‘Yes, I do like it here.’ She nodded, giving her dad a little fraction of a smile. He welcomed it and was saddened by it in equal measure. A chink of hope is still just a chink, after all. It doesn’t mean that you are suddenly free to walk into the light. Not yet.
He picked up the pink teddy, moving the mouth to his ear and listening in. ‘And you, pink bear?’
‘Pinky,’ Orla corrected.
‘Sorry, Pinky. Pinky, do you like it here?’
He moved the bear’s head, making it talk into his ear, his attention focused on what the toy was saying.
‘He says he’s glad you brought him here. He likes it. He likes the beach too.’
Cillian passed the bear to Orla, who reached out with both arms and hugged him to her.
‘I didn’t bring him here, silly, he was already here waiting on the bed. He belongs here. It’s his home.’ She looked at her dad, eyes so like his own staring at him with so much uncertainty in them. ‘Are we staying here too with Pinky? He might get very lonely if we have to leave.’ She hugged the bear that bit tighter.
‘Yes, honey,’ Cillian promised blindly, ‘Pinky is home here, with us now.’
The little girl grinned and turned to pull a book off the shelf. ‘Rapunzel tonight, Daddy.’
‘Again?’ Cillian pretended to groan and fall to the floor. ‘Please no, not Rapunzel!’
Orla squealed. ‘Yes, Daddy! We have to get her out of the tower. If we don’t finish the book, she’ll never get out!’
The irony was not lost on him as he snuggled next to her on the bed, her little head resting on his chest. He saved his princess from the tower, and now they needed to get their happy ending. Which meant first thing tomorrow, he had to get to that appointment and fight for his only child’s rights, even though it went against the woman who bore her. He lost himself in the story, ignoring the prick of tears in his eyes once more. It was quite a week.
***
It was pitch black outside by the time he’d got Orla settled and cleaned up the dinner things. The chalet was far better than the flat, and every night he’d look around and feel so grateful for the space. The thought of Tina turning up here was enough to keep him off the sofa, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep even if he tried. It was too early anyway. Stepping outside, he surveyed the chalet park. Martha’s chalet was still in darkness, and it did make him wonder where she was. He knew she was capable of getting around on her own – she was more than capable in fact – but the truth was that lately, since the park was due to change hands, she hadn’t left. She’d been staging a very quiet, very dignified one-woman sit-in. Which made him think that either something was wrong, or she had just decided that the new owner wouldn’t burn the place down if she had a day out.
The night was dark and full of stars. They lit the night sky over Lizard Point, making the waves in the distance sound like a lullaby, a mother rocking her baby. Side to side, side to side. Orla was flat-out asleep, exhausted after her busy full day. Cillian was about to head back indoors, to flick through the TV channels pointlessly for an hour before turning in, when he saw that the games room door was open. Looking back at his chalet, he decided to risk the short walk.
As he got closer, he heard a voice, low but sweet, and he ventured closer. The lights were still on to half the room, and as he pushed open the door, he heard singing. April was crouched down in the far corner, brushing and daubing pink paint over a large stencil on the back wall. She was singing to herself, to the radio that sat next to her on the now swept and covered in dustsheets floor. She was wearing a pair of tiny shorts, blue faded denim, and Cillian couldn’t help but notice her long legs, spread out to one side, her paint-splattered top hanging loosely from one shoulder, exposing bare skin.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Working late?’
She jumped a little, her cheeks flushing as she looked at him. She rested her paintbrush on the paint can, smoothing her hair down. It did nothing to the thick, loose bun but streak wet slivers of bright pink paint through the top of it, making her look a little punk-like. Cillian pressed his lips together to quell the surge of laughter threatening to bubble up.
‘Sorry, could you hear the radio?’ She looked behind him to the open door. ‘Martha complaining?’
Cillian’s face dropped to a frown. ‘She’s not here, hasn’t been all day. I thought you might know where she was.’
April shook her head. ‘Nope, same here. Orla okay?’
Cillian instinctively looked back towards his chalet, where everything looked calm and peaceful. ‘She’s asleep. I’d better get back. I just wanted to check everything was locked up.’
April nodded, awkwardly trying to get to her feet without putting paint anywhere. She was halfway to her feet when her elbow knocked into a roller tray with the remnants of cream paint flicking over her arm. She yipped and jumped away, catching her heel in a crease of the dustsheet and tripping herself up.
‘Arrghh!’ she shouted, her hands windmilling for purchase. A second later, she was suddenly flung forward, bashing her eye on a metal paint can, the breath knocked out of her as she landed on her front. On Cillian’s front. Palms down, so now his black fitted T-shirt had two handprints of pink and cream paint, right across his pecs.
***
‘You okay? April?’ She could hear what he was saying, but her brain couldn’t seem to crack the code in that instant. The response just didn’t come. She was aware that
