‘You run a lot, your legs should take it.’
‘And you haven’t run for a long time. Why did you lose interest?’
‘You kept going in the rain, I had to do cross country at school – I guess the novelty wore off.’
Or maybe her interest in spending time with her dad was starting to wane, and maybe there was nothing he could do about it. He wondered how much of it was down to her age and how much was because she still resented his disastrous parenting in the early years, some of which she could still remember. She didn’t talk about it often but occasionally she made a remark that left him wanting to ask more yet not wanting to know in case the answer upset him. A few weeks ago she’d made a comment about him not showing up to her nativity play once – she’d said that in front of some good friends of the family who had a younger child proud to be playing the Virgin Mary this year. And a few months ago Scarlett had told him to stop worrying about her so much, she was a big girl now, and she’d made an underhand remark about how he should’ve used up all his worrying in the younger years when she actually needed it.
‘Why don’t we start with Lower Manhattan this morning?’ he suggested.
‘The 9/11 memorial? Are you sure?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Because I know you, Dad.’
She didn’t miss much. Her uncle Robbie, his brother, would’ve loved this girl had he ever got to meet her, but he’d been killed on that fateful day. Not in the terror attacks but when he was knocked over by a car at a zebra crossing in a sleepy village back in England. There wasn’t ever a chance the anniversary of his death would go by without Nathan and his family remembering it, turning their minds back to the call that had come to say he was in the hospital. The world would remember 9/11 and with every anniversary, Nathan’s family had their own private pain on top of the shock and devastation shared with so many others.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured Scarlett.
‘No you won’t. You lost your brother, it’ll never be fine.’
Memories resurfaced and it always helped to talk about them. ‘Do you know, he was your nan’s little cling-on when we were growing up.’
‘I can’t imagine that. He always sounded really independent.’
He’d said so much about his brother over the years it was as though Scarlett knew Robbie too. ‘I’ve no idea when it changed. Mum says that one minute he was clinging to her leg not wanting to be separated, the next he’d gone off to high school and barely turned back. He had a fiery ambition; he travelled all over the world and he had a ten-year career plan with ideas of retiring in the wilderness of Canada of all places.’
‘I wish I’d met him.’
‘Yeah, me too. He was a good guy. A little terror when he was younger though. He was forever playing pranks at school, getting into trouble. He did the classic whoopee cushion on the teacher’s chair, the cling film over the toilet bowl in the girls’ toilet. I’m serious,’ he said at Scarlett’s shock. ‘And he once set off the school fire alarm because he hadn’t revised for his physics test and with it being the end of the day knew they’d have to postpone it.’
‘You must miss him a lot.’ Scarlett finished her last mouthful of pancake and declared she was too full for anything else, even another drink. ‘Were you jealous he did so much and you were stuck at home being a parent?’
‘Of course not. Well, maybe just a little.’ She didn’t come back with a rebuke, comment on his bad parenting she either recalled or had heard about. ‘But he was very different to me. He never could’ve stuck an office job, especially one that had the long hours I was faced with. You know, Robbie asked your mum out once.’
‘No way.’
‘They went to a dance. She was way too young for him – her parents were not happy at all, ours weren’t that impressed either.’
‘Did they date after that?’
‘No, Dawn says she came to her senses quickly and chose the right brother.’ He smiled. ‘I never told Robbie that, I didn’t want to upset him, but I think he kind of knew anyway. Your mum was a homebody; she wasn’t interested in travelling the world and leaving all that she knew. He got over her pretty quick. Two weeks later and he was dating Sara, one of the hottest and most experienced – if you know what I mean – barmaids at the local pub. I think he was pretty happy.’
‘Euw, Dad. That’s too much information.’
‘I wish you could’ve met him. He’d have loved you. That, or he would’ve led you astray.’ He demolished his pancakes quick enough and the juice too. ‘Robbie was also all about seizing the day, so come on, let’s go before I get too miserable. We could do Ground Zero then walk the Brooklyn Bridge and leave all the busyness behind.’
‘You’ve a funny idea of what leaving busyness behind actually means. From what I’ve heard, the Brooklyn Bridge will be a sea of people.’
‘I might have to make you hold my hand so you don’t get lost.’
‘No chance.’ But she smiled at his suggestion. ‘We’ll walk over the bridge, find somewhere for lunch.’
They were soon out and about for father-and-daughter time. Here in a city where they knew nobody, where there wasn’t the pressure of friends or school, it was great to see Scarlett so vibrant and enjoying herself. She had an energy she lacked at home and despite the winter chill that hung amongst the skyscrapers and followed them down every street, she was full of enthusiasm, ready for adventure. It reminded him of the little girl she’d once been, the fact that the same girl was still in there somewhere.
Ground Zero was a sombre affair and while the memorial was impressive and tasteful, it didn’t detract from the flood of emotion he felt seeing all those names engraved into the stone. It was confronting, yet people went about their everyday lives around it, talking and laughing, some leaning up against the memorial and the names of the victims. A strong beam of sunlight made him catch his breath. It didn’t matter how a person was taken from you, the resulting effect was the same. Devastation, pain, a wondering of how you could possibly go on.
They didn’t hang around long and, with a coffee each from the first cart they saw, Nathan led the way to the Brooklyn Bridge, negotiating the throng of pedestrians, the traffic fumes that were part of this vibrant city. And after they’d thrown their empty cups in the bin, Scarlett asked, ‘Ready to see Brooklyn?’
He pulled her into a hug and she didn’t resist. ‘You bet,’ he whispered into her hair.
Seeing the pain his parents were in when they lost Robbie was something Nathan never, ever forgot. The family home was blanketed in sadness, stifled with an inability to carry on. And it was Robbie who had been in his head when Dawn died, telling Nathan to step up and be a real man and stop shirking his responsibilities. He could imagine his brother saying those exact words because Robbie had always been independent, daring, a bit on the wild side, but he never forgot birthdays or family celebrations and when he was home he immersed himself in everyone around him and had no problem showing love and appreciation. Nathan had always wanted to be like him as a kid and when he was left as a single parent something inside his head snapped. Instead of resisting parenthood, he embraced it; instead of being afraid, he leapt in and got on with it. And, for the most part, he was convinced it had worked.
The Brooklyn Bridge afforded spectacular views of the Manhattan skyline, the feeling of openness near the water, although the cold winds soon had them craving a warm café for lunch. They were swallowed in crowds, they posed for a selfie with the wind whipping Scarlett’s hair around her face as she desperately attempted to hold it back. And when they eventually reached the other side she suggested they go see ‘The Braves of 9/11’ street art.
Nathan was no art lover but standing there, looking up at the building towering above them, the artwork on the side that spoke of the heartache, the sorrow, the pain, the bravery and courage, it almost swallowed him whole and he could see the emotion on Scarlett’s face, feel it through the grip of her gloved hand in his. The det
ails and the depth of feeling captured by this artist, were something else with its bright, vivid colours. It was hard to reconcile misery and devastation with the hope that this mural somehow magically gave.
Scarlett took photographs while he waited and when they were done he hailed a cab to take them all the way up the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Nathan led the way when they got out of the cab, until they were standing in front of a picturesque café Scarlett had seen in one of her favourite movies.
A broad smile had her turning to him. ‘You’ve Got Mail!’ Out front of Cafe Lalo she threw her arms around him. ‘Can we go in?’
‘Of course. It’s a real place, you know.’
She shoved him with her elbow. ‘Funny man.’
A red neon sign above the door led the way as they went up the steps and inside, they chose a slice of cake each, although Scarlett took her own sweet time with so many choices, and they sat down by the window looking out at the street and the white lights winding up the bark of one of the trees.
‘This is the most exciting city in the world,’ Scarlett declared when the waiter delivered a cake he couldn’t quite remember the name of with a silky chocolate mousse-like top and curls of chocolate. ‘I feel like Meg, although you don’t look much like Tom.’
Nathan had never loved movies as much as Scarlett; her appreciation of art didn’t come from him either – Dawn had been the one responsible for both things. He sometimes needed to remember Scarlett was growing into a fine woman and he wasn’t always going to like her choices. Why had nobody warned him that grazed knees, tears and tantrums would be replaced by parental uncertainty as your child grew up and became independent? What he really wanted now was for her to talk to him, share with him the things she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell her mum if she was still alive.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time,’ he said, ‘even if your old man couldn’t pass as a movie star.’
‘You’re not that old at all.’ She picked off a chocolate curl with her fingers and let it melt on her tongue. ‘Most of my friends’ dads are ancient, in their forties, one is in his fifties.’
‘Hardly ancient. And remember I was ridiculously young when I became a dad.’
‘I’m kind of glad though, it means you can keep up with me.’
‘I do my best.’
‘What did you think to the street art we saw in Brooklyn?’
‘I was surprised how good it was.’
‘See, and there you were thinking all art was a waste of time.’
‘I never said that,’ he protested when he’d swallowed a mouthful of cake.
‘Art is my favourite subject at school,’ she admitted.
‘I know it is.’ Her teachers did too and they commented on her talent at every parents’ evening. ‘And I expect it’s a release from the harder subjects.’ She’d elected to do art at A level but also business studies and French, the compromise he’d insisted upon so she had some qualifications that might give her more options.
‘It’s hardly a doddle, I work hard at it.’
‘I know, and a range of subjects will help you in the future. I’d hate to see you struggle when it comes to finding a job. It’s hard enough as it is.’
‘Jobs are ages off, Dad.’
‘You’ll be looking before you know it.’
‘I’ll look for something creative, a job where I can use my artistic talents,’ she announced with a flourish.
He would’ve laughed if the topic of conversation wasn’t so serious. ‘Nice idea, but remember, you’ll have to pay the bills. Your mum was good at art too, but she saw that it was a hobby, it wasn’t going to give her stability.’
Scarlett’s fork clanked against the china plate although the cake was clearly too good for her to let the cutlery go completely. ‘That’s a very narrow-minded view.’
‘Excuse me.’
‘I’m not being rude, but don’t you see that it is? I thought you might get it after seeing the mural today. Or the 9/11 memorial, which was only built after thousands of submissions to do the design.’
He put his own fork down. Sometimes she was too intelligent for her own good. ‘Perhaps it was a narrow-minded comment, but I’m trying to think of you, help you in the long run.’ Now if she were to show an interest in building design, it might be something he could get on board with, but when she was talking about painting or murals, throwing her energies into those facets of her education, it felt impossible to accept.
‘Did mum regret not pursuing her art?’ Scarlett asked. ‘Or were you never around long enough to ask her?’
‘That’s a little unfair.’ And the candid question had taken him by surprise. ‘Your mum died so young, she never really had a chance for regrets.’
Eyes downcast, Scarlett finished her cake in silence.
When he’d finished his own he said, ‘Your artistic ability is all down to Dawn. All her genes, I assure you.’
‘I certainly don’t get it from you,’ she teased, braving looking at him once again. ‘What? I saw that map you sketched out on the plane when you couldn’t use your phone and were trying to remember where we were staying in relation to some of the biggest landmarks. And I’ve seen some of your doodles, remember.’
He took out his wallet, fished in the leather pocket behind all his credit cards, took out a small drawing on the back of one of his business cards and turned it over. ‘Your mum drew that not long before she died. I thought I’d lost it but I found it in the zip-up pocket of the suitcase before we left to come here.’
‘Is that me?’ Her eyes glistened. ‘And you?’
‘She brought you into my work one day, you loved coming to the office. You’d sit on the spinny chair, tap away at my keyboard, you even wrote on the whiteboard once but with a permanent marker.’
‘I never.’
‘You did. You drew a picture of a seal balancing a ball on the tip of its nose – you’d just been to the zoo.’
‘Did I get you in trouble?’ She was transfixed by the black-and-white sketch that Dawn had drawn using a biro as she watched her daughter and husband together, heads almost touching as he showed her something on his computer screen.
‘No, the boss found it funny from what I recall.’
‘Did Mum draw a lot?’
‘She did, she loved to draw whatever was around at the time.’
‘I don’t remember seeing many pictures.’
‘I put most of them in the loft.’
‘Why? Why didn’t you share that part of her with me?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He gripped her hand across the table. ‘I’m afraid I packed everything away years ago because I didn’t want it to get damaged, and the more time went on, I suppose I couldn’t bear to go through it. I knew it would be painful for me, for you. And my memories are in here.’ He patted his heart. ‘I don’t need pictures when your mum will always be in glorious technicolour for me. I saved everything for you, and I probably should’ve told you earlier but it never felt like a good time.’
‘I’m sixteen, Dad, you need to let me grow up sometime, realise I can handle things.’
‘I know, I’ll try harder to remember, promise.’
She smiled. ‘I like hearing about her.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Knowing that my love of art came from her is comforting. Does that make sense?’
‘It does.’ He’d been in denial, assuming that her artistic flair was something she would ignore in favour of more academic subjects that would set her up better employment-wise. It was one of the top topics for them to clash about at home, had been for a long time. Desperate to keep the moment of bonding going he suggested, ‘When we get back home to England, how about I climb up into the loft and bring everything down for you? You can go through it, chuck whatever you don’t want, keep what you do.’
‘Dad…tell me more about her.’ She sat forwards, all ears, and he revelled in the conversation as they talked more about Dawn when s
he was Scarlett’s age, their similarities, their differences.
‘Your mum didn’t get on well at school,’ he admitted, ‘unlike you. I don’t deny you’re good at art but you’re also very able when it comes to all your other subjects. School was always a struggle for Dawn, she didn’t enjoy it, but she worked very hard to become a nurse because she knew it was a good career. She had her daydreams but she was a very grounded, realistic person. She never stopped drawing in her spare time though. You’ll know what I mean when you see all her sketches.’
‘I have a whole heap of my own.’
‘I know, strewn over every worktop in your bedroom.’ But he was smiling. He’d never once demanded she clear them up – it was a little piece of her that reminded him of Dawn.
When Nathan was Scarlett’s age he also thought he knew exactly which direction he was headed in. He had dreams of a medical career, becoming a top surgeon someday, but right before he was about to start university his then girlfriend, Dawn, fell pregnant and he had no choice but to step up. And that meant rethinking his ambitions, with finances being a top concern. His parents supported them, both him and Dawn moving in with them, and although he wanted to get work straight away, they encouraged him to see the bigger picture, get an education and a better job at the end of it. While not the medical career he’d once dreamed of, his choice of going into business and finance was a worthy one, a path his own father had followed, and with a quicker finish time than medicine would’ve ever allowed.
After Scarlett was born, Nathan and Dawn got married. Dawn trained as a nurse and excelled in her new career, with Nathan studying until he graduated and then securing a good job in London with an investment bank, and they saved up enough to find a place of their own. But as Nathan’s career took off so did his social life and the theory of being a supportive husband and father who was always there was something he struggled with. He got into the habit of staying out drinking with his colleagues, relishing the camaraderie, the lack of responsibility. He and Dawn had fought many times about his absences but it hadn’t stopped him. It was as though at home he had to be this one person, at work he could escape and be another entirely. It was immature and selfish, but at the time he couldn’t see it. At least not until he lost Dawn and was forced to pull himself together and parent in a way that Scarlett needed and deserved.
Christmas Promises at the Garland Street Markets: A feel good Christmas romance (New York Ever After, Book 5) Page 8
