In the end it was time that sorted it. And tricks. Reading until she fell asleep in my lap, then I’d put her down and get my sleeping bag and then that was fine. I still remember looking up at her little foot hanging over the bed and feeling so overcome, so filled with love. And that helped, and her being so innocent. You know, sitting here, hearing her sing to herself, I’d think How could you hit a child that size until they bled? Or tear out handfuls of their hair? Or let them starve? It was the first time I realised I couldn’t have caused that, or in any realistic way deserved it and that, actually, my mother had been completely fucking mad.
But another problem was the affection, her expecting it of me. She was always wanting a hug or something. It’s not that I minded the touching and I was fine with functional things. It was just a total lack of instinct. She’d be reaching for me and I’d just stand there. I could see she needed it though, so I had to teach myself to. And I did. I was awkward at first but I got the hang and before long liked nothing more than being hugged to within an inch of my life. Picking her up. Kissing her freckly cheeks. Eventually not even thinking first. Then one night she had a nightmare, lying here. She was crying and wanting me in the bed and I was freaking out when I suddenly thought You fucking idiot. You’re the adult here, be it, enough of your nonsense now. So I got in beside her and held her until she went back to sleep and that was the end of worrying about those things. I suppose the desire to protect her helped. Being very aware of my own inadequacy as well. I’d often watch other parents with theirs in the street and when I’d see them do something that’d taken me ages to work out, I’d get such a lift. Stupid things really. Obvious, perhaps. Asking instead of just in with a slap. Knowing they have their own likes and dislikes. Not shouting them down every time they open their mouth, or just wanting them to have fun. Simple, I think, if you’ve known some kindness yourself. Harder if you haven’t.
She was so small and warm and full of chat and stuff she had to know. I love it. I loved it. I’ve still got tapes of her voice and I’ve probably never slept less in my life but I didn’t want to miss a moment of watching her unfold. When she starting talking I wasn’t there. Her first steps though, were to me. It’s ridiculous what you’ll do to make your child smile but there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for that hearty little laugh. Even at five a.m. getting my eyelids prised up with Daddy no more sleeping! I loved walking with her on my shoulders. Feeding ducks in Regent’s Park — then having to quack all the way home. Swimming lengths with her strangling round my neck, screaming with excitement and knocking my glasses off. I remember taking her to Brighton, just to see the sea. It was a perfect day. Paddle. Fish and chips. She wanted to take the ocean home and wouldn’t budge. So I ended up carrying a bucket of salt water back to London on the train. Stubborn as a mule she was and prone to a screech when she didn’t get what she wanted. But I never once raised my hand. I’d sit her on that desk until I got Sorry Daddy, big kiss, then jumping off and back to playing birds. I was always trying to think what I’d show her next. I wanted to give her experiences because I’d no money for buying stuff. I wanted her to see the world and learn not to be scared like I’d been. To know she was the best person in it because she really was.
He smiles into the memory like warm inside. And what about the director? I ask Did you ever see him again? I did, he says Thank God!
Occasionally I’d get a note at the stage door to say he’d been in, hoping I was taking care of myself. That went on for well over a year. Then out of the blue he called and said It’s time, come for Sunday lunch. So I went, nervously, but I needn’t have been. He welcomed me at the door like the prodigal son and introduced the man he’d met — who you’ll meet tomorrow night, and they were together for the rest of his life. We all had dinner. I stayed late, talking, catching up. Them about each other and work. Me too and my daughter, my health. That he was obviously happy relieved a lot of my guilt and that evening began the friendships that’ve been the closest of my life. They were are my family — what I imagine family should be. I still stay over there a lot. Often go to their house in France. And they were mad about my little girl, adopted her as a kind of grandchild, I suppose. Laughed off her yoghurt paintings on their Persian rugs. Made her doll houses from model boxes and bought the toys I couldn’t afford back then. It certainly didn’t do me any harm either, being around people in love.
*
Those were a few fine years for me and I was very well. Not up to anything destructive. Getting better at taking care of myself. If I struggled with the guilt towards my ex or felt low handing the baby back, I did nothing bad to shake it off. Just worked hard and tried to stay in London as much as I could. I saw a few girls on and off. Nothing serious because my attention was all for her but I used to imagine I might meet someone one day, get married, have more kids. I liked the idea my life might be normal after all. Jesus, what a fucking idiot! I can’t believe it now.
Why? I ask. Oh, he says, unwinding himself and closing his eyes.
One Sunday evening, when she was four, my ex came to pick her up. She said I have to talk to you, so we left her in here, asleep, and stepped into the hall, out there. You know I’m getting married, she said. I do, I agreed. The thing is he’s Canadian and we’ve decided to move back. Who? I said. All of us. And leave her with me? No, I’ll be taking her with. But you can’t take her to Canada, I said. Why not? she said Or don’t you think you owe me this? You can’t just take her away, I said I’m her father, I have rights as well. And whose side do you think a court would take? Do you really want it to get to that? No, I said But I won’t let her go. You have to, she said You’ve already ruined my life once, you’re not going to ruin hers as well. I said I’m not going to ruin anything ever again. If you don’t let her go, you will, she said This is her chance for a normal life, to have a good man as a father, responsible, grown up. He’ll take care of her as his own. He already has a house there and a good job lined up. But I’m her father, I said You can’t change that. You’re a broke ex-junkie actor who lives in a bedsit and can’t keep his dick to himself. Do you think that’s good for her? Does she deserve to live like that? But I love her, I said. So choose what’s right — for her instead of yourself — because what do you think your love will be worth when she’s stuck on some north London council estate? We’ll give her a good education, a stable home, brothers and sisters, ballet classes, whatever she wants or would you prefer her to grow up to be poor and alone? And like you? Do you want her to have your life? Is that really what you want? Is that the best you imagine for her? Don’t you want better for your daughter? And then I knew she had me. I had nothing to say. Nothing to offer in place of those things. Nothing except my broken-down self and how could that ever be enough? I just looked at her and she knew she’d won. In the end it took so little but she had it all. Alright, I said What’s going to happen now?
So she got out the papers and made promises. You’ll see her often, she said Every summer for at least a month. I’ll send our number once we’re settled and I’ll make sure she calls. You can visit too. I’ll write, of course. But I was so in shock I kept saying I can’t. I can’t. I can’t let her go, until she lost her rag and started saying You’ll upset her. Stop it. Is this how you want to say goodbye? What do you mean ‘Goodbye’? I said. We have a morning flight. That’s when I just started to beg Oh God don’t do this, please don’t take her away. But she couldn’t be moved. My telling you at all, she said Shows more consideration than you ever did. And I could see she was enjoying it but I didn’t care. All I could think of was how to persuade her. How will I send you money? I asked What about her stuff? Keep your money, she said And your junk. We don’t want anything from you and stop deluding yourself that she’s ever needed you in any way. What use are you? What use have you ever been? You, with your filthy, poisoned life and you know exactly what I mean. Just spare us both the pointless snivelling and go in and say your goodbyes. But I couldn’t. I kept thinking This must be a game. Do it, she said Or I’ll take her away and this’ll be one more important moment you’ve fucked up in her life. So I signed the papers and I went inside to her. In here. Still asleep on the bed. Thumb in her mouth. All pink with sleep and I had to wake her up to do it say it goodbye and I did.