Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mick
“ D addy, you have to come. You promised.” Riley throws herself onto the lounge room floor in a tantrum to shame all tantrums. Hiccups punctuate her screams as she hammers the carpet with tiny fists. It’s a repeat of our date night, except a hundred times worse.
Zola huddles at Jules’ feet, glancing between Riley and me, uncertain what to make of the noise. Jules glares at me like I’m a pile of dog shit and so she should. I lower my gaze. I’d been so preoccupied with my visit to Melissa and Ashley yesterday that I forgot I was supposed to attend Riley’s school today to celebrate Father’s Day.
“I’ve got a meeting, sweetheart.”
“Nooooo …”
Jules swoops in with Riley’s favourite toy. “Don’t blame Daddy. He’d come if he could.” Jules flashes me a look that says otherwise, then props the doll near Riley’s face. “What would Barbie do?”
A shudder runs through Riley’s body. She sniffles, then takes the doll. “She’d throw Ken out.”
I smother a laugh. It’s funny, and yet not funny. A lump the size of Riley’s doll chokes my throat .
Jules’ lips twitch. “I’m not sure she’d do that, but she’d give him a big talking to about breaking promises. And ask him not to do it again.”
Jules might be speaking to Riley, but her focus is one hundred percent on me. I swear if she had the ability, she would shove her fist inside my chest, wrap her fingers around my heart and squeeze the life out of it.
After the counselling and the commitment I’ve made to Jules to try harder, this is a big ‘fail’ on my part.
I kneel on the floor. “I’m sorry. Your mum’s right. I’ll ring work and tell them I won’t be in until later this morning.” Jake will need to reschedule our meeting, but he’s a father. He’ll understand. He has to.
Riley peers up at me, her cheeks stained with tears. “You’d do that for me?”
“Absolutely.” I hold my hands out. She throws herself into my arms. “And next time, I’ll put it in my diary so nothing else can get in the way.”
Zola nudges my hand and slips her head between me and Riley, her slobbery tongue covering Riley’s face and wetting my shirt.
“It seems you’re forgiven, Mick.” There’s an edge to Jules’ voice. She glances at Riley curled into my chest, her expression inscrutable.
Riley may have excused my forgetfulness, but the progress Jules and I have made has just dropped back a notch.
Bright paintings and drawings decorate the classroom, while a banner titled ‘Happy Father’s Day’ covers the whiteboard.
A man with fiery red hair greets us at the door. “Hello, Riley. Is this your dad?”
Riley nods and beams up at me with so much light in her eyes that I want to kick myself for ever forgetting this event. And for not visiting the school sooner.
I hold out my hand. “I’m Mick.”
Riley’s teacher shakes it. “And I’m Hugh. It’s good to finally meet you.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Is he being sarcastic?
Riley tugs at my trousers. “Can I go play, Daddy?”
“Sure.” I kiss her cheek and watch her run over to several kids in the corner, leaving me and Hugh alone.
Hugh sweeps his arm around the room, a huge smile on his face. “Riley’s been talking about Father’s Day for the past month. She’s very excited to have you here.”
Guilt hits me square in the solar plexus. I rock on my heels, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “I’m glad I could make it.” But I feel like the world’s worst father. Is it because I can sense Riley’s teacher judging me even though he’s been nothing but polite? Or is it because I’m judging myself?
I take a seat with the rest of the dads on the tiniest chairs ever. For the kids without fathers, male friends or grandfathers have turned up in support. If I wasn’t here, who would come for Riley?
After enduring an eardrum-rupturing Happy Father’s Day that only a parent could love, and I do, the children swarm to their respective guardians, bearing gifts. Riley can hardly contain herself as she hands me my present.
“Thanks.”
She tugs on my jacket sleeve. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” I kiss her on top of the head and tear open the red wrapping paper. And what do I find beneath? More red. Of course. It’s clearly her favourite colour. I pull out a papier-maché object. “I love it.” I mean, what else can I say? It’s hideous. Riley has as much artistic skill as I do .
Riley adjusts the gift, and I realise I’ve been holding it upside down. Oops.
“It’s Zola, Dad. Isn’t she beautiful?”
If by beautiful, she means a cross between Cujo and a feral cat, then I guess it is. But the attention to detail with the whiskers and tail, and the splashes of white on the body, tells me a lot of love went into this creation. I swallow a lump that wedges in the base of my throat.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I kiss her cheek.
Hugh claps his hands. “Okay, children, let’s get morning tea ready for your visitors.”
Riley squeals and runs to a table in the corner.
The food makes the Cujo papier-maché look like a prize-winning show dog. While the dad next to me enjoys a chocolate cupcake, Riley hands me a mangled slab of cake half the size. And, surprise, surprise, the colour is red.
“I made it myself, Daddy.”
“It looks delicious.” I open my mouth to take a huge bite. Hugh’s eyebrows climb his forehead as he shakes his head. What’s wrong? I nibble a piece and freeze.
Riley jumps up and down. “What do you think?”
I’m not getting out of this alive. She must have emptied an entire bottle of salt into the mixture. “Mm … Yum.”
Hugh saves me from any further death-defying acting. “Riley, can you help me fetch a drink for your dad?”
The moment she turns around, I shove the cake into my trouser pocket. Brush the crumbs away.
“That good?” says the man next to me, his lips twitching.
I swallow in a vain attempt to replace the moisture in my mouth. “She tries hard.”
The morning finishes with a short skit from The Wizard of Oz . The acting is hilarious, with all the kids equally stilted, and their off-key singing leaves a harsh ringing in my ears that will probably last the entire day. I love it. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and my legs can’t help but bounce to the beat of the music. Riley’s rendition of Toto is adorable. She even flips over and kicks her legs in the air like Zola does when she’s rolling on the grass.
I clap my hands. Riley searches for me and waves. I wave back.
“Why wasn’t a plush toy used for the dog?” I ask Hugh.
“Normally we would, but Riley asked if she could be Toto and having heard her sing …” He winks. “I thought it was a good idea.”
I choke on a laugh. He has a point. Riley only knows two pitches: whisper-soft and ear piercing. Although, to be fair, I think a few of the other children weren’t much better.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it. The morning tea has taken longer than I anticipated, so no doubt Jake is chasing me. He can wait. My daughter comes first today.
Riley, complete with red ears, red whiskers, and a red tail, launches herself into my arms. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it.”
“What was your favourite part?”
I pull on the fake ears on her head. “The dog, of course.”
She giggles, then kisses my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Daddy.”
Tears prick my eyes. To think I almost missed today. I was an arse not to prioritise it. Prioritise Riley. What else have I missed in my daughter’s life?