Hello, Mr Blue Face A story of love and family

He hadn’t been ready then, but had time changed him? And was she ready now?

It was wrong of me, I see that now, but I was so angry when Joe left me to bring up our child alone that I wanted to get rid of him. Not murder him. But his face smiling down at me from the collage of family photos in the kitchen was too much to bear. My intention was to remove our wedding photo and replace it with something holding happier memories, but I never got around to dismantling the frame, replacing the picture, and then having to fit it all back together again.

The easiest, and quickest, way was to roll a small ball of BluTack and press it over his face, making sure to cover the black wavy hair that had attracted me to him in the first place. It was pressed down so firmly that the glass in the frame almost cracked. Then, somehow, it got forgotten.

Until Millie was three and old enough to notice.

“That’s Granny and Grandad,” said Millie, pointing at my wedding photo. “And that’s you, and that’s…” My daughter looked up at me and laughed. “Mr Blue Face,” she announced brightly.

I smiled because she had named the colour correctly – and then the guilt rushed in. Joe’s vandalised photo should have been removed a long time ago but, after that first time, it became part of a game, naming the people in the collage of photographs hanging on the kitchen wall. I’d never named Joe; Millie had come up with Mr Blue Face all on her own.

She was a clever child. I suppose all mums say that. I loved her special routines. We’d often have to find Mouse. It was a tiny wooden one that I moved around to surprise her. She thought the little creature hid himself away. One day he was sitting on the window sill, or he’d be halfway up the stairs, or next to the fridge, heading for the cheese.

Some days we got out the old wooden stool. Turned upside down on the green rug it became a little boat exploring the sea. And she always wanted the same drink – orange juice in her very own special plastic glass, one of those disposable glasses used at parties. She didn’t realise it was a new one nearly every time.

But more and more often now, she wanted to stand on a kitchen chair and name the people in the photos.

One day, when Millie was at nursery I stopped in the middle of dusting the

I'd never used my husband's name; Millie called him Mr Blue face herself

glass covering the photo collage in its frame. My duster hovered over Mr Blue Face. With my thumbnail I gently scratched the BluTack from the glass. My husband stared back at me.

I lifted the picture from the wall and sat down to study it.

There I was, smiling happily, looking young, confident and, dare I say, beautiful in my fitted white dress. The folds of the long skirt had been carefully arranged by the photographer. My hand was clasped in Joe’s. He looked uncomfortable in his new suit and his tie was already loose. I remembered him tugging at it as if it was about to choke him. It was the first time he’d worn a tie since he’d left school, he said.

Picking up the duster again I wiped the glass covering the collage of pictures and, for the very first time, noticed that Joe really did look as if he was being strangled. It was there in his eyes. As I stared into them I saw fear.

He was twenty-one. The same age as me, but girls were always more mature, weren’t they? I’d read that somewhere.

The realisation was like a punch in my gut. Joe hadn’t been ready for marriage. Perhaps he’d regretted proposing to me, because once I’d said yes everything hurtled along so quickly, as wedding plans do.

My parents had been delighted and once Mum was involved with her

list-making, poor Joe was at the aisle before he knew what had hit him!

Poor Joe? I hadn’t expected to feel sorry for him. After all, I’d given him a chance to back down the night before our wedding day when I’d whispered, “Are you sure about this? Because if you’re not I’d rather you said so now.”

My breath had stuck like a stone in my throat as I waited for his answer. What would happen if he grasped at my words as his getaway clause? But he reacted in the way I’d known he would, deep down. He’d stroked my hair, pulled me closer and said, “It’s what I want more than anything in the world.”

Now, studying him standing next to me outside the church in a new suit and too-tight tie, his words seemed like a lie. He looked as if he wanted to run.

“You were too young.” My words were said aloud. “Too young to be married and certainly too young to take on the responsibilities of being a father.”

I sat at the kitchen table as memories of our short marriage flooded back…

We had been happy. There had been laughter and smiles. Yes, there’d been arguments, but over silly things, the sort people joke about, like leaving socks on the bedroom floor, squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle, and putting empty juice cartons back in the fridge. Nothing major.

But when I told Joe I was pregnant his look had been even more terrified than that in the wedding photo. He’d tried to cover it with a smile and he’d been supportive all through those long months of waiting. Once Millie was born, though, he’d really struggled.

Holding her scared him. He always thought he would drop her. There was a photo somewhere of him holding her far too tightly, his head bent down to look at her, her already bright blue eyes a sparkling reflection of his.

Then, when she started sitting up he panicked that she would fall back and hurt herself. Once she began attempting to walk he was always worried.

“I know absolutely nothing about babies or being a dad,” he’d said.

A few days after that he disappeared. Millie hadn’t reached her first birthday.

Every moment of that day is tattooed onto my memory. I’d returned from shopping, put the brake on the pushwww.

chair, lifted out Millie, carried her into the kitchen… There had been an envelope on the table. I’d picked it up, smiling as I opened it. That smile disappeared as I read Joe’s words: I’ m sorry for leaving but I can’ t cope and don’ t know how to beafather.

The words had stunned me and a state of shock had wrapped itself around me like a cloak for months.

My parents wanted me to move back in with them but I loved our house so I stayed. Although I had to be careful, I had a part-time job, and every month Joe paid what must have amounted to most of his wages into my bank account – but there was no tracing him.

His friends were supportive but hadn’t heard from him and he had no family for me to ask. He’d moved away, found a job – he must have done or there’d have been no money. He’d made a new life.

While I – even though I couldn’t admit it, even to myself – waited here in our home for him to come back.

I stood up, rolled the BluTack in my fingers until it was a smooth ball and then dropped it into the pedal bin.

Three days later he appeared. It was as if removing the sticky blue stuff had broken a spell, allowing him to escape from his prison and re-enter our lives. He stood on my doorstep. Our doorstep. I stared at him. It felt as if he had never left. I still loved him.

“Kate,” he said, and my heart lurched hearing my name on his lips. “Can I come in?”

Silently, I stood aside and allowed him to walk past. I indicated that he should go into the living-room. Sit down. For an eternity not a word was spoken then, “She’s at nursery,” I said.

“I know. I saw you both leave and waited until you got back.” And then he cried. “Sorry isn’t enough,” he sobbed. Once the dam burst, it all poured out. “Falling in love with you was easy,” he said. “It was being a father that was difficult. I don’t know how to be one.”

Joe had grown up in a children’s home. There had been no role model. He’d never known his father or mother.

“You were good at being a husband,” I told him, and then added, “at least, for a short while.”

“Because I loved you and it seemed natural, but when you told me you were pregnant, and then when Millie came along… How could I look after a baby? I don’t know what a father is.”

“You can learn,” I told him. “Just like I had to learn how to be a mother.”

He stood there, as if removing the BluTack had broken some spell

“You had a mother. You grew up knowing what a mother was, what she did. Yours was around to help you.”

“Yes, but there was still so much for me to find out for myself.”

I made tea while he sat with his head in his hands.

“Why am I even here?” he asked as I passed him a mug. “Maybe you’ve grown up?” Even as I said the words I knew they weren’t helpful. Why was he here? Why turn up now?

Then I realised he would not have faced me if he didn’t think there was hope. I put my mug down and went to get my laptop. I clicked onto the file of photos and passed it to him. “Millie,” I said. He took an age staring at each picture, trying to blink back tears.

“I ran away from this,” he said. “How could I have done that?”

“You weren’t ready then… but maybe you are now.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” His eyes pleaded with me to say yes.

I thought of my pretence at recovering from the shock of his leaving, how I’d made a life for me and Millie. Then I remembered how I’d never applied for a divorce, never been out with another man, never even looked at one. And how overjoyed I was when I’d opened the door to him. “Yes,” I said. “I forgive you.” I explained how we’d need to take things slowly. Baby steps. His first step was to accompany me to nursery.

Millie ran out, holding a painting. “Look what I did,” she said. “This is me.” She pointed to a blob with stick legs. “And this is you.” A bigger blob. Then she noticed Joe. I saw him put his hand in his pocket as if he was afraid to pick up his daughter but then he pulled out a pen. “Can I?” he said. Millie nodded. He gently took the paper from her and drew an even bigger blob.

“Millie. Mummy. Daddy,” he said, pointing to each blob in turn.

He didn’t come home with us. It was too soon for that.

As soon as Millie and I were in the house she wanted to search for the mouse. Then she turned the stool upside down to play boats. Finally, she led me into the kitchen to look at the photo collage.

“That’s you and that’s Grandad Mike and that’s…” She looked up at me. “Where’s Mr Blue Face?” “He’s gone. He’s someone else now.” She touched Joe’s face. She didn’t know what to say.

I said the words for her. “That’s Daddy,” I said.

It was one of our many baby steps.