02

 I landed in Galway, where I stayed for two months in the studio of Bastien's sister who was studying here. She had gotten me a little job, just enough to pay part of the rent and support my baby. I learned to speak English, to blend into this new life and for almost six years, I only speak the language of Shakespeare. Although I passed on my French roots to my daughter, I chose to focus on our future.

 Since then, I only have her. Mila. My Sunshine. And I've never been happier.

 -Ready to discover your gift, my dear?

 She jumps from her chair, signing countless yeses. I laugh softly as I plant myself behind her, my hand on her eyelids. I guide her to the living room, where she discovers a purple bicycle, with a threadbare leather saddle and a gleaming horn. She hugs me, waves her hands behind my back but I can't read what she's telling me. I then straighten her to look at her hands but my eyes are immediately drawn to hers, where tears of joy are spilling from her eyelids.

 -That's exactly what I wanted ! A purple bike, my favorite color, thank you dad!

 I kiss her, holding her against me for a long minute. Then my daughter starts squirming and asks me if she can go try it.

 - Go get dressed, I'm waiting for you.

 Five minutes later, there she is, pacing the alley in the backyard, proudly posted on her new bike. I watch him tame his bicycle with great ease, a big smile on his face. Sitting on the steps that line the door to the pub's storeroom, I don't take my eyes off her. Her long soft hair twirls with her movements, sometimes standing in front of her eyes, forcing her to let go of the handlebars to chase them away. She has my black eyes and my long eyelashes. She has her mother's thin lips and high cheekbones. She is not very tall but she is so beautiful.

 Behind me, the pub is asleep. Abbigail, my boss, has an old fashioned side: she refuses to work on Sundays. I'm not complaining, I can at least enjoy a full day with my daughter. I met her almost four years ago. I accumulated odd jobs and money problems. She needed someone to help her run her pub since her husband died. She didn't take offense at my lack of experience, I didn't hold it against her for her gruff and authoritarian side. She handed me a tea towel and asked me to wipe glasses. And it was gone. A month later, she offered me to leave the hovel I had found with difficulty in Galway, in which humidity and mold were fighting a duel. She handed me the keys to our current apartment and I agreed to come and live in Kinvara. It's not big, not modern, not even bright but it's healthy and located just above the pub. Then I can let Mila sleep and start my shift one floor lower in the morning. I can leave for fifteen minutes to walk my daughter to school. Abbi even allows me to spend a few hours selling my creations to tea time customers on weekends.

 - Dad, can we go for a ride on the harbor with my bike? she asks me with her nimble hands.

 I nod my head and we set off. The air is humid, as often here, but the weather is nice today. Kinvara wakes up to the generous rays of the sun. Mila walks the streets with ease while I watch her. We advance in the middle of colorful buildings, crossing pink, red, yellow, blue or green storefronts, before arriving at the port where a few boats are paddling. Most of them left at dawn to fish in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The view of the bay is breathtaking. Mila zigzags between the passers-by who greet us happily then she heads towards the Donguaire Castle, cutting across the fields. I struggle to follow her but to see her so free, so happy, fills me with unprecedented happiness.

 After a good hour of walking, we end up landing in the middle of a blueberry field.

 -So, do you like your new bike?

 - Oh yes dad, he is perfect! Did you see how fast I drive? Faster than a rocket!

 I laugh at his enthusiasm. Her pretty hands move in all directions, I can barely follow her flow of words.

 - And my horn, it's too beautiful! Even though I can't hear it, I see people's reactions when I activate it and it's so funny. Earlier, on the port, there is an old grandpa who almost fell into the water, he was so surprised!

 Even though I learned sign language several years ago, I'm not always very comfortable when she signs the signs so quickly. Luckily for me, Mila still manages to read lips a bit.

 -Be careful though, I don't want to end up in prison because of a horn!

 My daughter's face suddenly loses all its lightness.

 -You... you could really go to prison because of me?

 -Not for a horn, no. It was just a joke, don't worry. What if we discovered Uncle Bastien's gift instead?

 -Tonton Bastien sent me a present? Where is he ? Give me the ! I want it !

 I pretend to display a mysterious expression as I get up but my daughter blocks me on the ground and climbs me, tickling me. She knows I can't stand her attacks. I laugh my breath away, yelling at her to spare me but she doesn't hear me. She can only read my false distress on my face before deciding to spare me. She shifts and I straighten up. I pull a package from the inside pocket of my jacket.

 -What is that ? she raves while tearing the packaging. Ohh! A kitchen apron! With my name embroidered on it! And also something written there... it's so cool! I'll put it on every time we cook together!

 -Let's go back, sweetheart. We can connect and thank uncle if he's online.

 The return trip is as pleasant as the outward trip. When we go along the port again, I am stopped by a fisherman, a regular at the pub. He returns from his morning fishing and offers me a bag filled with a salmon and some shellfish.

 Mila is chatting with Bastien on Skype while I cook the fish next to her. In impeccable French, she explains to my friend how beautiful her bike is and that it surely has a magic power because it propels her at full speed. I imagine the silly smile of his interlocutor who has always been under the spell of my daughter.

 She turns to me to moan about the internet connection and the antiquity that we use as a computer. I just shrug my shoulders but inside, it touches me. Because it's an old machine I got from Abbi, because I can't afford a new one just like I couldn't afford to buy her a bike in the store. So when I found this old abandoned bicycle, I saw there my chance to please my daughter. I sanded it, cleaned it, and painted it purple. I changed the tires and thanks to a patron in the pub I found a little purple glitter horn. I know my daughter is over the moon, but somehow I can't help but feel bad for not being able to give her better.

 Mila snaps me out of my thoughts by patting my arm. His little hands ask me if I'm available to talk to Bastien. I close the door of the oven in which our meal is simmering before settling down in front of the computer. Mila leaves to play in her room.

 -Mila seems to have appreciated her gifts! intones my friend into the microphone that I have just switched on.

 - Yes, she was very happy, thank you again for her.

 - You speak, I am incapable of not sending him anything. It makes me as happy as it does her. Well, what's up in Ireland Louis?

 -Always the same routine. But the holidays are over, school starts tomorrow. This will be his first year in Primary School.

 -Already ? But just yesterday, she was learning to walk!

 - We are far from it my friend! Today, it is she who makes me walk!

 Bastien laughs but he's not fooled. He senses my stress through the screen.

 -Are you worried?

 -A little. Serious things are starting, she will have to manage important learning. Reading, writing, arithmetic... I don't want her to be in trouble.

 -Don't go defeatist. Trust him, your daughter has always done well in Playschool, there's no reason for that to change.

 -I know but...

 -Don't let your bad experiences put pressure on her that she doesn't need.

 Mechanically, I push my glasses up my nose. I know my friend is right but I'm so scared of being off the mark, I can't make up my mind.

 -We'll see how the first few days go.

 We talk for another ten minutes before my daughter rushes into the kitchen, begging me to fill her empty stomach. After a good meal, she blows out her six candles and devours no less than three slices of pie. We spend the afternoon curled up on the couch, flipping between his favorite cartoons and his favorite cable cooking show.

 - It was the most beautiful birthday day. Thank you dad, she signs with half-closed eyes when I tuck her in at nightfall.

 His words are planted directly in my heart. I gently close the door to her bedroom, ready to face another evening of loneliness, my nose buried in my piping bags. Even if everything is not perfect, even if I never manage to give her everything she deserves, my daughter is happy. And each new day is a small additional victory over my past.

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