Page 6

This is partially true. I only spotted Carley once at robotics club. But I can’t admit we met at a mutual friend’s party off campus when we were both plastered. We had a drunken fling, followed by a few weeks of dating before Carley graduated and we parted ways.

‘Mum hated being in America and couldn’t wait to come home,’ Wren replies, mid-mouthful. ‘She said she didn’t fit in and most of the students were rich, stuck-up losers.’

I swallow a sigh at her deliberate goading.

‘Well... being abroad by herself was difficult, particularly after her parents died. It was a big wrench for me too. Something terrible happened shortly before I joined Stanford and...’ I stop myself.

‘What happened?’ Wren’s eyes gleam with curiosity and she pushes her bowl away, spilling milk. ‘Why was it so bad?’

She scrambles to her feet and walks over, staring at me expectantly. It’s flattering she’s showing a rare interest in my life, but I don’t want to talk about prom night. And I definitely don’t want to discuss Lily’s death and losing Sophie, the first girl I ever loved.

‘It doesn’t matter, Wren. Take the sweatshirt or one of your swimming trophies or... something. Whatever you want.’

‘Fine, Adam !’ She lets out an exaggerated huff, turning her back. ‘I’ll take my Horrid Henry .’ She rummages in her school bag, revealing the book.

Breathe in and out. Stay calm. Write the note for Anna.

My hand shakes as I pick up the pen, running over the meal options in my head. Spag bol? Fish fingers? With an extra-large side order of arsenic for me, please .

I write: Cook whatever Wren wants for tea. Have after-school club. Back @ 6 p.m.

I’ll message her after drop-off about avoiding Wren’s room. Anna seems nervous about venturing into that bomb site anyway and claims ignorance about the location of the vacuum, so there’s a negligible chance she’ll tidy up.

‘Right... I think we’re finally ready. Let’s go!’

I look down but Wren’s vanished. I head into the hall and find the front door ajar.

The wind rustles the growing collection of flyers on the mat.

I shoot down the path and spot Wren trudging along the street.

She’s set off without her coat but is wearing her flamingo-pink wellies.

Didn’t we agree they’re only for weekends?

I dash back inside and grab her trainers and anorak, along with my rucksack and year 9’s test papers.

On the way out, I realise I’ve had another major Dad fail and forgotten to make her lunch box.

She’ll have to slum it with school dinners again, like me.

I sprint after the little figure, who is drawing further and further away. Some days, the distance between us feels insurmountable; I’ll never be able to reach her.

‘I hope your Show and Tell goes well. Have a great day!’

Wren stalks through the school gates without replying, her hands shoved into the pockets of the coat I’ve made her put on, along with the trainers.

I linger optimistically, hoping for a wave, but she doesn’t look back.

Her shoulders sag as a group of girls talk animatedly near her in the playground.

Carley and I had agreed that Wren should stay in her school and for me to find somewhere to live here, rather than whipping her back to the US straightaway.

Despite this, Wren appears to be completely alone.

Perhaps the mates listed in Carley’s file haven’t arrived yet.

I mustn’t keep putting off arranging play dates.

I should also pay for her class’s Science Museum visit and buy something for the cake sale.

I’ll look up prices for Disneyland Paris over May half term.

.. a trip is just what we need to help us grow closer.

Or I could save for a blow-out holiday to Orlando in the summer.

I should probably write a to-do list instead of trying to remember everything in my head as usual.

I stick in my EarPods, turn up David Bowie, and stride away.

I’m calling up Anna’s number on my phone to tap out a message about leaving Wren’s room when an email with the strapline: Party !

flashes up. A gasp escapes from my lips as I click on it.

It’s from my old school, now called Kingsland Academy:

Dear former pupil,

This is a reminder to RSVP for our reunion party at Kingsland golf club on Saturday, 12 April, to celebrate the opening of the school 50 years ago. It’s a chance to meet with old friends and raise money to rebuild our crumbling roof and classrooms.

We hope you can make it! Further details below.

Can I? Should I? It would be a welcome night off from being a crap dad.

But our prom party was held at the same place, and it will bring back painful memories.

.. I’ve lost touch with everyone from school and it’s unlikely Sophie or Tom will go.

I dither, checking my watch. Bloody hell!

It’s 8.20 a.m. already. Clutching my phone, I increase my pace.

A teacher late for registration, let alone class, is a bad look, especially for a newly qualified one.

I’m supposed to be keen – unlike all the lifers, who appear desperate for parole.

Approaching the kerb, I catch a glimpse of a young woman in a bright-green coat striding briskly along the opposite pavement. Her curly strawberry-blonde hair trails down her back. I gape at her, my jaw slack.

It can’t be . . . Is it?

My chest feels like it’s going to explode with emotion.

‘Sophie?’ I raise my voice. ‘Sophie Leroux!’

I step into the road after her and feel a whoosh of air against my trouser leg. A horn blares loudly as a motorbike courier swerves to avoid me. Breath freezes in my throat. It’s happening at high speed yet in slow motion at the same time.

‘Watch where you’re going!’ the motorcyclist yells.

Green Coat Lady turns and stares, along with the gaggle of mums and dads chatting outside the school gates.

It’s not Sophie, of course... the school email caught me off guard, reminding me of her.

My heart beats thunderously loud and my cheeks are branded scarlet as I bend down to pick up my phone, which has skittered across the yellow hazard markings.

The screen’s cracked. Ditto my nerves. One more step into the road and I’d be dead.

Who would look after your daughter then, you idiot?

This is my wake-up call. I have to do better, not only at crossing the road . I must find a way to get through to Wren, but the awful truth is, I barely know her. I can’t claw back those missing years and, in all honesty, I don’t have a clue what to do with her in the ones stretching ahead.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart. The last thing I need is a full-blown panic attack in front of the other parents.

I must stop beating myself up. Carley would remind me that I can’t learn everything in seven months, while simultaneously trying not to mess up my temporary new career.

It’s not too late to build a relationship with Wren.

I have plenty of time.