Page 11 of Then Came You

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“I did. I watched 101 Dalmatians again and I had a dream that Cruella tried to eat me.”

“Honey, no one is going to eat you. Mummy has lots of cameras around the house in case anyone tries to get in, and there’s a giant gate around the whole property.”

There’s no point retelling her that Cruella is a fictional villain. She’s four.

“What are you doing?” she asks, changing the topic because her attention span isn’t much better than a goldfish.

“I’m cutting my hair. See?” I angle the camera to Row, whose hands are now back on my head, styling it into place.

“Ohhhhhh, she has pink hair. She has pink hair!” Haven claps her hands and shrieks a little too loudly. Between Bad Omens and Haven, I’m one step closer to losing my hearing. Row throws her head back and laughs out raucously at her excited reaction.

“Who has pink hair?” I hear my ex-wife pipe up.

“Daddy’s hairdresser! She’s like a fairy princess, Mummy. Oh, she’s like Chloe. You know? The Bratz Doll!” Row and I both smirk knowingly at the same time. “She’s so pretty and she has pink hair. Can I have pink hair? Oh Mummy, pleaseeeeee, I want pink hair,” she continues. Trust kids to be as honest as they come.

“Pink is not a real person’s hair. Stop being silly,” she scolds. Haven automatically apologises, while Row shrivels into herself, posture deflating, while her cheeks are ruddy in embarrassment. “Say good night to Daddy.”

Haven barely gets the words out before the line goes dead.

I can already tell Row is too kind for her own good because she brushes off my ex-wife’s distasteful comment. “She’s everything and more,” Row says affectionately, dusting the little hairs from the back of my neck. The feather duster tickles, sending tingles racing down my spine.

“She’s my angel,” I beam proudly, looking at Row’s serene smile as she styles my hair with waxy product.

“All done,” she whispers in my ear, as she unclasps the cape. Her breath is hot on the column of my neck, making the hairs prickle to attention.

“Thank you,” I clear my throat, swinging the chair around so we’re face to face, or more like I’m facing her stomach. That sliver of skin is short-circuiting my brain. I want to touch her so badly.

“Why hairdressing?” I don’t want the conversation to end, so I intend to just throw questions at her.

“I just needed a job,” she shrugs, pulling up a chair and sitting.

“If you could be or do anything in the world, what would you do?”

“Medical Science. I want to become a researcher.” She says it so deadpan, she nearly knocks me off my chair. Medical Science is one of the most challenging degrees you can take on. It’s also a wild coincidence that I studied the same course two decades ago.

“No shit? I studied Medical Science.” I’m bewildered. I rest back on my chair, watching her swing side to side. Her mouth gapes open when I tell her this titbit of information.

“That's freaky.”

We only met this morning, but it feels like we already know each other, which makes no sense at all. There are some people I’ve known for years and still feel like strangers, and then there’s Row, who I’ve known less than 12 hours, and yet it feels like I’ve known her my whole life.

“Why didn’t you end up going to uni?” Call me curious, or more like freakishly addicted already.

Her demeanour instantly deflates. I can tell there’s a story there. She leans to one side of the chair, resting her head on her hand. With a heavy lungful of air, she sighs.

“My family needs money.” My ears perk up, eager for her to continue, but she doesn’t elaborate, which is fair enough since we’ve only just met. She shuffles her feet, scuffing the point of her shoe on the same spot on the tile. The tic is no doubt a manifestation of whatever secret turmoil she lives with each day.

Not wanting to press, I centre my eyes on a clock that looks like an owl, and notice it’s getting late.

“Do you need a ride home?” I change the topic, the father side of me kicking in.

“Oh…it’s probably out of your way. I’ll just catch the bus.”

“It’s no problem. I'd rather you get home safely.” A genuine, appreciative small smile graces her face, her tired eyes sparking with joy as she realises, she won’t be catching public transport home.

Together, we finish folding the towels and sweep the floor, before she reconciles the till and clicks the locks in place until tomorrow.

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