LITMIR.BIZ

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now I’m staring dumbly back at her, thinking, ehhh … What exactly can a little girl who’s not even three years old have got up to that merits the bleeding Spanish Inquisition?

      ‘Fire away,’ I manage to say, calmly as I can, given that the mobile on my knee is switched to silent and hasn’t stopped flashing up missed calls from the office ever since I got here.

      Miss Pettifer instantly cuts across my stream of worry.

      ‘Eloise, I’m afraid I need to be perfectly frank with you here. You’re a single mum, I know, and a very hardworking one at that. You single-handedly carry out an incredibly demanding job. I’m an avid reader of the Post every day, you know, and greatly admire your editorials …’

      I nod mechanically, pathetically grateful for the bone she’s just thrown me.

      ‘But leaving your career aside, being a single parent is probably the toughest job in the whole world. May I ask if you have help of any kind? Apart from your nanny, do you have family support? Your parents, perhaps?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

      ‘Because you know there are any number of wonderful one-parent support groups locally that I’d be more than happy to recommend to you …’

      One-parent support groups? I find myself looking at her numbly. What does this one think I am anyway, on welfare?

      ‘I feel they might help you to cope with a lot of the demands laid on any busy working single mum. They could help. You see, I have some most unwelcome news to tell you, I’m sorry to say. A problem for us, which sadly could represent an even bigger problem for you.’

      Involuntarily, I throw a look of pure panic across the desk at her.

       Tell me, just tell me quickly before I pass out with worry …

      ‘There was a deeply regrettable incident earlier here today, which is why I’ve had to call you in.’

      Okay, now I’m on the edge of my seat, palms sweating, breathing jaggedly, bracing myself for what’s coming next. ‘What happened?’

      ‘Lily, I’m afraid to say, got into a heated row with Tim O’Connor, another little boy here in preschool. There were tears, there was screaming, and worst of all, Lily resorted to smacking him until he cried …’

      ‘She WHAT? Are you sure?’

      ‘I wouldn’t have called you in here if I weren’t,’ she says, looking evenly at me.

      ‘But that’s outrageous! Lily has never behaved like that before!’

      I’m on the verge of spluttering indignantly at her that I’d surely know all about it if she did, but then, with a sudden, sharp stab of guilt have to remind myself … How exactly would I know? These days, when do I ever get to see or spend quality time with the poor child anyway, barring our precious Sundays together? The only way I know if there’s trouble at home is if Elka tells me, and lately Elka’s been telling me nothing, just whinging about how late I work and how there are no KitKats in the fridge and how we’re out of Cheerios. And these days I’ve been working so late, even she mostly communicates with me via Post-it notes stuck on the door of the microwave.

      So instead of opening my mouth, I sit quiet and listen to the sound of the blood whooshing through my brain while Miss Pettifer relentlessly goes on and on.

      ‘… Which of course is behaviour we simply can’t put up with. We have a strict policy of zero tolerance, you see, with any kind of unruly behaviour. We expect children to attend having already been taught the rudiments of basic manners and social skills around others.’

      ‘But … why did Lily smack him? Do you have any idea what the row was about?’

      ‘Ahh, you see that’s where it becomes delicate and personal. And believe me when I say I hope this doesn’t cause you any offence, but it was over the question of Lily’s father.’

      Suddenly, after all my panic and stress and shock … I find myself without a single word to say. And now there’s silence. Horrible, awkward, bum-clenching silence.

      ‘You’re rearing Lily on your own and believe me, I know how difficult that can be, Eloise,’ Miss Pettifer says to me, sounding almost gentle now, which, in the state I’m in, I’m oddly grateful for, ‘but may I ask you a very personal question?’

      I nod mutely.

      ‘Do you have any contact at all with Lily’s dad?’

      Lily’s dad.

      Oh shit and double shit. I can’t believe she just asked me that. And worse, is now looking expectantly back at me, waiting on an answer.

      ‘Well, not exactly …’ is the best I can manage, totally thrown at being caught on the hop like this.

      ‘It’s just that, in years to come, it’s highly likely that Lily will want to know more about him and to spend time with him too. Which is only right and fair, of course. In an ideal world, children should grow up knowing each of their parents, even if they happen to live in a single parent family. They have a right to know both parents equally well, regardless of circumstances. We have several other children here who all come from wonderful one-parent families and although they may not live with Mum and Dad, they at least have regular contact with each. Unlike Lily, I’m afraid.’

      I’ve absolutely no answer to that so I just stare back at her, as calmly as I can.

      ‘I’m so sorry to have to persist, Eloise, and I appreciate that this is uncomfortable, but it’s your daughter I’m thinking of and so I really do need to ask you these questions. You see, even if you have no dealings whatsoever with this man, he still is the child’s father and as such he does have rights.’

      ‘Yes … I know that, but you see …’

      And the best of luck finishing that sentence, I think to myself.

      ‘I know you must feel very strongly about not allowing him access to Lily, and undoubtedly you have your own personal reasons for this, but really, I’ve seen all this happen more times than you can possibly imagine in the past and I can assure you it’s inevitable. Remember, if he wants to see her, he can easily go to the family law courts and request visitation rights and no judge in the land would deny that to any father. Trust me, you don’t want to have to deal with Lily when she becomes a teenager accusing you of never allowing her to see her dad. It just wouldn’t be right, not to mention it’s completely unhealthy for her. I know it’s none of my business, but I would beg you to take my advice; build bridges with this man, no matter how difficult it is for you. Because mark my words, if you don’t, the day will come when Lily will.’

      ‘No she won’t.’

      She looks over the desk at me in dull surprise, probably unused to being contradicted.

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘What I mean is, Lily won’t be able to track down her father.’

      ‘I’m afraid I’m not with you.’

      ‘She won’t be able to find out who he is or where he is, because I couldn’t even tell you that myself. I was never in a relationship with him. That is, I don’t know his name or where he is or … In fact the truth is … I don’t know anything about him at all.’

      Then I suddenly backpedal and have an urge to clamp my hand over my mouth, realising that makes me sound like some spray-tanned, bleach-headed tarts who got up the duff after a one night stand with a bloke whose name they now can’t even remember.

      And now Miss Pettifer is peering curiously at me over the rims of her glasses, and I can practically read her thoughts. God almighty, never would have had this one down as someone who’d be a bit of a goer of a Friday night on the town, after a few shots of vodka and Red Bull. Hard to imagine Miss Prissy newspaper editor in a pair of leather trousers and a cropped-top bra, falling drunk out of some nightclub

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