The Dilemma - B A Paris

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him for more than ten years, I still miss him.

      Most of the wood in my shed has already been commissioned – the biggest piece, a beautiful block of burnished oak, will eventually be a table for a rich banker in Knightsbridge – but the black walnut, my favourite, is reserved for Marnie. I’m going to make a sculpture for her twentieth birthday in July.

      I had zero expectations before she was born. Josh’s arrival three years earlier had been so bewildering that I still hadn’t adapted to being a dad. But the minute I laid eyes on Marnie, I was besotted. If Josh’s arrival brought out the worst in me, Marnie’s brought out the best. She taught me how to be a father, simply by being.

      When she got older, we became close in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever be with Josh. After school, she’d come and find me in the shed and sit in one of the armchairs, chatting about her day as I worked. I got my first motorbike when she was twelve, and she loved it as much as I did. Livia had always insisted that the children walk the twenty minutes to school, but as Marnie got older, she began to take her time getting ready in the mornings, then ask me to take her on my bike, insisting she’d be late otherwise.

      ‘And there’s nothing cooler than arriving on a Triumph Bonneville T120,’ she’d whisper, once Livia was out of earshot.

      Livia disapproved of me indulging her. I’d have done the same for Josh, if he’d asked, but he preferred to get a detention for being late rather than ask me for a lift. Later, when Marnie began going to parties, I’d take and fetch her on my bike. She never worried about her hair getting crushed under a helmet, or her dress crushed by the leathers I insisted on her wearing. I was proud that she shared my love of bikes. Stupidly, I never thought that one day, she’d want one of her own.

      ‘I’ve decided,’ she announced to me and Liv only a month ago, during one of our FaceTime chats. She was sitting on her bed, her phone balanced between her knees. On the wall behind her, along with a KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON poster, she’d stuck photos of me, Livia and Josh, and her friends from home. There was also a group shot of her and Cleo, with me and Rob – Cleo’s dad – standing behind them. We’d taken them to a pizza place in Windsor not long after they’d finished their exams, I remembered.

      ‘I’m not going travelling when I finish here in June,’ Marnie continued. ‘I’m going to come straight home instead.’

      ‘What? Why the rush?’ Liv said before I could reply. She sounded sharper with Marnie than she’d been for years and I knew she was worried that Marnie was feeling homesick again.

      ‘Because I want to be able to do the Long Walk on my birthday.’

      Neither of us knew what to say. The Long Walk in Windsor Great Park was something we’d done with Marnie on her birthday for the last ten years, but only because she’d been around. To give up her chance to go travelling just to come home and do a walk she could do anytime, given that we lived nearby, was worrying. And then, unable to keep up the pretence, she burst out laughing.

      ‘I’m joking!’ she said. ‘I’m coming home to study for my motorbike licence.’

      ‘Right,’ I said, relieved. ‘But there’s no rush, is there?’

      ‘Yes, because I want to get a motorbike.’

      ‘You won’t be able to afford one for years,’ Liv pointed out. ‘Isn’t it better to go travelling? You might never get the chance to visit Vietnam and Cambodia again.’

      ‘Mum,’ Marnie said patiently. ‘I will – by motorbike!’

      Nothing we said would change her mind. I wasn’t as concerned as Liv. I missed Marnie and liked the idea of her being home sooner than we thought. I also liked her determination to do what she wanted. Like last year, when we tried to persuade her not to get a motorbike tattooed across her back, from shoulder to shoulder.

      ‘So, do you want to see it?’ she asked on a weekend home from university. ‘My tattoo?’

      ‘You didn’t,’ I said, slightly appalled that she’d gone ahead.

      ‘I did. But don’t worry, you’re going to like it.’

      ‘I’m not sure I will,’ I warned.

      ‘I’d like to see it,’ Livia said, even though I knew she hated the thought of Marnie with a huge tattoo.

      Laughing, Marnie peeled off her jumper and held out her arm. ‘I chickened out,’ she said. ‘I thought this was more appropriate.’

      Livia nodded approvingly. ‘Definitely.’

      ‘What do you think, Dad?’

      I looked at the words tattooed the length of her forearm in beautiful italic script: An angel walking to the Devil’s beat.

      ‘Interesting,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief that it was relatively small.

      The tattoo had given me the idea for her sculpture. I’m going to carve an angel, not a traditional one, but an angel wearing leathers and riding a motorbike. I’d like to make a start on it now but I should really go and see Liv before she leaves, offer to help Josh with the balloons and decorations he’s brought. And find another box, maybe in the attic. The plan is that Marnie will text me a couple of minutes before she arrives at the house, I’ll take the box out from under the table and push it to the middle of the terrace. She’ll slip in through the side gate and climb inside, hopefully without anyone seeing. Once I’ve placed the lid back on top, I’ll call everyone onto the terrace to see Liv opening her present.

      It was clever of Marnie to tell Livia she was going away for the weekend and would be out of reach. That way Livia won’t be disappointed not to have a call from her today. I can’t wait to see her face when Marnie turns up. It’s going to be the best present we could possibly give her.

      I carry my new red sandals in my hand so that I don’t wake Josh by clacking down the stairs. I pause outside his door, the wood floor warm under my feet. There’s no sound of him moving around. I’m not surprised. He arrived late last night and had been revising on the train. He told me to wake him early this morning but I prefer to let him sleep.

      Holding onto the banister rail, I double-step over the stairs that creak and when I get to the bottom, I sit to put my sandals on. There’s a pile of cards lying on the mat. I pick them up and carry them through to the kitchen, scanning the envelopes as I go, horribly disappointed that there isn’t one from my parents. Despite what I said to Adam earlier, I really need them to turn up tonight because if they can’t do it today, on my fortieth birthday, then they never will. And I’ll have to let them go, if only for my sanity, because twenty-two years is long enough to not forgive your child.

      The feeling of excitement I’ve managed to hold onto since Adam sang happy birthday to me starts to disappear. I actually feel a bit sick, which often happens when I think of my parents. There’s no sign of breakfast, or Adam, so I’m guessing he’s outside. I felt bad yesterday when I saw how far back they had to take the marquee but if I’m honest, a small part of me is pleased that Nelson probably won’t fit through the gap. He and Adam have a habit of sneaking off to the shed for a beer and I really want Adam around tonight.

      I give Murphy his morning cuddle. The kitchen smells faintly of the steak we had for dinner last night so I open the window. Warm air rushes in. I can’t believe how beautiful it’s turning out to be. I could have saved myself hundreds of pounds and not bothered with the marquee. On the other hand, it’s good to have somewhere covered for the caterers to put the food. They’re coming at five so there’s hours before things really start happening.

      I sit down at the table, find the bar where I like to rest my feet, and begin opening my cards. There’s a ring at the doorbell and when I answer it, I find a man on the doorstep holding a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses.

      ‘Mrs

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