A Silly Little Game

“Did you know that mommy’s gonna die today?” Lou asked with her mouth full of cereals. She gazed at her father with her big blue eyes and nodded assertively while spilling milk all over the kitchen table. Andrew lifted his head from his morning newspaper, his lips curled in amusement. “Oh no!” he exclaimed in a pretended voice. “Now how is mommy going to die today, then? Is she going to die the same way as yesterday?”

The scent of coffee began to fill the richly decorated kitchen and the vigorous light of the morning sun was breaking through the curtains, illuminating the ivory marble floor. He listened to Lou’s imaginative tales with pleasure, adding a comment here and there to heighten the grotesqueness of their little game, which she approved of with a giggle.

After his third cup of coffee, he glanced at the clock – it was already well past 8 AM.

“Now hurry up, my dear,” Andrew said. “Or else we will be late for kindergarten again, and we don’t want that to happen after what Miss O’Hara has told us last time, do we?”

Lou shook her head with such force that, for a moment, her face disappeared beneath her long unkempt hair. She wolfed down the remainder of her cereal bowl and went upstairs to get dressed. Meanwhile, Andrew contemplated on having another cup of coffee and, as he was pouring the last bit from the kettle into his mug, he started to think about the next chapter of his historical novel in progress on the Thirty Years’ War that he originally intended to undertake that day. Just the thought of it caused him a headache, so instead, he tried to focus on the bitter aftertaste that the coffee was exerting on his tongue. His mind kept wandering off to his dysfunctional relationship with Annie. Ever since she had taken over the CEO position in the insurance company, things started to go downhill between the two of them. It was probably already sometime before that, but he liked to think that it was her occupational and financial success that was responsible for his misery. She was barely at home anymore, and he couldn’t remember when they last had dinner together, not to mention sex. He wasn’t even sure whether she came home at all, and he wondered whether all this had eventually enticed him to engage with Lou’s silly little game.

“Ready to go?” Lou yelled from down the hall.

He startled and replied, “Yes, dear”. Andrew placed his mug down near the stove and made his way down the hall. Lou stood next to the front door, impatiently tapping her foot on the ground and smoothening her favourite little jumper that was beaming like a rainbow. She handed Andrew his jacket and noticed a fresh coffee stain on her father's shirt, but didn't say anything.

“So tell me, how was your day at kindergarten, my dear?” Andrew asked his daughter while slicing the potatoes for dinner. The oven was pleasantly humming in the background and the smell of roast chicken and rosemary gradually began to spread in the kitchen.

“We didn’t do nothing special, really,” she said.

“Anything, my dear, anything special,” he corrected her, and let the chopped potatoes plunge into the saucepan full of water.

“But I think Miss O’Hara will want to speak to you again – she and the other children seemed taken aback when I told them how mommy was gonna die today. I don’t know – they never take it the way you take it, daddy. I wish they were more fun, just the way you are!” Lou said.

He gave her a warm smile and chuckled. “Now, now, my dear. We’ve been through this. You mustn’t talk about your little game at kindergarten. Indeed, you mustn’t talk about it anywhere. You see, people may misunderstand you, just as Miss O’Hara has already in the past, and then daddy gets a whole lot of phone calls and has to explain to all these people that nothing of what you said is meant seriously and that there is indeed no need to worry whatsoever. Now,” he said, his voice becoming softer again, “are you hungry?”

After a hearty dinner, Lou settled down in her room with her crayons and her colouring book, the door left ajar. Andrew, meanwhile, had nestled down in his favourite armchair with a mystery novel and a cup of tea in the living room. He read it with such excitement, invariably thinking of how wonderful it would feel if he himself could write so grippingly, that he did not hear the phone ringing.

“Daddy daddy, the phone is ringing. It must be Miss O’Hara who will want to speak to you about today,” Lou yelled from her room.

Reluctantly, he put the novel away and wearily got up from his armchair. He deliberately moved slower than usual towards the phone in hopes that the ringing might stop before he reached the receiver, but it didn't. Andrew glanced at the display and, with displeasure, he saw the digits of an unfamiliar number. For a moment, he was tempted to leave the phone ringing but then decided against it. Anxious to not let his displeasure of receiving a call at this late hour become discernible, he cleared his throat and picked up the phone.

Andrew swallowed hard. He put down the receiver and stood in the living room like a wax figure. Except for the ticking of the parlour clock and the light scratching noise of Lou’s crayons, there was nothing but silence. He slowly approached his daughter’s room and pushed the door wide open. “Lou, my dear, there is something that I must tell you. Something bad, something very bad, has happened. Your mother –”

“Oh you don’t need to tell me, daddy,” she interrupted him playfully with a bright smile on her face. “You see, I already know. In fact, I told you so this morning, didn’t I?”