Father of Emily

HIGH FALLS FROM THE START I always wanted to show anger in those times but I refused to do it. My foot slipped and I looked down to the thirty-foot drop at my side. I had to keep moving regardless of how risky the situation had become. I shouted 'Clara', but there was still no reply. Running parallel to that forest track was a stream, growing faster and climaxing to a waterfall. I stumbled once more before hearing her voice behind me. Unaware of all surrounding dangers, eighteen-year-old Clara sat opposite her three-year-old daughter Emily on a red and white cheesecloth blanket. Accompanying them was a brown teddy bear with a black dickey bow tie propped up against a wicker basket. They were in a clearing and barely a couple of feet away from the edge of the swelling water. I dreaded to think how long they must have been there. “...And he did all of that in one day? He must have been exhausted!” my girlfriend asked her daughter. “Would the adventurous Mr Cummings like a drop more tea? I'm afraid there is not much left in the pot but it is possible to make some more,” she offered a baby pink plastic teapot in the direction of the bear. “He says no thank you, mummy.” Emily replied and sipped on her empty plastic cup. “Oh that's a shame but never mind, I guess that means more for us dear.” Clara raised her cup and smiled at Emily before turning to see me. “Oh look Emily, Ben is here.” Clara’s face was matter of fact and expressionless. She looked back down and finished pouring a cup of tea filled only with sand and air. Emily however rushed towards me smiling, almost tripping over her oversized jelly sandals. “Ben! Mummy and me are having a tea party and a picnic.” She stopped with a slight stumble in front of me holding out a bright red plastic cup. "Would you like to come and join us?” “No thanks Emily. Could you get ready to go straight away please?” I panted back at her. “But...but...oh, I'm having so much fun!” “I know, I know but we ought to be getting back before it gets dark.” “But I don’t want to!” she argued. “Emily we’ve got to go,” I lowered my voice and said slightly more sternly. “Now please go and get your things." “Okay then.” She slowly paced back to Clara who seemed to be in an in-depth conversation with the bear. I signalled to Emily to hurry up and then firmly took her hand and we started our descent. Emily stopped in her tracks pulling my arm, looking back over her shoulder. I turned and shouted. “Clara! Are you coming or not?” It took a while before she heard me or at least engaged her muscles to move. I wanted to get angry with her and tell her never to do anything dangerous like that again but I knew it was pointless. Sometimes she never saw the danger and sometimes I wondered if she realised I could have never faced her getting hurt. “I'm coming, give me a moment to pack up the hamper,” She turned to the bear. “Here we are having a lovely picnic and suddenly it's spoilt. This always happens doesn't it Mr Cummings, I just...” “Clara, come on!” I insisted. Once she had squashed everything into the basket she joined us. I kissed her on the head and we left, Emily in one hand and Clara in the other. * * This train is like a hypnotist trying to put a blanket of sleep over me. With the combination of unsteady movement and fast countryside blurring past my eyes, travelling always relaxes me no matter what the day may have consisted of. Suddenly, we judder and start to slow down. A voice comes over the speakers choosing to add to my Eurostar experience. My therapy is pleasantly spoilt informing me of an unexpected delay, oh and the onboard café's boiler is out of order restricting any hot beverages. They do apologise for not catering for my hourly caffeine fix. How kind of them. There is now over an hour before I arrive home in Paris. Stuck in a stuffy carriage, no book to read, no coffee and someone behind me with headphones turned up so loud I can hear every word of the song. Despite the fact this is a relatively new service, the carriages still seem worn and over used. The interior is a very un-stylish mix of yellows and greys. Without my dosage of coffee or nicotine I desperately struggle to keep my eyes from closing and drifting from one daydream to another. I'm caught up in this hurricane of memories, things I have chosen to forget, ten years on from those days of picnics on cliff tops in the English countryside. * * The sunlight was short lived, it quickly sank and submerged into the calm dark sea, engulfing it all and giving way to the light of the stars and the moon. The ripples sounded metres away from our bare feet where we lay with the sand still warm beneath us. I am thrown back to the night where Clara and I were enjoying our first holiday alone together in Cyprus. A break paid for by part-time jobs and a generous donation of plane tickets from Clara's parents. We were nervously edging away from our teenaged years and had eaten at a seafood restaurant that looked out across the beach. I think I had almost accidentally sold Clara to our waiter for what I believed to be three camels, although she had refused and said she was worth at least five and two sheep. The waiter decided this was too much for him and informed us he still had to provide for his wife and children but he would sleep on the offer all the same. Thinking back now, I'm not even sure whether there are any camels in Cyprus. We had left most of our food on our plates but managed to consume the majority of the third bottle of Cypriot wine. Clara had started to write a cheque and then we both realised paying in cash would be far easier than holding a pen under the influence of alcohol. I think the waiter might have even received a larger tip than he was expecting. After finally paying, we removed our shoes, took each other's hand and silently strolled along the beach. We found a quiet spot and collapsed onto the sand. “The sky looks amazing, don't you think?” she said softly to me as we both kept eye contact with the stars. “How come you never see a shooting star when you want to?” she asked. “Probably the same reason why you always forget your umbrella when it rains or something like that.” I suggested. “Actually come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen one.” “What an umbrella?” she giggled. “No seriously, you've never seen a shooting star?” She was filled with curiosity but her eyes were still searching the sky and a smile had appeared in her voice. “I don't think so, no.” I could sense her turning her head to look at me. “Well I want to see one right now,” she said and then turned her head back towards the sky. “I want to make a wish.” “And what would that be?” “I can't tell you, it wouldn't come true.” “Well you haven't seen a star yet so it would make little difference.” “That's not the point. What happens if I tell you my wish and then one suddenly flies past? I would have lost my chance! You wouldn't want that to happen now would you?” In the distance behind us, a group of drunken guys shouted and sung at the top of their voices. It sounded as if one of them had fallen and they all started cheering. “What do you think Emily will be when she's older?” Clara asked. “I'm not sure?” I replied slightly startled and not expecting the question. “Come on tell me. What do you think?” “Why?” “Just wondering.” She sat up looking towards the voices on the street behind us and then out to sea. She stroked her hand through her hair and then brought her knees up to rest her elbows on them. “Mmm... a nobody like her mother or maybe a writer like her father?” I sat up instantly and wrapped my arm around her. “You're definitely not a nobody.” She took my hand and squeezed it on her shoulder. I took into account what she had said. “Was her dad really a writer?” I asked. “I wasn't talking about that man we shall not speak of. I was referring to you,” she replied still looking out to sea. “I don't think studying an English degree or working part-time in a bookshop quite qualifies me as a writer.” “You want to be a writer, don't you?” she turned to me. “That doesn't make me one.” “Maybe not yet then.” She looked deep into my eyes and tightened her own slightly, “you are closer to her than any man has ever been.” I didn't know how to start to reply but she rescued the silence by adding that I was funnier and sexier than any man she had ever been with or known. She kissed my hand and then looked away again. “Maybe she will become a dancer or something more academic,” she continued, “don't you think?” She waited for an answer that didn't come, “like a doctor maybe?” she added. “Well, she does love that doctor's kit your mum bought for her last Christmas, for heavens sake everything in our flat now has a plaster on it. Do you know the other week I came home and found Helen with a bandage over her entire arm because Mr Cummings had bit her and Emily had sent him to the naughty corner to think about what he had done!” We both laughed. “Poor bear,” she giggled. “Poor Helen,” I stated. “I don't know how she puts up with it!” Helen was our flatmate, a drama student in her final year and every bit as eccentric as any drama student should be. She was Emily's favourite playmate, next to Clara of course. However she used to fight with Emily as if she were a three year old herself but never won. There was one time she had stormed into our room, screaming that Emily had pulled her blue hair whilst playing hairdressers and she would be leaving forever. Even at three, Emily would always apologise sweetly knowing Helen would be there to play with her the following day. Suddenly Clara jumped on top of me with legs astride my waist. I covered my eyes with my palms guessing I wasn't going to enjoy what was coming. “Oh no, Doctor Emily, I think we're losing our patient. He's gone into some sort of daydream again. Pass me the electrical charge thingy and whack it up to full power!” She placed one hand over the other and started pounding on my stomach, wiggling her fingers into my sides. I yelled with laughter. “Don't. Stop. I've just eaten. You'll make me sick!” She then started to tickle me all over. I managed to spin us both and pin her arms above her head. Struggling she lifted her head to kiss me. I pulled my trying-to-look-angry face. “You are always so serious Mr Benjamin Millar! You should laugh more.” “I am laughing, ha, ha!” I replied. She wriggled underneath me but failed and relaxed back down with her hands still above her head. “Yeah, but you should laugh mooore! You talk like you're a grown up when you're still a kid.” “I am a grown up.” I said, sticking my tongue out and squeezing my nose tight. She viciously snapped with her teeth trying to bite my tongue. I pulled back not realising by doing so I would lose my advantage over her. She tactically grabbed the opportunity and spun me around pinning me to the floor. She wasn't as strong as me so I managed to roll her over again and regain control. We stopped laughing, the fun was over. I tried to read her new emotion, it was a completely different mood. Her face was still and a look of deep concentration. I thought I was the only person in the world who could read this expression and guess what was to come next. I knew exactly what to say each time, what she needed to hear. Each time I said it I felt I meant it even more. Those four words... “I love you, Clara.” Her eyes remained fixed, she waited for an eternity, searching my eyes for a lie or an element of uncertainty in my words. Her eyes fell away and she looked to the side, “well I hate you, Mr Millar,” she whispered to the sand next to her. She had lost, every word was true. She took a deep breath and held it in as she slowly turned back to me putting her hands behind my head pulling me towards her. As our lips touched, she breathed out and her whole body shook. In our own little way we felt exactly the same, we gave kisses that made each other shiver.