Epilogue
KIRILL
Eight years later
“Daddy, Daddy!” The voice of our eldest daughter accompanies the thunder of her little footsteps in the hallway, then she bursts into the library.
She’s wearing a bright-orange skirt, a fluffy orange sweater that has a grinning mouth and a green neckline like a pumpkin, and black and orange striped leggings.
I quickly put my computer to sleep before she gets close enough to see anything seven-year-old eyes shouldn’t.
Katy is our eldest daughter of five children. Two boys and three girls.
She looks just like her mother in some ways.
Long, brown hair, where her sisters inherited my black hair, and blue eyes.
Tess says that Katy makes up for not looking like me by acting as I do.
She loves logic puzzles and can be withdrawn around strangers like I am.
But she’s also Tess’ daughter, so that’s her saving grace.
No need for Tess to use her skills as a children’s counsellor to help our kids.
Yet.
“Pumpkin,” I greet her, and swing her onto my lap. She squeals but knows if she interrupts me while I’m working the price will be cuddles.
She has a carrier bag in her hand, the contents of which thud against my shoulder.
“Daddy, we bought you a present!”
“I’m the one who gives presents around here,” I grumble.
It’s my favourite thing to do, spoil my kids and my wife. Trips abroad, books—Tess has turned all the kids into bookworms—and e-readers, computers, and toys. I have zero self-control.
I knew the kids would slot into that same place in my heart as Tess did, but I was shocked at how the feeling showed itself. I think having fallen in love with Tess, it was easier to recognise the sensation, and not fight it.
I suppose it’s natural. I felt bad about wanting to keep Tess because she was a girl almost half my age, and I’d kidnapped her. Our children, by contrast, I’ve never felt guilty about caring for them.
“Do you know that Halloween is soon, Daddy?” Katy asks.
“I may have heard about that,” I say dryly.
Our kids have decided Halloween is their favourite annual event. Tess says they inherited my love of scaring people.
“Well, Mummy took us shopping for costumes, and I saw something perfect for you, Daddy.” My little girl is gleeful, bouncing on my lap. She has a gap in her teeth where she’s lost a milk tooth, and it’s a bittersweet reminder she won’t be this age forever.
“That’s nice,” I say distractedly, thinking about whether I should check if it’s normal for a child not to have an adult tooth in that gap yet.
“Will you wear it on Halloween?” Katy demands.
“Of course.” Probably her teeth are fine. But she does eat a lot of sugar.
“Would you like to see the mask?” She brings the bag to her chest, bumping my arm as she does, and my brain finally clicks into what she’s saying.
A mask?
That’s, Uh…
“Mummy said we should wait until Halloween, but I want you to see it. I think you’ll like it!”
She’s so excited, that despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, I nod.
“I’m sure I will.”
“Look!” She pulls the mask out of the bag, and my heart stutters.
Because what else would it be?
“Mummy said you’d prefer blue, but I knew you’d like pink!”
It’s a black mask with glowing neon pink crossed-out eyes and a grinning mouth.
Almost exactly the same as the one in Tess and my bedroom upstairs, locked in a box that also holds our various adult toys.
The last time I wore that mask, I chased down Katy’s mother in the woods outside our house in the country with a baby monitor clipped to my back pocket.
Then I held Tess down and fucked her, telling her that she was such a good, filthy girl for me.
The time before, I was with two of the London Maths Club and we disposed of a man who Tess and I had tracked online for months.
But there is no way Katy has ever seen that mask.
“Do you like it, Daddy?” Katy asks earnestly.
“Yes.” I look my daughter in the face. “I love it. And you’re right, pink is what I would have chosen for myself.” I did, in fact.
“Real men wear pink,” she says, parroting back my phrase and obviously pleased with my admission.
“Indeed. But you’re sure it’s not too scary for me to wear at Halloween?
” I can do this. I can talk around a seven-year-old without hurting her feelings, so that I don’t have to put on a mask that has very problematic associations for me.
“I don’t want to scare your brothers and sisters. Or your friends.”
“Pftt.” She waves her hand. “You couldn’t be scary, Daddy.”
A muffled snort comes from the doorway, and I look up to see Tess watching us with laughter dancing in her eyes.
I raise one eyebrow severely, and that sets Tess off into giggles she has to cover her mouth to contain. My beautiful, understanding, naughty wife.
“Good to know,” I reply faintly.
“Especially not in a pink mask,” she goes on, destroying my intimidating reputation with every word. Totally unknowing, too. None of the kids are aware of what I do. They’re very well protected, and will be for many more years yet.
“You don’t think Daddy could be a bit scary?” Tess says.
Katy looks up and tilts her head, listening to her mother like a confused puppy trying to understand.
“You can be scary sometimes, Mummy,” she declares.
A surprised bark of laughter jumps from me. Tess is the scary one?
“Why is that?” Can’t wait to hear.
“At bedtime, she’s very fierce,” Katy says seriously.
“Can’t argue with the truth,” I say, and Tess rolls her eyes.
“You’re doing bedtime tonight and wake up tomorrow, so you get all the consequences of being not-scary,” Tess says under her breath.
“I’ll be the big bad wolf then. Scaring you to bed. Grrrr!” I do my best growl.
Katy giggles. My pride is in tatters.
I don’t care.
“What about Daddy’s tattoos?” Tess asks. “Lots of people think tattoos are scary.”
“But you have tattoos too, so they’re not scary.” Katy’s logic is impeccable.
Tess does indeed have a tattoo. It’s a soft curved line, organic almost, that wraps around her wrist and hand, cutting off abruptly at the base of her thumb. And when we hold hands, it links up
perfectly with the straight lines of my tattoos that mimic a computer’s circuit board.
She’s my connection to being human.
“Maybe I need to practice my scariness.” I turn to Katy. “You could give me some tips.”
My daughter thinks about this, her brow furrowed. “We could have lessons.”
“That sounds fun,” Tess says, and thankfully Katy doesn’t notice the mirth in her mother’s tone.
“I’ll talk to Molly next time I see her,” she says, mentioning one of Westminster’s daughters. “Her daddy is very scary.”
“That’s sorted then,” Tess replies before I can lose it that I’m ranked as less intimidating than Westminster, a man so posh his butlers probably have butlers. For fuck’s sake.
“I’ll keep this not-scary mask here, shall I.” I drop the mask into a drawer. “Perhaps it’ll inspire me.”
“It’s alright, Daddy,” Katy says reassuringly. “You don’t have to be scary to be a good Daddy.”
“I’m glad you’re not afraid of me.” I push to my feet, sweeping Katy with me, and she giggles with delight. “But maybe Mummy will help me learn how to be scary.” I wink at Tess, who gives me a secret smile. “We could use the pink mask.”
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