Page 55 of The Thief

Ava whipped her head around to look up at her mum.

“Can Tyler read me a story and put me to bed?” she asked, her puppy dog eyes pleading with her mum.

Jess sighed, looked over at me, and then nodded. “Fine. But only one story. And I get to tuck you in after Tyler. Deal?”

“Deal.” Ava grinned, kicking her little legs that didn’t quite reach the floor yet.

“Okay, chop chop. Go and get your PJs on. Tyler will come up when you’re ready.”

Ava fist pumped the air, then shot off the sofa, running up the stairs and shouting down to us, “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Jess used the time to apologise, like me having to read a story and put Ava to bed was a hardship. It really wasn’t. I told her so, but she still fussed. And when Ava shouted from upstairs, “I’m ready,” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I stood up and made my way up the stairs.

Opening the door with the pink wooden letters spelling out ‘Ava’, I stood in the doorway and glanced around.

“Wow. This is averypink bedroom,” I said, as Ava sat on the floor of her room, looking through her bookcase for the bookshe wanted.

“Pink is my favourite colour,” she announced, as she pulled the book she’d chosen free.

“I would never have guessed.”

I sat on the edge of her bed, and she skipped over to me, hopping up on the bed in her pink pig pyjamas.

“What are we reading?” I asked, peering down at the book she was clutching in her chubby little hands.

“It’s my favourite, ‘Room on the Broom’. It’s the one with the witch and all the animals. Can you do the special voices like Mummy does?”

I cleared my throat, like I was preparing myself for the performance of my life, and replied, “I’ll try my best. I’m not sure I’ll be as good as Mummy, though.”

Ava settled beside me, and I started to read the story, putting everything I had into those voices. When Ava rested her head on my shoulder, I almost stopped reading from the way that made me feel. I put my arm around her, kissed the top of her head, then carried on.

At the end, Ava started using any tricks she could to draw out her bedtime routine, counting the flowers in the pattern on the last page of the book, then asking me if she could choose another story.

“Mummy said one, and we should always do what Mummy says,” I reminded her, and she screwed her face up but didn’t argue with me.

I stood up, put the book on her bedside table and started to pull back the duvet for her to climb in.

“Tyler?” she asked, using that sweet voice of hers as she lay down.

“Yes,princess?” I replied, covering her with her pink duvet.

“In the ice cream shop today, when we posted my picture in the box, that lady said you looked like me.”

I swallowed, not sure what was going to come out of her mouth. And she stared at me, her little lashes fluttering as she waited for me to say something.

“Yes, she did,” I said, thinking that would be the end of it.

“Does that mean...” She stopped, then in a quieter voice, she added, “Are you my real daddy?”

I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. My stomach dropped and I took a moment to think about what she’d asked. Not because I wanted to lie, but because the truth hurt.

I sat back down on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath before I spoke.

“I don’t know your daddy. I know he hasn’t been here for you and Mummy.” I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. “And that’s not fair on either of you.” She just stared back at me with her big blue eyes, like she was waiting for me to say something to make it all better. To say the words she wanted to hear. So, I spoke from the heart. It was all I could do.

“You know what? I wish I was your daddy. I think you’re the prettiest, kindest, funniest, most amazingly talented little girl I’ve ever met. And whenever I’m around you, you make me feel so happy. If I was your daddy, I’d be the luckiest daddy in the world.”

She nodded, but I could see disappointment welling in her eyes.