Chapter 19 – Charlie

I pull the black limousine into the ‘arrivals’ terminal at JFK airport. The suit I’m wearing itches uncomfortably at the neck, and my white shirt billows around my toned stomach. Neither the cut nor the quality is what I’m used to.

I make a note to myself to provide a clothing budget to my drivers. I’ve never noticed them looking unkempt before, but now that I’ve felt what it’s like, I’ll never be able to forget it. That’s just the way my mind works.

So what if it costs a few thousand bucks?

Well – a few tens of thousands of bucks, by the time I’ve kitted them all out…

It doesn’t matter. As long as they represent me – which they do – they deserve the best.

I shake my head, freeing myself of the distraction. Sometimes I wonder why my brain is the way it is: constantly searching for problems to solve. I guess it has to do with how I made it so far up the slippery pole of capitalism.

I signal right and duck into a parking bay.

Well, with a twenty foot-long limousine it’s not exactly ducking, but you get my drift. The thing lumbers like a pregnant Panda, and I have a newfound respect for my driver. I’m so used to getting behind the wheels of two hundred thousand dollar sports cars that this is like taking the reins of an overweight elephant.

I pull the driver’s cap down low over my face. Over the last couple of days – for the first time in years – I’ve allowed a little bit of stubble to decorate my cheeks. To my horror, and Penny’s delight, the black hairs are speckled with gray.

I relax back into the seat and wait.

The covered ‘arrivals’ area quickly fills with high-end sports cars, and more than a dozen black limousines just like mine. The great and the good of Manhattan have turned out in numbers to pick up their children from the hockey tour.

Well – to be more accurate, I should say that their drivers have.

I look around. Sure, a couple of open-shirted hedge fund managers have taken the day off, still hooked to the latest feeds from the market on their phones.

But mostly the cars are driven by staff.

My lip curls with distaste. I promised Tilly right at the start that I wasn’t going to be one of those dads. No matter how much success I got – or didn’t get – I promised I’d always be there for her. I said that right at the start, and I’ve never broken my word.

A few minutes later, the girls start streaming through the airport’s sliding glass doors. The staff comes first, with harried, exhausted looks on their faces. I don’t blame them. I’m not sure I’d take a pack of eleven-year-old girls across Europe for a week.

I’m not sure I’d survive…

I reach over to the passenger seat and pick up a wipe clean whiteboard. I hurriedly scrawl “Thorne” on to it, and kick the door open.

Before leaving the limousine, I check my face one last time. I got Penny to apply a touch of makeup – just a little – just enough to darken my eyes, and to deepen some of the crow’s feet beginning to mark my skin.

I grin.

Penny did a damn fine job. Between the suit, the driver’s, the half-beard and the makeup, I look like a different person.

I’ve no doubt that Tilly will see right through the disguise. She’s the smartest kid I know, but I hope it’ll hold out for a while: enough to draw a smile.

I knock the limousine’s driver door closed with my foot, and go stand amongst the gaggle of drivers ringing the glass doors, purposefully slumping my posture. The kids are starting to stream out now, dragging huge, heavy suitcases behind them.

“Come on, Hailey,” a stressed-looking executive grunts. “You can say your goodbyes another time. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

Some hello that is…

The worst bit is, Hailey doesn’t even argue. I get the sense that the kid has been through this a hundred times before. She waves sadly to her friends, and takes off after her father, still dragging her own suitcase behind.

The scene is repeated half a dozen times, though with less intensity. The pile of schoolgirls: all of them dressed in unkempt gray, and purple-hemmed uniforms; all the worse for wear after an eight hour flight from London; begins to winnow away.

Still no Tilly…

It’s just me and a few other drivers now. I grimace. If she sees me here, standing alone, there’s no way my cover will fly. I spin, looking for inspiration.

And I find it.

“Hey, dude,” I say to a passing traveler, dressed in floral-print shorts and flip-flops. “Can I bum a cigarette?”

“Sure, dude,” the man says in a drawn-out California drawl. “You look like you could use it…”

I grimace. Not exactly what I want to hear. “Thanks.”

“You need a light?” ‘Floral-print shorts’ asks.

I don’t smoke.

I shake my head, and pat my breast pocket as if to indicate I’ve got a zippo lighter stashed away. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks buddy.”

He shrugs and carries on. I put the cigarette in my mouth, and leave it hanging there. Next I loosen my tie a little, so it’s hanging around my neck somewhat like a noose.

Better.

Then I see her –

– Tilly: my daughter.

She’s still the most beautiful, most incredible person I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe that a part of me is in her; that I helped make something so special. I didn’t realize quite how much I’ve missed her while she’s been away until now.

She’s got both arms behind her back, and she’s dragging her suitcase on its side, rather than by the wheels.

I start walking forward.

“Darn,” she mumbles, looking back. She turns around to right the case, and I approach her quickly while she’s distracted.

“You Tilly Thorne?” I ask. I affect a thick, rough, smoker’s voice, and cough a couple of times into the back of my hand for good effect.

“D’you need me to grab that?” I grunt, jerking my head at the suitcase.

“No, don’t worry,” Tilly says – still focused on the case behind her. “I’ve got it.”

My heart swells with pride when I hear her say that. I just watched dozens of spoiled kids clicks her fingers and watch their parents’ driver jump, and I’m so glad that Tilly’s not like that.

“Are you sure?” I ask – in my normal voice this time.

“Seriously,” Tilly replies, huffing – with effort, not attitude – as she kicks her suitcase back onto its wheels. “It’s cool. I’m stronger than I –”

Tilly freezes.

She turns her head slowly, as if she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. Then she drops the suitcase entirely and comes running towards me.

“Daddy!”

My daughter throws herself into my arms from a running start. She’s captain of the hockey team, and she’s already well past my waist – taller than a girl her age has any right to be. She knocks the air clean out of my lungs as she collides with me, but I don’t care.

I can’t hide the smile that grabs hold of my face.

“Tils,” I smile, nuzzling her hair. “I was beginning to think maybe you didn’t make it on board at all…”

She squeezes her arms around me. When she pulls her head back, I swear I see tiny glistening tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

“Shurrup,” she says in a muted voice. I can tell that her throat and chest are all clenched up with emotion.

“I was about to send the jet,” I wink. “To make sure you didn’t get lost on the way!”

I set Tilly back down on the ground.

“It was my bag,” she says. She wrinkles her nose at the offending suitcase. “It kept tipping over.”

I cast my eyes over it. The item in question is bulging in all the wrong places. “Looks over-packed to me,” I grin.

Tilly puts her hands on her hips. “I wasn’t looking for your opinion, daddy,” she says.

“Want me to carry it?” I ask.

Tilly frowns. I can tell she wants to say yes, but she’s standing on her pride. I like that. It’s exactly the kind of bloody-mindedness I want to see in my daughter.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”

I walk over toward the limousine with my daughter my side. I’m so happy to have her back I can’t help the smile that keeps breaking over my face like the dawn sun peeping through bothersome clouds.

We heave the suitcase into the back – together – and climb in.

“How was it then?” I ask, reaching over and tousling Tilly’s hair before I put the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles on, and I signal to move out into the slow flow of traffic.

Tilly looks exhausted. She’s never flown commercial before this trip – only on my jet. I offered – half-jokingly – to fly the whole school over on it, but Tilly declined with a look of horror on her face.

“No way!” she protested. “I’m not a show off, daddy!”

More pride. So much pride I wonder sometimes if I might just explode.

“It was amazing,” Tilly says, her enthusiasm racing through the exhaustion. “I mean, wet. Really, really wet. It didn’t quit raining all week, but otherwise it was incredible. We went to Buckingham Palace, and Windsor Castle, and to Stonehenge –”

“How was that?” I interrupt.

“Stonehenge?” Tilly chews her lip. I know that look. It’s when she wants to say something, but worries people will look at her the wrong way for it. “To be honest…”

“Always,” I say, turning onto the highway.

She giggles. “It was just a pile of stones in the ground. And busy, so, so busy! The museum was closed for some reason, so we had to look at it from the road.”

I make a face. “Oh.”

“But the rest of it was amazing. I can’t wait to show you all the pictures I took.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” I say.

There’s a short silence, interrupted only occasionally by the sound of a stone ricocheting off the limousine’s chassis. My mind travels back to the topic that has been attacking it all week. How the hell am I going to tell her about Penny?

“Is everything okay, daddy?” she asks. Damn. I forgot how smart this kid is. I can’t hide anything from her; never have been able to.

“Listen, Tilly,” I mumble, chewing my lip. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Tilly glances at me, and I meet her gaze. She’s got the same eyes as me: gray, except hers have a hint of hazel as well, sparkling like shards of glitter. She’s so freaking young and innocent, my heart feels ready to explode.

“Is this the same thing you were going to tell me on Face Timevvvvvvvvvvv?” She asks.

“Did I ever tell you you’re a smart kid?” I reply, dancing around the question.

“All the time, daddy,” Tilly says. “Now spill. We don’t keep secrets, remember…”

I let my head tip back onto the seat rest. A little hiss of air escapes my lips. I don’t know why this is so hard. I can sit in a boardroom and make decisions that affect the lives and jobs of thousands, yet struggle here, when it’s just me and my daughter.

“Tilly, I –”

I pause.

I’ve had all the time in the world to figure out how I’m going to say this, but still I come up short. Because in truth, what can I say? “Tilly, I’ve moved a woman into the spare bedroom. You can call her mom…”

No, I didn’t think so.

“I think I know what’s going on,” Tilly interrupts.

I frown. “You do?”

Tilly nods seriously. She’s got an intense look on her face, and she mirrors my frown. “Yes. You’re dating someone, aren’t you? That’s what you want to tell me. Well, daddy…”

I hold my breath.

“… It’s about time!” Tilly beams.

I croak, mouth suddenly dry. “Wha – What?”

“I mean it. I’ve been telling you to start dating for ages, haven’t I? You need to. You’re only in your prime for so long, you know, daddy?” Tilly nods seriously. “If you let it go too long, it’ll be too late…”

I cough, and splutter all over the steering wheel.

“My ‘Prime’?” I say. “What are you talking about? Who told you about all this?”

“I’m eleven, daddy,” Tilly says. “I’ll be dating soon; that’s just how it is. It’s not like how it was in your day…”

My mouth is now almost permanently stapled in an open, shocked position. I’m going to need to talk to Tilly about what she just said. There’s no way she’s about to start dating – over my dead body! But first thing’s first. I’ve got to deal with the Penny situation before anything else.

“Listen, Tilly,” I say. “You’re –”

“Right, I know I am,” Tilly smiled. “What do I win?”

“You’re kind of right,” I say, directing her. “But there’s a whole lot more to it than that.”

“Like what?” Tilly frowns.

I sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to talk to you about this,” I say. “It’s not fair. You’re too young.”

Tilly sets her jaw, and presses her lips together obstinately. “I’m eleven, daddy,” she repeats. “Not nine. And besides, we tell each other everything – don’t we?” The look she gives me fizzles and crackles with intensity.

As if there’s a difference. No matter how tall Tilly grows, she still looks as tiny to me as she did the moment I first held her in my arms.

“We do…” I groan. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

And I do.

Everything.

I don’t hold back, and the intensity of the emotion surprises me when it pours out. I talk the whole way down the highway, all the way back to 220 Central Park. I’m still talking when I step out of the limousine, when I tossed my hat and keys to the doorman, Frederick, and toss him a tip.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, crouching down in front of the bank of elevators. I hold Tilly by her shoulders, and look her directly in the eyes.

I’ve met women four times my daughter’s age, and I’ve still to find anyone nearly so mature. She took the news about Penny like a champ. She understood exactly why I did what I did.

And why – if anyone asks – she needs to tell CPS that Penny’s her mom.

“I’m sure, daddy,” Tilly says for the thousandth time. If anything, she’s beginning to look bored by having to repeat it. “You don’t have to keep checking, you know. I’m perfectly grown-up.”

“I know,” I groan. “And I hate it.”

The elevator pings open, and Tilly steps in, grinning wickedly at me. “Let’s go meet her, then,” she says. “I hope she’s as pretty as you say.”