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Patrick gives a cursory glance at Claire, then switches focus back to reversing his car into a small gap in the parking lot. It’s a new model, one he bought recently after finishing work on the last Love on Loan film, so he’s being extra careful not to scrape it up. It still hurts to think about the Love on Loan trilogy; it’s where he and Allison first met. When he offered her that drink at the minibar on the film set, there was an immediate spark between them. Only a few months later they were an item, “the next big thing” as the headlines put it. Not even a year after that they were married and soon after their daughter was conceived. If someone had told him back then that his perfect relationship wouldn’t even last eight years he would have called them crazy.
He can’t think about that right now though, because at the moment the problem is that his daughter hasn’t stopped sulking all day and he thinks it might drive him mad. If she doesn’t stop her ridiculous crossed arms and overemphasised pout soon he honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do. They’re only going for a quick photo shoot, something like clockwork to Patrick but probably monumental for Claire. That’s why he’s tried his hardest to be patient with her today, even going as far as to promise her an ice cream for afterwards despite the fact he’s been seriously trying to cut down in her sugar intake. Even so, she won’t stop complaining and now he’s reaching the end of his tether. All the papers need is a single photograph of Claire being happy with him so he can show the world that they’re doing just fine without Allison weighing them down. ‘Of course’, he realises, ‘that would be easier to achieve if it weren’t the biggest lie in the world’.
He understands he left a little too much of the parenting to Allison, or more accurately her powers, because there is clearly something wrong with Claire. She’s not developing socially the way she should: she lacks self control, she won’t stop talking about the Umbrella Academy thing Allison used to be in, and she can’t hold eye contact for more than a couple of seconds. After a thorough rundown of all these problems last parent’s evening, Patrick was rather judgmentally told by Claire’s teacher that it means nobody in Claire’s class wants to be her friend. In all honesty, he can’t hold it against the other kids that they don’t like being around Claire- but then again he can’t blame her for it either. So he blames Allison. ‘ Because it is her fault after all ,’ he tells himself, ‘ if only she laid down some ground rules and enforced them without the use of her powers this wouldn’t be a problem in the first place’ .
But she didn’t do that. Instead she sat alone on the sofa staring into space silently, only bothering to reemerge to work on a film or rumour their daughter. It felt off to him even before he knew about the rumouring. He remembers wondering why Allison didn’t seem happy around their daughter once she was born. He tried to ask her once but she pushed him away and insisted there was nothing wrong. It never made sense, he’d seen mothers on television full of joy and life at the sight of their babies. He himself always felt such an intense burst of love at the sight of his daughter. So always in the back of his mind the thought festered. The thought that perhaps Allison didn’t love Claire at all.
Realising that he’s been sitting there silently for almost ten minutes, he steps out of the car, then opens the door on Claire’s side and helps her out of her seat.
The moment Claire is steady on the ground she says, “I don’t want to have my photo taken.”
Patrick lets out a prolonged sigh and presses his fingers to his temples. “Claire. Please don’t.”
“I don’t want anyone I don’t know to see my face.” She continues on as if he hadn’t said anything.
“Well that’s just stupid, isn’t it?” Patrick snaps. “People you don’t know see your face every day. You’ve been outside before.”
“I mean on a magazine.”
“Claire!” Patrick yells and slams his hand down on the car bonnet.
Claire flinches and Patrick turns to look nervously at the car, hoping he hasn’t dented it. When he’s satisfied it’s okay, he glances at his watch and then at his daughter.
“Okay.” He says slowly. “We’re going to get to the studio now so we won’t be late.”
He leans down to hold Claire’s hand, but is dismayed to see her arms remain firmly crossed. “I’m staying here.”
Something about her in that moment reminds him so much of her mother, to the point it makes bile start to rise in his throat. He swallows it back and wraps a hand firmly around her wrist. “Come on.”
“No!” Claire insists, her voice rising in anger.
Patrick doesn’t bother to reply that time, instead opting to pull her forwards. Something that proves to be rather difficult when she’s pressed her heels into the ground.
“I don’t want to go!” She wails, and just like that the tears start.
Patrick scans the almost empty streets around the desolate parking lot. A fully grown man dragging a kicking and screaming six year old girl by the wrist is never a good sight, especially when that six year old girl looks nothing like him.
“Claire, stop it. You’re making a scene.” He hisses urgently and bends down to her eye level.
For a second she stops, staring at him with her wide tearful eyes. For a moment it looks as if she might be calming down. But then she strikes at his face with her little fist.
“Let me go!” She screams as Patrick reels back, more from shock than pain. Claire doesn’t stop trying to hit him though. She keeps punching, slapping, and clawing at his arms in a frenzied attempt to make him unhand her.
Patrick isn’t entirely sure what comes over him. One moment he’s trying to pull his daughter out of the parking lot and the next he has both his hands around her arm, twisting with all his strength.
The second he registers Claire’s scream of pain the red mist evaporates and he lets go. Oh god, what has he done? He reaches over to put a comforting hand on her cheek but she quickly pulls away and clutches her wrist close to her chest.
“What’s going on here?”
The voice from behind him makes Patrick swirl around, forgetting the daughter stood crying behind him to face the woman who just entered the parking lot. He’s instantly relived to see that her face carries a look of concern rather than accusation. He lets out a long breath and tries to think rationally. This looks awful, and he’ll have to apologise to Claire eventually. But right now what really matters is not letting anyone know what just happened.
“Oh,” He responds, almost laughing with relief but instantly composing himself in front of the stranger. “Claire’s having a bit of a bad day.”
To his surprise, there doesn’t appear to be a single flicker of recognition for either him or Claire on the woman’s face, and he looks at her curiously. She’s older than he is, likely older than his parents even, but still healthy enough to be out and about. It makes sense that she might not be a huge fan of his, but surely she must have seen some of his films. Despite the sting of not being recognised, he has to admit that it’s a good thing. If word of him hurting Claire got out to the media it would be a total shitstorm.
“She hates going to the dentist.” He continues casually.
“It hurts!” Claire sobs, still clutching her arm.
“It won’t hurt, I promise,” Patrick quickly responds before Claire can get another word in, deciding to continue running with this dentist story until the woman goes away. “It’s just a routine check up.”
“Poor little one.” The woman butts in with a voice so honeyed even Patrick finds it saccharine. She kneels down to Claire’s level. “I bet they still give out lollipops there if you’re good. They did when I was little.”
“And we’ve agreed to go out for ice cream after. Right, Claire?”
But Claire doesn’t respond, she just continues staring down at her feet tearfully.
“Right, Claire?”
That seems to shake Claire out of her haze because she gives a few silent nods, yet her teeth remind clamped down on her bottom lip.
“Well, I won’t keep you pair any longer. Don’t want you to miss your appointment do I?” The woman laughs, and Patrick wonders how someone could possibly be so merry.
“Certainly not, we’ve had this booked for a long time.” He responds with as much mirth as he can muster, and sends the woman away with a wave and charming movie star smile.
The second she’s out of ear shot he lets the act drop with a laboured sigh. “Come on, Claire. Let’s not be late for this.”
He’s surprised when she lets him take her hand with no resistance whatsoever, and even more surprised when they continue down the pavement without another complaint. He worries that perhaps he’s frightened her, or worse, really hurt her. He looks down at Claire, her sun-coloured shirt crumpled from the fight and stained with tears, her black hair disheveled, free from the hours of careful moisturising he’d told her to put into it that morning. ‘ It’s fine ,’ he thinks, ‘ they’ll fix all that up before the photo shoot’ .
“So, how’s that arm feeling?” Patrick asks as lightly as possible.
“It’s alright.” Claire mumbles. She doesn’t even bother to look at him and keeps her gaze trained firmly on the floor. It doesn’t do anything to reassure him that she’s not afraid of him.
“I’m really sorry for hurting you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.” Her voice remains barely above a whisper.
He wants to press further, to make sure that she really is okay. But they’ve reached the studio already, and just in the nick of time.
When they get inside it takes about a half hour to get prepared to make sure that they look as radiant as possible. Nobody questions the red mark on Claire’s arm, they merely cover it with concealer, pick out a better ironed shirt for her to wear, and comb her tangled hair. Patrick sits contentedly still, chatting idly to the make up artists as they contour his face to look just right. All the while Claire’s body bunches together as she is poked and prodded and moulded into the shape of Patrick’s perfect, happy child.
As they step onto the set, a room brightly lit by metallic white light, Patrick gives his daughter another nervous sideways glance. She still doesn’t look happy. He wants to cheer her up somehow but can’t find the words. He tries anyway.
“Claire…” He wants to apologise for hurting her, or to explain to her why she can’t see her mother any more. But he can’t, not with all these people around. “Just make sure to give a big smile for the camera. It’ll be over before you know it.”
***
They step back outside a few hours later. Their eyes left bleary from the lights and faces sore from insincere smiling. It feels almost unreal to be standing in the cool breeze again after such an intense photo shooting session. Patrick closes his eyes momentarily in order to rest them after staring at the camera’s flash for so long and allows the ache to die away as the wind to ruffles his hair.
He does feel a touch of guilt for Claire. He’d promised it would be quick, but it took so much longer than expected. It started with the fact that Claire’s smile looked nowhere near convincing and then spiralled into further outfit and pose changes. It had been a lot, but Patrick’s been on the cover of enough magazines to know that things are just more difficult sometimes. ‘ Perhaps if Claire had actually made an effort it wouldn’t have taken so long’ .
“Great job, sweetie.” He says with an unconvincing attempt at sounding genuine. “Now, how about we get some of that ice cream? You’ve earned it!”
Claire only nods, her face devoid of any hint of a smile. He once again takes her hand (very gently this time) and they stroll back down the road to the local park where the ice cream van sits in wait just like it does every weekend. As the sun sets over the dreary day, the shadows cascading along the ground catch Patrick’s eye. The tall, stable figure of himself connected to the tiny, fragile outline of the girl beside him. From the silhouettes they look like the typical, ideal parent and child seen on the front of family counselling pamphlets. Something about that brings a glow to his heart.
They reach the ice cream van and don’t even have to scan the menu to know the selection. Patrick used to take Claire here whenever there was a lull in his busy schedule, and they would spend the day playing at the park and eating ice cream; it was their favourite place.
“So, what would you like?” Patrick asks.
Claire doesn’t reply immediately. For a while she stares intensely at the menu board, eye brows knitted and frowning slightly, as if this might be the hardest choice she’d ever had to make. Patrick stifles a laugh, ‘ good old Claire, always overreacting about something ’. Sure, that’s annoying at times, but right now it’s good to see her back to normal.
Then she reaches up a hand to point at the picture of the strawberry ice cream.
“You want that one?”
Claire still doesn’t make a sound as she nods along in agreement.
Patrick opens his wallet and slides a few notes across the counter. “One strawberry ice cream please.”
He takes hold of the cone and hands it carefully to Claire, then makes his way over to the park bench. He hoists himself up onto it while Claire eats her ice cream. He keeps a close eye on her as he tries to untangle the messy storm of emotions brewing inside of him. He knows Claire has an issue with the cameras and the photographs, perhaps it would be kinder of him to leave her out of it. But public opinion is a powerful thing, and he has to keep up appearances to make it clear to everyone he’s the right parent for Claire. If he’s not careful, things might start to sway in Allison’s favour and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let anyone leave his daughter in the custody of that monster. So he has to stick to his guns, and even though he feels awful every time he makes her cry, he reassures himself it’s all for Claire’s own good.