He watched without lifting his phone.
Helena took photographs afterward.
He wanted his daughter to see his face while she sang.
Halfway through the second song, another child forgot a line.
Poppy whispered it.
The boy recovered.
Nobody in the audience made a fuss.
The concert continued.
Afterward, she came toward him carrying a paper star.
“Did you see?”
“I saw.”
“The bit with Ben?”
“Yes.”
“He nearly did the wrong verse.”
“You helped.”
She looked at the program in his hand.
“Did you keep it?”
“Of course.”
Poppy touched the corner.
“That was what I wanted to tell you.”
“I know.”
For a moment, he thought she might cry.
Instead, she said, “You can be proud again.”
Cassian bent toward her.
“I don’t think I stopped.”
She considered that.
Then she took his hand.
They went to find Helena.
There was ice cream afterward because Poppy asked for it.
Not because she performed well.
Not because the evening needed a perfect ending.
Because it was warm, the shop was open, and they had time.
Summer made the telephone less important.
That was how Cassian knew something was changing.
Poppy forgot the tablet in the sitting room.
She missed a call because she was making a den with Helena.
Once, she asked Miriam to tell him she would call after finishing a game.
Miriam relayed the message.
Cassian said that was fine.
When Poppy called, she sounded cautious.
“Were you cross?”
“No.”
“I wanted to finish.”
“I understand.”
“You didn’t think I didn’t want you?”
The question caught him.
He looked at her face on the screen.
“No,” he said. “I knew you were doing something.”
Poppy was quiet.
