Practise was so much fun with Becca there. Vic was in a lot of pain from the dentists so he went straight home apparently, before we could tell him about what he missed out on.
Becca's really fun. We were laughing so much by the end of practise and she was really complimentary of all of our playings. Also, she didn't seen scared off from my tattoos, which is a first. I vaguely remember her mentioning having some herself, I'll have to ask about that sometimes.
Interrupting my thoughts came my amazing little puffle.
"Tonyyy! Tony, Tony, Tony!" Sophie came running into my room and spinning around.
"Hey little turtle."
She stopped. "Turtle?"
"What? Would you prefer Puffle?" I asked.
"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'.
"Anyway, what did you come in here for, Sophie?"
"Mummy's going out on Thursday, so that means your band can come here without her knowing and I can listen to them like you promised I could. Are any of them princes?"
"I... Wait, where is she going?"
"A meeting for the work you said she loves more than us."
"Shhhh... You can't say that so loud you little tinker." I said, lunging forward to grab her by her waist and lift her above my head.
"Ahh! Wait, you didn't answer, are any of you big band boys princes?"
"Yeah, one of them is so nice that he's going to marry a princess one day and they'll live happily ever after," I said spinning her around my small bedroom.
"Oh yay! Are any of them mean?"
"Yeah, one guy is talk and dark and scary and the rest are covered in tattoos!" I grinned at her.
"Tattoos aren't scary, you have loads of them, even though mummy doesn't like them."
"Especially because mummy doesn't like them."
"Hehe. Weeeeeeee" She squealed as I span her some more.
"WHAT THE F-" I covered Sophie's ears. "- is going on up there?!"
"Nothing, MUM!" I spat, I could hear the wobble in her voice: she'd just come back from the bar. Far play it was only nine, but still. Sophie hasn't had a mum since she was 2. Ditched with a broken 12-year-old for a pint. I didn't know how to change a nappy, but I learnt quick.
Still, I think I did a pretty good job raising her. She's a happy six-year-old that's not bothered that her mums not there. It's not that she doesn't know, like I lied to her or bent the truth or something. She just doesn't give a damn, she pretty amazing.
One time, she was four, I was 14. We were in the lonely park down the road. There's not much there, just a few forgotten play bits. Anyway, she said I was way better than any mum could have been because I cared and tried even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I'm not sure that's right, but she was four, and it meant a lot that she thought that.
Truthfully, I'm so scared of her growing up. Like, genuine fear.
What if she gets all emotional on me? I can't deal with tears, I never know what to say. Or what if she starts feeling she missed out on a normal upbringing? I just don't know.
Well for now I've got my beautiful little girl. Ah, I sound like a right sap.
Some girl I dated, a few years back, said that. Said: "You look all hard and that but you're actually a right sap."
Well, actually she said I was a pathetic sap, but moving on...