“Hi, baby.” I scooped her off the floor and kissed her. “It’s really late. I’ll take you back to bed,” I offered.
“I’m not tired.”
She didn’t sound tired either. I glanced back at Charli, who was pretending to be asleep. I tried using it to my advantage. “Look, Mom’s asleep.”
Bridget leaned forward for a closer look. “No she’s not,” she told me. “She’s still breathing.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it of Bridget logic. “It’s bed time.”
The kid didn’t skip a beat. “We can make a deal, Daddy,” she said sweetly. Clearly she’d been spending too much time with Ryan. I was never going to win now. “What did you have in mind?”
She pointed at my nightstand. “I could look in there for something.”
That was the moment Charli’s sleeping act fell apart. She laughed, gaining the instant attention of the junior negotiator in my arms. “Hi, Mummy.”
“Hi, Bridge,” she replied, still giggling.
I lowered Bridget to her feet and she headed for the nightstand. I let her rummage around for half a minute before ordering her to make a decision. She pulled out a packet of mints.
“I really love these,” she declared, waving them at me.
“That’s great, but you’re not having them.”
“You won’t like them,” warned Charli. “They’re hot.”
Bridget dropped them back in the drawer and tried again. “How about these?” she asked.
No matter how eager I was to get her out of the room, sending her back to bed with a handful of coins wasn’t going to happen. “No money.”
“I really love money, Daddy.”
“Give her paper money.” Charli’s suggestion was hardly going to win us any parenting awards, but I was beyond arguing. I puffed out a long breath of frustration and pulled my wallet out. “All I have is a fifty.”
“I love fifties,” beamed Bridget.
“Just do it, Adam,” ordered Charli.
I reluctantly handed the bill to my daughter. “You’re an extortionist,” I told her. “Fait accompli, okay?”
She nodded as if she had a half a clue what I meant. “Tuck me in, please,” she demanded. “And Mum too.”
I scooped her up. “I’ve been trying to tuck your mama up for half an hour.”
“Bye Mum,” Bridget called over my shoulder.
“Good night, Bridge,” she replied, giggling again.
I turned back to Charli as we got to the door. “Don’t you dare fall asleep before I get back,” I warned.
“Of course not,” she replied. “Fifty bucks buys the whole night.”
39. DANCING FEET
Charli
Despite the peak hour traffic, the cab ride downtown didn’t take as long as expected. We arrived at the studio fifteen minutes early.
I breathed a sigh of relief to find the front door unlocked. Bridget probably would’ve smashed her way in if she’d been denied entry. She pointed to a doorway on her left. “I can dance in that room,” she informed me. “But I have to use walking feet in here.”
I smiled at her. “I’m glad you listened to the rules, Bridge.”
“Me too,” she crowed. “I have lovely ears.”
The girl behind the desk introduced herself. “I’m Erin, the dance co-ordinator.”
I wondered what that meant, but didn’t embarrass myself by asking. I tried introducing Bridget, but she cut me off to explain that they’d already met. “You can go through.” She pointed to the same doorway Bridget had. “Olivia is expecting you.”
I hadn’t seen Olivia in ballerina mode before. Not only did she look different with her long dark hair pulled back into a tight chignon, she walked differently.
She practically floated across the floor to greet us. I glanced at my little girl doing her monkey dance and thumping her feet on the floor, and wondered how both of us could’ve missed the elegance gene.
“I’m thrilled you made it,” she beamed.
“Dancing feet in here!” squealed Bridget.
Olivia put her finger to her lips. “Shush,” she murmured. “Quiet voice in here.”
Bridget nodded. I doubted the silence would hold for long.
“You need to take your boots off and put your ballet slippers on,” instructed Olivia.
I’d smuggled the demon slippers into the lesson in my handbag, not confident that she’d entertain the idea of wearing them.
“No thank you,” said Bridget. “I’m wearing boots.”
At least she’d been polite about it.
“Charli.” Olivia dragged her gaze from Bridget to frown at me. “Can I speak to you in private, please?”
I wanted to say no, but Bridget dropped her my hand and took off. With her busy making faces in front of the mirror, I had no choice but to hear her out.
Olivia’s standards were high, which Ella had warned us about. Galoshes weren’t going to cut it. Her bottom line was clear and simple. The boots went or Bridget did.
“It’s for her own good,” she said gently.
My eyes drifted to my daughter. “She’s worn boots every day since she learned to walk.”
“How bizarre,” she replied.
I tried not to glower when I looked at her. “It’s not bizarre. It’s just Bridget,” I explained. “It’s just a quirk.”
The look on Olivia’s face was on of pure pity. “You know, Alex’s mother had funny habits. At first I used to think she was just quirky, but it was more than that.” She glanced back at Bridget. “She was barmy. Utterly mad.”
“She was also a drunk,” I snapped.
Olivia gave me a tight smile. “If she wants to dance, the boots must go,” she insisted. “Why don’t you let me have a word with her? Maybe I can convince her?”
All I ever wanted was to do right by my daughter, but it was much easier in theory than practice. I wanted to encourage her individuality, but protect her from being considered weird because of it. I didn’t know how to win.
“I’m not sure she’s ready,” I mumbled.
“You’re not ready,” she corrected. “You coddle her too much.”
I could feel the tension spreading across my chest. What would Olivia know about coddling a child? The notion was laughable, but she seemed to miss the irony.
“Adam handles Bridget differently, you know,” she told me. “But I suppose that’s to be expected. They’re closer, aren’t they?”
Bridget had been Daddy’s girl since the day she was born. To me, it seemed like a natural choice. Adam had it all together. I still had days when I felt like a scattered mess. I couldn’t even make the call as to whether I should enforce the no-boots rule. But it hurt to have it brought to my attention.
“They are close,” I conceded. “I like it that way.”
Olivia smiled again, but it was still wrong. “Pull yourself together, Charli. She won’t move forward without encouragement.”
She was pushing me to consent to something that my heart was fighting against, and when the other little dancers filed into the room, the pressure intensified. She wasn’t going to bend the rules and let her dance with boots on. Against my better judgement, I told her to go ahead and have a crack at changing Bridget’s mind.
Olivia looked smug, like she’d just stolen something from me. Perhaps she had and I just hadn’t realised it yet. “She’ll be fine, Charli.”
***
As in Ella’s class, the parents didn’t hang around. I couldn’t have left if I’d wanted to. I wasn’t ready to leave my little girl in a group she wasn’t familiar with, but Bridget wasn’t showing any hint of feeling the same way. I stood at the back of the class, silently willing her to turn around and look for me, like she did with her dad. When she didn’t, I tried not to feel hurt by it.
“Okay, class,” announced Olivia clapping her hands together. “I have something to share.”
This group was completely different to Ella’s motley crew. Each of the five girls
in the class stood in front of her as if they were standing to attention. Even Bridget followed protocol.
Olivia slipped out of view, returning a minute later with a beautiful ballet costume in hand. The sparkly sage green getup floated behind her as she trailed the coat hanger through the air and hung it on the mirror in front of her.
She turned back to face her class, shushing the excited little squeaks that escaped them. “We have a concert coming up soon,” she announced. “Everyone will be wearing one of these costumes.”
She didn’t shush them this time, allowing them the simple pleasure of being excited, but then did something that completely and utterly broke my heart.
“Do you like it, Maddy?” she asked, addressing the first little girl in line.
“Yes!” she replied.
Olivia continued down the line, garnering the same response from each girl.
Then it was Bridget’s turn. “I just love it!” she beamed.
“It’s a shame you won’t be wearing one.” Olivia’s tone was confusingly gentle. “You won’t take off the boots.” She pointed at Bridget’s feet. “Ballerinas don’t wear boots.”
My only saving grace was that Bridget’s back was to me. I imagine she looked devastated.
“I love boots,” she defended in a voice smaller than her.
Olivia shook her head. “Not in this class. You need to take them off now, or go home.”
The little girl standing next to her leaned down and spoke. “Just take them off. You won’t be able to go to the concert with them.”
“But I don’t want to,” replied Bridget.
I could only assume she knew that I’d failed her miserably. Not once did she turn around to look at me.
“Last warning, Bridget,” demanded Olivia. “Throw the boots away or get out.”
Her tone was getting rougher and so were her words. Clearly it wasn’t about encouraging Bridget to broaden her horizons. She was making an example of her.
My child stood firm until the very last minute. When she finally made her decision, I watched as she crouched down and pulled off her boots, painfully slowly just to make her point.
“I will throw them away,” she muttered, finally standing up.
Even from a distance, Olivia’s expression was smug. She’d probably anticipated the win. It’s not hard to get one over on a tiny little girl. But what she wouldn’t have been expecting was the unceremonious way that Bridget discarded her boots.
Every girl took a giant step back as both galoshes bounced off the mirrored wall. I expected it to shatter, but fortunately, after a long moment of wobbling, it held.
Olivia looked furious. I couldn’t see Bridget, but could tell by her posture that she wasn’t the least bit penitent.
“You’re very lucky that didn’t break,” she hissed. “I’m sure your daddy wouldn’t be pleased with having to pay for a new mirror.”
“Tête de guimauve,” Bridget replied.
When she finally turned around to look for me, I wished she hadn’t. She looked devastated, with good reason. Thanks to the ballet teacher from hell, my daughter was under the impression that I’d just sold her out. I’d promised her she could keep the boots, but that option had been ripped from her, and I’d stood by and let it happen.
***
I was hurt, angry, and certain that I was the worst mother in the world, excluding my own. I wasn’t up to confronting Olivia. The second she dismissed the class, I grabbed Bridget and left. I didn’t give a damn about my mother. All I cared about was making sure the damage she’d done to my kid wasn’t permanent.
Bridget didn’t say a word as I hurriedly marched her along the sidewalk – even to complain that I was walking too fast.
We rounded the first corner we came to. I pulled her aside and crouched in front of her. “I’m so sorry.” I hugged her hard. “I don’t know what just happened in there but I promise it’ll never happen again.”
“You said I could choose,” she said flatly.
I pulled her in close again and hugged her much too tightly. “I know. I’m sorry,” I mumbled, kissing the top of her head over and over. “I won’t take you there again. You can wear your boots all day long.”
Her voice was muffled against my chest. “No more dancing?” she asked.
I released her from my hold and leaned back to look at her. “No,” I assured her.
“But I threw away my boots!” she growled. “She said I could stay now.”
If I was out of my depth before, I was positively drowning now. I had no clue what to say. “You want to go back?”
“Daddy will take me,” she insisted. “Okay?”
I wasn’t quite sure what I was agreeing to, but one thing was for certain. If Adam had been there to witness Olivia’s treatment of his daughter, there’s no way it would’ve escalated past the first harsh word.
I was the one who was too inept to stand up for her. I was the coward who stood back and watched it play out. And I was the one who’d probably never recover from it.
40. MERMAID HELL
Adam
Stepping out of the elevator to find Bridget sitting outside our front door was a first. She didn’t look worried, so I tried not to be.
“Hi, baby,” I greeted. “You’re on the wrong side of the door.”
“It’s locked,” she said as if it was no big deal.
“Why are you out here? Where’s Mom?”
Bridget gave me the rundown while I fumbled for my key. While Charli’s back was turned, she’d decided to check out life on the other side of the door, managing to lock herself out in the process.
“Now I can’t get back in.” She threw her arms wide, emphasizing how much she’d been inconvenienced.
I wasn’t buying her claim that she’d been sitting there for three days, but anything longer than three seconds was unacceptable. I ushered Bridget inside and began calling Charli’s name before I’d even closed the door.
“I’m here,” she replied, rounding the doorway to the hallway. “What’s the matter?”
I chewed my bottom lip, trying to work out if I was angry or concerned. “Bridget was sitting outside the door when I got home,” I replied. “Where were you?”
“I’m here, Adam,” she muttered, pushing past me. “She could only have been out there for a minute.”
“I was stuck for three days,” Bridget interjected. “I’m very tired and hungry now.”
Both of us ignored her for obvious reasons.
“What’s going on, Charlotte?”
After diverting Bridget’s attention by turning on her mermaid movie, she walked through to the kitchen, grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl and began cutting it up. “We went to dance class,” she replied roughly. “Need I say more?”
The sad truth was that I didn’t want to hear more. I was so tired of hearing the tale of Olivia’s heartless wrongdoings, mainly because of Charli’s frustrating habit of repeatedly forgiving her. I decided not to ask questions and stuck to the more important issue at hand. I pointed at the front door. “Make sure that stays locked from now on,” I muttered. “Anything could’ve happened.”
When faced with the choice of throwing the apple or the knife, my wife loved me enough to throw the apple. It wasn’t a perfect shot. I turned in time to deflect it with my arm.
“You’re an arse,” she growled, pushing past me again. The bedroom door slammed a few seconds later and she was gone.
I sat on the couch with Bridget and suffered through fifteen minutes of mermaid hell while I pondered my next move. In that time, Little Miss Obvious reminded me four times that I was in trouble.
“Yes, I realise that. Thank you.”
“Big trouble,” she taunted, singing the words.
“I know.”
“Huge trouble,” she whispered.
“Bridget Décarie, shut up and eat your apple.”
***
Charli isn’t a brooder. She began her explanation for the fruit assault the
second I opened the bedroom door. “Don’t tell me how to look after my kid,” she ranted. “Even when I get it wrong.”
“Okay.” I put both hands up in surrender. “I won’t.”
“I didn’t get it wrong!” she yelled. “I felt as bullied as Bridget did. It wasn’t my idea to single her out and force her to ditch the bloody boots!”
At the risk of being killed for it, I had to confess that I had no idea what she was talking about. From what I could tell, it had nothing to do with Bridget’s solo excursion into the foyer.
Charli slumped on the edge of the bed. “I don’t even want to tell you about it.”
I sat down beside her. “Would it make me a really bad father if I said I didn’t want to hear about it?”
She let out a quiet laugh. “No.”
“That’s a relief.”
Charli looked across at me. “How was your meeting?”
I tucked her hair behind her ear. “Nothing that couldn’t be handled in an email.”
She nodded. “A crappy day all round then.”
“It’s going to get worse, Coccinelle,” I warned. “We’re due at my parents’ place for dinner.”
***
I wasn’t exaggerating when I claimed the day would get rougher. Ryan and Bente’s so-called surprise engagement announcement was overshadowed by Charli’s dark mood and my father’s decision to kick her while she was down. The digs started the minute we arrived, and by the time we sat down to dinner, protecting her had become impossible.
Freedom of speech was seriously lacking when Charli was in the king’s company. When she dared to give a La La explanation of why Bente’s engagement ring contained exactly fifty-eight facets, things got ugly. My first reaction was to get Bridget out of the room. I sent her out to find her boots.
It wasn’t honest of Dad to tear shreds off Charli. His real gripe was with my brother, namely his decision to propose to Bente before working out the details of a pre-nup. Charli realised it too, which is probably why she tried to divert the subject by telling her fairy-tale in the first place.