His Sword

by Holly Hart

  Before leaving the limousine, I check my face one last time. I got Penny to apply a touch of makeup – just a little – just enough to darken my eyes, and to deepen some of the crow’s feet beginning to mark my skin.

  I grin.

  Penny did a damn fine job. Between the suit, the driver’s, the half-beard and the makeup, I look like a different person.

  I’ve no doubt that Tilly will see right through the disguise. She’s the smartest kid I know, but I hope it’ll hold out for a while: enough to draw a smile.

  I knock the limousine’s driver door closed with my foot, and go stand amongst the gaggle of drivers ringing the glass doors, purposefully slumping my posture. The kids are starting to stream out now, dragging huge, heavy suitcases behind them.

  “Come on, Hailey,” a stressed-looking executive grunts. “You can say your goodbyes another time. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  Some hello that is…

  The worst bit is, Hailey doesn’t even argue. I get the sense that the kid has been through this a hundred times before. She waves sadly to her friends, and takes off after her father, still dragging her own suitcase behind.

  The scene is repeated half a dozen times, though with less intensity. The pile of schoolgirls: all of them dressed in unkempt gray, and purple-hemmed uniforms; all the worse for wear after an eight hour flight from London; begins to winnow away.

  Still no Tilly…

  It’s just me and a few other drivers now. I grimace. If she sees me here, standing alone, there’s no way my cover will fly. I spin, looking for inspiration.

  And I find it.

  “Hey, dude,” I say to a passing traveler, dressed in floral-print shorts and flip-flops. “Can I bum a cigarette?”

  “Sure, dude,” the man says in a drawn-out California drawl. “You look like you could use it…”

  I grimace. Not exactly what I want to hear. “Thanks.”

  “You need a light?” ‘Floral-print shorts’ asks.

  I don’t smoke.

  I shake my head, and pat my breast pocket as if to indicate I’ve got a zippo lighter stashed away. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks buddy.”

  He shrugs and carries on. I put the cigarette in my mouth, and leave it hanging there. Next I loosen my tie a little, so it’s hanging around my neck somewhat like a noose.

  Better.

  Then I see her –

  – Tilly: my daughter.

  She’s still the most beautiful, most incredible person I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe that a part of me is in her; that I helped make something so special. I didn’t realize quite how much I’ve missed her while she’s been away until now.

  She’s got both arms behind her back, and she’s dragging her suitcase on its side, rather than by the wheels.

  I start walking forward.

  “Darn,” she mumbles, looking back. She turns around to right the case, and I approach her quickly while she’s distracted.

  “You Tilly Thorne?” I ask. I affect a thick, rough, smoker’s voice, and cough a couple of times into the back of my hand for good effect.

  “D’you need me to grab that?” I grunt, jerking my head at the suitcase.

  “No, don’t worry,” Tilly says – still focused on the case behind her. “I’ve got it.”

  My heart swells with pride when I hear her say that. I just watched dozens of spoiled kids clicks her fingers and watch their parents’ driver jump, and I’m so glad that Tilly’s not like that.

  “Are you sure?” I ask – in my normal voice this time.

  “Seriously,” Tilly replies, huffing – with effort, not attitude – as she kicks her suitcase back onto its wheels. “It’s cool. I’m stronger than I –”

  Tilly freezes.

  She turns her head slowly, as if she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. Then she drops the suitcase entirely and comes running towards me.

  “Daddy!”

  My daughter throws herself into my arms from a running start. She’s captain of the hockey team, and she’s already well past my waist – taller than a girl her age has any right to be. She knocks the air clean out of my lungs as she collides with me, but I don’t care.

  I can’t hide the smile that grabs hold of my face.

  “Tils,” I smile, nuzzling her hair. “I was beginning to think maybe you didn’t make it on board at all…”

  She squeezes her arms around me. When she pulls her head back, I swear I see tiny glistening tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

  “Shurrup,” she says in a muted voice. I can tell that her throat and chest are all clenched up with emotion.

  “I was about to send the jet,” I wink. “To make sure you didn’t get lost on the way!”

  I set Tilly back down on the ground.

  “It was my bag,” she says. She wrinkles her nose at the offending suitcase. “It kept tipping over.”

  I cast my eyes over it. The item in question is bulging in all the wrong places. “Looks over-packed to me,” I grin.

  Tilly puts her hands on her hips. “I wasn’t looking for your opinion, daddy,” she says.

  “Want me to carry it?” I ask.

  Tilly frowns. I can tell she wants to say yes, but she’s standing on her pride. I like that. It’s exactly the kind of bloody-mindedness I want to see in my daughter.

  “It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”

  I walk over toward the limousine with my daughter my side. I’m so happy to have her back I can’t help the smile that keeps breaking over my face like the dawn sun peeping through bothersome clouds.

  We heave the suitcase into the back – together – and climb in.

  “How was it then?” I ask, reaching over and tousling Tilly’s hair before I put the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles on, and I signal to move out into the slow flow of traffic.

  Tilly looks exhausted. She’s never flown commercial before this trip – only on my jet. I offered – half-jokingly – to fly the whole school over on it, but Tilly declined with a look of horror on her face.

  “No way!” she protested. “I’m not a show off, daddy!”

  More pride. So much pride I wonder sometimes if I might just explode.

  “It was amazing,” Tilly says, her enthusiasm racing through the exhaustion. “I mean, wet. Really, really wet. It didn’t quit raining all week, but otherwise it was incredible. We went to Buckingham Palace, and Windsor Castle, and to Stonehenge –”

  “How was that?” I interrupt.

  “Stonehenge?” Tilly chews her lip. I know that look. It’s when she wants to say something, but worries people will look at her the wrong way for it. “To be honest…”

  “Always,” I say, turning onto the highway.

  She giggles. “It was just a pile of stones in the ground. And busy, so, so busy! The museum was closed for some reason, so we had to look at it from the road.”

  I make a face. “Oh.”

  “But the rest of it was amazing. I can’t wait to show you all the pictures I took.”

  “I can’t wait to see them,” I say.

  There’s a short silence, interrupted only occasionally by the sound of a stone ricocheting off the limousine’s chassis. My mind travels back to the topic that has been attacking it all week. How the hell am I going to tell her about Penny?

  “Is everything okay, daddy?” she asks. Damn. I forgot how smart this kid is. I can’t hide anything from her; never have been able to.

  “Listen, Tilly,” I mumble, chewing my lip. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

  Tilly glances at me, and I meet her gaze. She’s got the same eyes as me: gray, except hers have a hint of hazel as well, sparkling like shards of glitter. She’s so freaking young and innocent, my heart feels ready to explode.

  “Is this the same thing you were going to tell me on Face Timevvvvvvvvvvv?” She asks.

  “Did I ever tell you you’re a smart kid?” I reply, dancing around the question.

&
nbsp; “All the time, daddy,” Tilly says. “Now spill. We don’t keep secrets, remember…”

  I let my head tip back onto the seat rest. A little hiss of air escapes my lips. I don’t know why this is so hard. I can sit in a boardroom and make decisions that affect the lives and jobs of thousands, yet struggle here, when it’s just me and my daughter.

  “Tilly, I –”

  I pause.

  I’ve had all the time in the world to figure out how I’m going to say this, but still I come up short. Because in truth, what can I say? “Tilly, I’ve moved a woman into the spare bedroom. You can call her mom…”

  No, I didn’t think so.

  “I think I know what’s going on,” Tilly interrupts.

  I frown. “You do?”

  Tilly nods seriously. She’s got an intense look on her face, and she mirrors my frown. “Yes. You’re dating someone, aren’t you? That’s what you want to tell me. Well, daddy…”

  I hold my breath.

  “… It’s about time!” Tilly beams.

  I croak, mouth suddenly dry. “Wha – What?”

  “I mean it. I’ve been telling you to start dating for ages, haven’t I? You need to. You’re only in your prime for so long, you know, daddy?” Tilly nods seriously. “If you let it go too long, it’ll be too late…”

  I cough, and splutter all over the steering wheel.

  “My ‘Prime’?” I say. “What are you talking about? Who told you about all this?”

  “I’m eleven, daddy,” Tilly says. “I’ll be dating soon; that’s just how it is. It’s not like how it was in your day…”

  My mouth is now almost permanently stapled in an open, shocked position. I’m going to need to talk to Tilly about what she just said. There’s no way she’s about to start dating – over my dead body! But first thing’s first. I’ve got to deal with the Penny situation before anything else.

  “Listen, Tilly,” I say. “You’re –”

  “Right, I know I am,” Tilly smiled. “What do I win?”

  “You’re kind of right,” I say, directing her. “But there’s a whole lot more to it than that.”

  “Like what?” Tilly frowns.

  I sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to talk to you about this,” I say. “It’s not fair. You’re too young.”

  Tilly sets her jaw, and presses her lips together obstinately. “I’m eleven, daddy,” she repeats. “Not nine. And besides, we tell each other everything – don’t we?” The look she gives me fizzles and crackles with intensity.

  As if there’s a difference. No matter how tall Tilly grows, she still looks as tiny to me as she did the moment I first held her in my arms.

  “We do…” I groan. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

  And I do.

  Everything.

  I don’t hold back, and the intensity of the emotion surprises me when it pours out. I talk the whole way down the highway, all the way back to 220 Central Park. I’m still talking when I step out of the limousine, when I tossed my hat and keys to the doorman, Frederick, and toss him a tip.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask, crouching down in front of the bank of elevators. I hold Tilly by her shoulders, and look her directly in the eyes.

  I’ve met women four times my daughter’s age, and I’ve still to find anyone nearly so mature. She took the news about Penny like a champ. She understood exactly why I did what I did.

  And why – if anyone asks – she needs to tell CPS that Penny’s her mom.

  “I’m sure, daddy,” Tilly says for the thousandth time. If anything, she’s beginning to look bored by having to repeat it. “You don’t have to keep checking, you know. I’m perfectly grown-up.”

  “I know,” I groan. “And I hate it.”

  The elevator pings open, and Tilly steps in, grinning wickedly at me. “Let’s go meet her, then,” she says. “I hope she’s as pretty as you say.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Penny

  I flinch.

  I’ve been waiting for the distinctive ding-hiss sound of the elevator arriving all day, and still, I flinch. This is it. I’m about to meet Tilly Thorne for the first time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to act.

  I stand in front of the elevator doors, twisting my fingers around my left wrist with anxiety.

  Tilly Thorne steps out.

  She’s a beautiful kid. That much is obvious right from the get-go. I’ve seen her pictures all around Charlie’s penthouse: photographs that chart her progress from a red-cheeked baby through to now; playing tennis in summer; hockey in winter. But they don’t do her justice.

  Not even close.

  I’m tongue-tied. What’s the right way to act in a situation like this? Maybe a high-society girl would know how to react, but I’m no high-society woman. I’m from the streets, about as low as it gets.

  “Penny…” Charlie says, “This is my daughter, Tilly.”

  Tilly Thorne wipes her palms on her purple-hemmed school skirt and steps forward. Her school uniform is messy, her shirt untucked. She gives off every sign of being a normal kid, except when she looks at me.

  Her eyes are just like her dad’s, except hers glitter; but they share the same fiery intelligence, the same burning curiosity.

  I know she’s only eleven years old, but she seems older: much older. Tilly regards me with the kind of maturity I’m not even sure most girls my age are capable of.

  “She is pretty,” Tilly says, glancing at her father. “You did good, daddy.”

  Charlie keeps his mouth shut: the traitor. If I survive Tilly’s inspection alive, I’m going to have words with him for that!

  “Thanks…” I murmur. “I guess.”

  Tilly takes three strides forward, on legs that are just about too short for her body. I stifle a smile. At her age, I had the same awkward body. Like Britney said: not a girl, but not quite a woman. She’ll grow into it in time.

  Tilly thrusts out her hand. “I’m sorry. Daddy calls me precocious.”

  Charlie’s eyebrow arches. “Precocious? That’s not exactly what I called you, Tills. Besides, I wouldn’t use a word like precocious. You know me better than that…”

  Tilly shrugs with a wicked – precocious – smile on her face. “I know, daddy. I was trying to be kind.”

  I’m stuck in no man’s land. I peer at Tilly’s outstretched hand as though it belongs to an alien, and suddenly realize I’m supposed to shake it.

  “Sorry,” I say, my heart racing. “I’m not used to all this yet, I guess.”

  Tilly shrugs again, as we shake. “Who is; right?”

  “Right,” I say, withdrawing my hand: shakily.

  I hate how awkward I’m acting. It’s like one of those moments at school when you hang around on the outskirts of a huge group. I’d been in that situation so many times when I was in school. I wasn’t exactly a popular kid; that was impossible to do, what with my cast off sneakers and tattered clothes.

  But this is worse.

  This isn’t just a group of popular kids in school: this is Charlie and Tilly Thorne. It’s been just them against the world for eleven years now. Now there’s me. Stumbling in, trying to break up their family dynamic.

  I’m tying myself in knots.

  Tilly cocks her head slightly, and narrows her eyes. The whites disappear beneath a thicket of eyelashes. “So, like, are you my mom now?”

  The idea punches me in the gut. My face goes white, drained of blood: I feel the skin freezing as I stand. I want to double over, vomit, then run somewhere and hide.

  A peal of laughter splits the penthouse’s lobby. Charlie rolls his eyes, and then looks at me, and mouths an apology for his daughter’s sense of humor. I don’t blame him: he told me how much of a prankster his daughter was. I just wish I’d believed him!

  “I’m just kidding,” Tilly says when she regains control of herself. “Oh my God, you should have seen the look on your face.”

  She hits her thigh. “Darn, I should have recorded you guys for S
napchat…”

  “Tilly,” Charlie chides his daughter. “You know you can’t do that. We’ve got to be –”

  “– ‘secret’, I know,” Tilly says.

  “– Under the radar,” Charlie finishes. He shrugs, rolling his eyes for a second time. “Your way works too, I guess.”

  “Better,” Tilly winks. “It works better.”

  She claps her hands together, and a smile – a smile I think I might learn to fear – creeps across the face. “So …what’s the plan?”

  Charlie cocks his head. “Plan?”

  “What are we doing today?”

  Charlie frowns. “I thought … I thought you might be tired after the flight.”

  Tilly’s face scrunches up. “It was ‘business class’, daddy, not prison. I slept the whole flight.”

  My mouth drops open. I don’t know why this surprises me, not after everything I’ve seen, but it does. The idea of two dozen eleven-year-old schoolgirls all flying business class… I wonder if the teachers get to ride up front, as well, or whether they fly ‘coach’.

  Tilly’s eyes breeze over me without stopping. Am I imagining things, or do I detect another wink? I can’t be sure.

  “Okay, kiddo. Then what do you want to do?”

  Tilly pouts. “That’s your job, daddy. I’m only eleven. I can’t do everything for you.”

  “Don’t you daddy me,” Charlie grins.

  I know he doesn’t mean it. His face lights up every time Tilly calls him that. I can’t help but think forward – years – to when Tilly’s all grown-up. Will she still call him that?

  “Why –” I swallow. “Why don’t we go and do something, Tilly? Together.”

  The room goes quiet. I start to wonder if I said the wrong thing. Charlie’s eyes pass from me to his daughter. He looks at her with such love I wonder if he’ll ever feel the same way about me.

  It’s hard to imagine. Still, a girl can hope.

  “Tilly?” Charlie prods.

  She nods – slowly. It’s as though she’s judging me, picking me apart. “I think I’d like that.”

  Tilly flies out of her bedroom. She puts the brakes on just in time to avoid colliding with the hallway wall. I catch the whole affair from the corner of my eye. This kid’s a bundle of energy. I’ve never seen anything like it, like her. She’s her father’s daughter, that’s for sure.