Chapter 12
Nick smiled at the little girl beside him at the kitchen bar, suddenly unsure of himself.
The exhaustion of a disturbed night weighed him down like lead.
At one point he’d wondered if he’d ever be able to console the homesick Emily, and it had seemed like failure on his part when she eventually cried herself to sleep.
At least breakfast had gone better than he’d hoped, and although quiet, Emily seemed happy enough. Now they’d finished eating, and an entire day stretched before them. Nick was at a loss. What did five-year-old girls do with their time?
‘What are we doing today?’
Nick flinched. He’d grown so used to being alone with his thoughts, he wasn’t used to them being interrupted. A pang of longing filled him, for the blissful ignorance he’d been in only twenty-four hours earlier. ‘I’m not too sure, Emily. What would you like to do?’
The little girl shrugged.
‘What do you usually do with your mum during the school holidays?’
She frowned and chewed on a nail. ‘Sometimes we go to the aquarium. Sometimes, we look around the shops. Sometimes we go to McDonald’s. On other days we stay inside and draw or bake cakes.’
‘Right.’ Without access to a vehicle, the aquarium and shops were a no-go, and Nick hadn’t the first idea how to draw or bake. ‘Why don’t we explore the village this morning? Would you like to see a bit more of Saffron Bay?’
‘OK.’
‘Then maybe we could come home and do some drawing?’ Nick was getting into the swing of things now.
‘Will you help me?’
‘I’m not very good. I can try, though.’
‘Mummy’s good at drawing.’
‘I bet she is.’ Nick still wasn’t sure what to make of Carla.
They’d had a terse conversation the night before when he’d assured her Emily was alright.
She hadn’t lingered on the call, or given any reassurance of how long she’d be away.
He would have resented her more were it not for the wobble in her voice, which even he understood meant she was trying hard not to cry.
‘I miss Mummy.’ Despite the quietness of Emily’s voice, Nick heard its tremble like a rumble of thunder.
He shuffled closer to Emily and put an arm around her. She shrugged it off which, inexplicably, hurt. ‘Mummy misses you, too.’
‘When is she coming back?’
‘Soon.’
Emily looked down at her hands and whispered, ‘OK.’
Nick would have preferred a tantrum to the deep sadness he couldn’t do anything to fix. As Emily hung her head, he fought off a wave of despair. In the cheeriest voice he could muster and with a smile on his face, he said, ‘Why don’t you get your coat and we’ll explore?’
‘OK.’ She kept her eyes on her hands.
Nick helped her down off the bar stool, and she shuffled towards the spare bedroom.
Tears welled in his eyes at the sight of her sagging shoulders.
He wished Carla had known someone more capable to care for the child.
He was ill-equipped for the responsibility and couldn’t shake the feeling that Emily would be better off anywhere apart from with him.
When she returned, she was carrying a coat in one hand and a hairbrush in the other. She held out the hairbrush to him. He eyed it with suspicion. ‘What’s that for?’
‘For my hair. Mummy always does my hair when I go out, otherwise, it gets tangled.’
‘I see. OK, I’ll try if you promise to help me.’
Without a word, Emily walked into the living area and sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the sofa.
‘Should I sit here?’ Nick pointed to the sofa.
Emily nodded.
He took the hairbrush and stared at the mass of tight ringlets facing him. ‘How do you normally wear your hair?’
‘In plaits or a ponytail.’
Nick swallowed. Emily might as well have been speaking a foreign language.
‘Hang on a second.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and scoured the internet for help.
Plaits were a no-go. It would take him years to master the fiddly technique, and he couldn’t understand why anyone bothered with something so complicated.
Thank goodness, the ponytail seemed easy enough.
He picked up the brush, held it against Emily’s scalp, and pulled.
She screamed and jumped up, the brush hanging from her head like an instrument of torture.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Mummy starts at the bottom and is gentle.’ Her tone was mildly accusing.
Nick despaired. He couldn’t even brush hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Can you sit down, and we’ll try again?’
Emily sat down and twisted to peer up at him. ‘Why can’t you brush hair?’
Nick ran a hand across his own cropped, stylishly messy hair, and smiled. ‘I don’t need a brush to achieve this look. A bit of styling product and I’m ready in the mornings.’
‘That’s silly.’ Emily frowned. ‘Everyone needs to brush their hair.’ She climbed onto the sofa beside him and took the brush from Nick’s hand.
As the bristles slid through his hair, Nick’s eyes filled with tears.
Emily’s movements were careful, gentle, and the affection he felt for her in that moment overwhelmed him.
Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. You’ve known the kid for less than a day, and she might not even be yours.
Emily sat back, satisfied with her effort.
‘Thank you,’ said Nick.
‘You do the same for me. Remember, my hair is longer, so start at the end. OK?’
‘OK.’ Nick followed her instructions, making it through her full head of hair with only the occasional flinch or cry of ‘ow!’ He put down the brush and studied a YouTube video, then took a hairband from Emily’s wash bag and pulled her hair into something resembling a ponytail.
‘There. I’m done,’ he said, wondering why butterflies danced in his stomach.
Emily scrambled up and skipped across the room to where a gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall. She stared at her reflection for a moment, then burst into a fit of giggles.
‘What is it?’ asked Nick. ‘What’s wrong?’
Emily pointed to her head. ‘It’s full of worms!’
‘Worms?’
‘Look, these bits are like worms.’ She pointed to sections of hair that stood up from her head and giggled again.
‘Shall I have another try?’ asked Nick, his heart sinking.
‘No, it’s OK. I like worms, so I don’t mind looking like I’ve got some on my head. But don’t take any pictures or Mummy will think you’re stupid.’
‘Deal,’ said Nick. ‘Now, shall we go and explore?’