I know best
What is it this time Daniel slumped down to his haunches in front of his daughter, staring at the pale pink smudges on her cheeks. Again
Four-year-old Alice stood quietly in the middle of the lounge, patient and strangely solemn for a child her age. Shed grown almost accustomed to these inspections, the worried faces of her parents, the endless ointments and tablets.
Grace came over, crouched down with her husband. Her fingers gently brushed a lock of Alices hair to one side.
These medicines do nothing. At all. Like giving her tap water. And those doctors at the surgery Im not sure theyre even doctors. Third new prescription this month and its pointless.
Daniel got up, rubbing his brow. Outside, the grey was thick with drizzle, promising yet another drab day. They packed up quickly, bundled Alice into her tiny woollen jacket, and within half an hour were sitting in his mothers flat.
Margaret tutted and shook her head, stroking her granddaughters back.
So little, yet so many pills and potions. Its a strain on one so young, she said, settling Alice on her lap. The girl snuggled into Grandma, knowing the drill. Breaks your heart.
Wed gladly stop, said Grace, perched at the end of the sofa with tense hands. But her allergies are relentless. Weve removed everything. Honestly. She only eats the absolute basics and still, the rash.
And what do the doctors say?
Nothing definite. They cant pinpoint anything. We keep doing bloods, tests, samples, but the result Grace flicked her wrist. Always the same. Her cheeks.
Margaret sighed and adjusted Alices collar.
Hopefully shell grow out of it. Children do, sometimes. But meanwhile, its no comfort.
Daniel watched his daughter in silence. Small, thin. Huge, intent eyes. He stroked her hair and, suddenly, the memory of his own childhood floated up: stealing jam tarts from the kitchen on Saturdays, pleading for toffees, loving spoonfuls of strawberry jam straight from the jar. But his daughter Boiled veg. Poached chicken. Water. No fruit, no sweets, none of the proper food of childhood. Four years old and her diet was stricter than any ulcer patient.
We honestly dont know what else we can remove, he murmured. Her meals are theres almost nothing left.
The drive home was silent. Alice dozed in the backseat, and Daniel kept glancing at her in the mirror. Sleeping peacefully. At least not scratching, for now.
Mum called, Grace said at last. She wants Alice for next weekend. Shes got tickets wants to take her to the puppet theatre.
The theatre? Daniel shifted gears. Thatll be nice. She could use a distraction.
Thats what I thought. Itll do her good.
On Saturday, Daniel parked outside his mother-in-laws house, lifted Alice from her car seat. The child blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes. Too early, not enough sleep. He carried her, and she immediately nestled her nose into his neck, warm and light as a sparrow.
Susan floated out onto the porch in a bright housecoat, flapping her hands as if shed seen a survivor from a shipwreck.
Oh my darling girl, sunshine, she scooped Alice up, pressing her into her ample chest. So pale and thin. Her cheeks! Youve starved her, all with these diets. Youll waste the poor child!
Daniel shoved his hands deep in his pockets, biting down irritation. Always the same refrain.
We do it for her sake. Its not for pleasure, you know that.
Sake?! Susan pursed her lips, regarding Alice like shed just fled a prison camp. Shes skin and bone. Children need feeding, and youre starving her.
She carried Alice inside, barely glancing back, the door closing with a soft click. Daniel stood at the gate, something scratching at the back of his mind a thought, an intuition, trying to form but melting away like morning mist. He rubbed his forehead, listening to the hush of someone elses garden. Then he shrugged and strode to the car.
A childless weekend odd, almost forgotten. On Saturday, he and Grace took the trolley at the superstore, filling it with food for the week.
At home, Daniel tussled for hours with the bathroom tap, dripping for nearly two months now. Grace sorted cupboards, pulling old jumpers and stuffed them in bags for the tip. Ordinary household bustle, but with no little voice, the flat seemed off-kilter wrong, and strangely deserted.
They ordered pizza in the evening the mozzarella-and-basil one Alice couldnt touch. Popped open a bottle of red. Sat at the kitchen table, talking about nothing in particularlike they hadnt in ages. Work, holiday plans, that eternal DIY.
This is nice, Grace said suddenly, then bit her lip. I mean well, you know. Just quiet. Peaceful.
I know, Daniel squeezed her hand. I miss her, too. But we need a break sometimes.
On Sunday, he picked up Alice as the sun dipped low, pouring golden orange across the street. Susans home nestled behind old apple trees, almost homely in the evening light.
Daniel pushed open the squeaky gate and froze mid-step.
There on the porch sat his daughter. By her side, Susan bent close, radiating total joy. In her hand a steaming pasty, golden and shiny from butter. And Alice was munching it, cheeks smeared and chin dotted with crumbs. Her eyes bright, gleaming with a happiness Daniel hadnt seen in months.
For several seconds, Daniel just stared. Then a hot, fierce wave surged up inside.
He darted forward, in three strides at their side, snatching the pasty from Susans hands.
What on earth is this?!
Susan jerked, flushing deep red from throat to hairline.
She wrung her hands, flapping away his anger.
Its only a small bit! Nothing to worry about, just a pasty
Daniel wasnt listening. He swept Alice into his arms she went silent, clutching his jacket and stalked to the car. Buckled her into the seat, hands trembling with rage. Alices wide eyes brimmed with tears.
Its alright, sweetheart, he stroked her hair, voice as calm as he could muster. Just sit tight for a minute. Daddyll be right back.
He shut the door and returned to the house. Susan hovered in the doorway, twisting her housecoat, face blotched.
Daniel, you dont understand
Dont understand?! He stopped two steps away, voice sharp as glass. Half a year! Half a year we couldnt figure out what was wrong with Alice! Appointments, bloodwork, allergy tests do you even know what that all cost? How many nerves, how many sleepless nights?!
Susan retreated, clutching the bannister.
I meant well
Meant well? Daniel stepped closer. We kept her on water and chicken. Removed every single thing from her diet. And you sneak her fried pastries?!
I was strengthening her immunity! Susan lifted her chin, emboldened. Just tiny amounts, so shed get used to it. Another week and shed have been cured thanks to me! I know best, I raised three children!
Daniel looked at her, not recognising the woman hed tolerated for years for his wife, for peace. Shed poisoned his child, on purpose, convinced she knew better than doctors.
Three children, he repeated softly, and Susan paled. But every child is different. Alice is not yours shes mine. And you wont see her again.
What?! Susan gripped the rail. You have no right!
I do.
He turned and walked to the car. Shouting behind him. He ignored it, started the engine. Susans figure flashed in the mirror, waving behind the gate. He pressed hard on the accelerator.
At home, Grace was waiting in the hallway. One look at his face, at their tearful daughter she understood at once.
What happened?
Daniel explained simply, quietly, all emotion spent at the porch. Grace listened, her face hardening by the second. Then she picked up the phone.
Mum. Yes, he told me. How could you?!
Daniel bathed Alice, washing away flour and tears. Graces voice rang sharp through the door the kind of scolding shed never used before. At last, he heard: Until we sort these allergies, youre not seeing Alice.
Two months passed
Sunday lunches with Margaret became a tradition. That afternoon, a sponge cake with cream and strawberries glittered on the table. And Alice ate it herself, wielding a big spoon, face covered in sticky smiles. Not a blemish on her cheeks.
Would you believe it, Margaret shook her head. Sunflower oil. Such a rare allergy.
The doctor said one in a thousand, Grace spread butter on her bread. Once we switched completely to olive oil, the rash disappeared in two weeks.
Daniel watched his daughter, couldnt take his eyes off her. Healthy pink cheeks, shining eyes, nose dabbed with cream. A happy child at last eating real food. Cake, biscuits, everything made without sunflower. So many things, as it turned out.
Relations with Susan stayed frosty. She called, crying, apologising. Grace spoke little, Daniel did not at all.
Alice reached for more cake, and Margaret moved the plate closer.
Eat up, darling. Eat and be well.
Daniel reclined in his chair. Rain pattered outside, but inside was warm, sweet with baking. His daughter was thriving. Nothing else mattered.
