs and beelining for the kitchen.
My tongue feels thick in my mouth, a lump I can’t quite swallow around. My heart races against my ribcage. My mum’s words echo in my ears. I know I have to be honest, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. I’ve never felt so exposed. I’ve shared so much of myself in the last two or three days, I might as well be walking around naked.
Cam grabs a bottle of water while I busy myself making a cup of chamomile tea in my favourite mug, before pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. I place it all on the kitchen table between us and Cam raises an eyebrow .
“I’m going to need this,” I tell him. I sit opposite him and take a few deep breaths. It’s now or never. How many times have I said that to myself this week?
“I panicked last night.” To his credit, Cam says nothing. He just reaches a hand across the small table, taking mine in both of his and squeezing once. That single squeeze, that you’ve got this . Our ‘thing’. Between the squeeze of his hand and the solemn green gaze, free from judgement, I take another breath and continue.
“I’ve been a single parent for three years. You know that. It’s hard for me—it’s hard to give up that control. To let someone else be her parent. I know my mum helps, and Katy and Ruth and Paloma. But they’re not her parents. But you are.”
I can’t look at him. I stare at our joined hands on the tabletop as my stomach twists and churns.
“We do this your way, Amie,” he murmurs. “All of it. If you need me to step back—”
“No,” I interrupt. “It’s not that. It’s… fuck. Okay.” I twist the cap off the wine and pour a healthy amount into one of the wine glasses. Cam pours a much smaller amount into his own glass as I drink half of mine in one long gulp.
“When I was six, my father came back. Out of nowhere. He—he wasn’t around. Left Mum alone when she was pregnant with me. But she gave him a chance to be my dad when I was six.”
Cam sucks in a breath between his teeth. I watch his jaw harden and his eyes darken, like he’s imagining all the awful things I might be about to say. Like he’s imagining Maisy in my place. In spite of the barrage of emotions wailing on me, my heart swells just a little at the way he’s taken so easily and immediately to fatherhood. At the way my little girl is so loved beyond measure.
“She left me with him to run some errands. Not for long. An hour or two, maybe. I don’t really remember much of the day…”
“Did he hurt you?” Cam’s jaw clenches.
“Not—not the way you’re thinking.”
He exhales shakily.
“He put me in the bath. He… he didn’t check the water. It was too deep. It was too hot. And then he left me.”
“Amie…”
“Let me get this out, Cam. Please.” He squeezes my hand again. “Mum came home to find him passed out on the couch. Cigarette between his fingers, burning through the couch cushions and about to go up in flames. Still holding an almost-empty bottle of vodka in the other hand. She found me in the bath, shivering. The water had gone cold, but—well, the damage was done. That’s why—the marks on my legs. My back and my stomach. It could’ve been so much worse, but… it still burned me. I’ve never told anyone before. Not even Katy.”
“What happened to him?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Mum woke him up and threw him out. I never saw him again.”
“Good. If I ever—”
“You won’t. He’s nothing. He won’t be coming anywhere near us.”
Cam swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“That’s why you were upset last night. About me bathing Maisy.”
“Yeah.”
“I would never hurt her, Amie.” His gaze softens, earnestness shining through the green. I squeeze his hands .
“I know,” I whisper. “I know you wouldn’t. You won’t. I know.”
“I love her,” he whispers. A wet sheen coats his eyes. “I love her like I never imagined I would. Just—one look at her, and I’d do just about fucking anything for her.”
“I know,” I whisper again. “She does that to you. She hadn’t been out of my belly twenty seconds, and I knew it.” My words come out in a rush, a tiny laugh mixed into a heavy exhale. It’s a laugh of lightness. Of relief. Of finally sharing something that had darkened my mind for a long time. Of no longer shouldering a burden alone.
“I’d do anything for you, too, Amie,” he whispers. His green eyes search my face, finally catching my gaze. It’s intense, and I hold it only for a second before I close my eyes. A tear leaks out from beneath my closed eyelids. “For Maisy, and for you. Anything you need. Anything you want.”
I want to say I know again. Because I do. I believe it. I see it in his eyes. But I can’t bring myself to say the words, because to say them means to acknowledge everything unsaid between us—the unspoken words his gaze conveys. And to say it means accepting everything else that hangs over us: he’d do anything for his daughter, and his daughter’s mother. And it means opening my heart to a man who could break it again.
When I squeeze his hand instead of speaking, I let him think it’s because I’m too overwhelmed to say the words out loud. But instead, it’s grief. Grief for the father I never had. Grief for what Cam and I had in Singapore. Grief for the fantasy I’ve held every day since. And grief for what we’ll never be.