The child had been sitting on her own at the rear of the room, the rest of the class paired up, two sharing each desk. They’d been left work to complete, an acrostic on their favourite person. He’d wandered around the room, glancing over some of the kids’ shoulders. Most were writing poems about their parents or their favourite footballer.

Alice had caught his eye as he’d been moving through the gaps between the desks, smiling timidly at him. He’d made his way down to where she sat, half expecting that she’d been composing the poem about her mother. For an absurd moment, he’d wondering if she might have written it about him, then dismissed the idea; he’d only had one or two dealings with her, after all. It didn’t stop him feeling just a little disappointed when he saw it was written for her father, even as he scolded himself for the unworthiness of his feeling.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

She sat back, allowing him an unfettered view of the page.

‘Daddy is my favourite man.

Anything you want, he can

Dedicate himself to it and try

Despite the fact he wants to cry

Y–’

‘Are you stuck on the last line?’ Tony asked.

She nodded.

‘What do you want to say?’

‘That even when he wants to cry, he has to forget about himself and think about me.’

‘Why does he want to cry?’

‘Because of Mum,’ she said, simply. ‘I hear him sometimes, at night, but he doesn’t want me to know, so I pretend I’m sleeping.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tony said. ‘That must be tough.’

She nodded. ‘I want to start with Y but there’s only You that could be used and he’s not Your daddy, he’s my daddy, so that doesn’t make sense.’

‘What about, ‘You can always count on him’?’ Tony offered.

Alice tried not to react, but could not hide the lack of enthusiasm she felt for his suggestion.

‘Let me think about it,’ Tony said, feeling just a little embarrassed at his lack of skill.

‘It is a fairly shit line,’ Karen said now, as Tony recounted the story. ‘The wee girl’s better at it than you are.’

‘I felt sorry for the man,’ Tony said, having taken mock offence at her comment. ‘He sounds like he’s struggling. I feel even more sorry for her.’

‘Why? Her dad’s obviously looking after her.’

‘He’s doing his best, maybe, but she’s just not fitting in. Even in class, no one would sit with her. Kids can be really nasty to one another.’

‘So can adults,’ Karen said. They passed a row of houses, before turning again, up the left. As they drove up along the crescent, Karen counted off the numbers of each house silently to herself.

‘That one,’ she said, with a barely perceptible nod.