The Keeper of Wickets

Daisy

My eyes are the colour of the ocean, the deep blue controls the wild smirk that often appears on my lips, and the tinge of green holds secrets I have always been too afraid to share.
My mum gave birth to me when she was 17, she was barely 5'3 and she carried me for 9 months with pride. At least that's what Dad says, he says I'm a spitting imagine of my mother, with the stubbornness and determination to complete the mix. I never knew my mum, apparently she did everything in her power to keep me, but her father wouldn't hear of it, Mum died in a car accident not long after being kicked out of home, so Dad's Mum, who I call Gran, became my legal guardian until my Dad turned the right old age of 18.

My favourite story as a kid was a sad one. Which is pretty unusual for a little girl, but it is the story that my dad tells so passionately and by the end of it we are in tears and cuddling each other like our life depends on it.
'Tell me the one about Mum.' I'd say and Dad would smile and proceed to tell the story.
'It was only two days after you came into the world, I had three school assignments due the next day but my mind was on the perfect little baby that lay in my arms. Your eyes had a wild spark, a lot like your Mum's, you never cried, ever and we were both so excited to introduce you to all our school friends. Your mum and I rustled up enough courage to go and introduce you to your grandparents on your Mum's side. Her Dad was a Vietnam veteran and he was harder than nails, he never smiled and he wanted nothing to do with the fact his daughter was pregnant out of wedlock and when she was still in school. Anyway, we wandered up the steps of their little cottage on the terrace and knocked on the door. Now, your Grandma was so pleased to have a granddaughter and a grin appeared on her face almost instantly, she extended her arms but your Mum wouldn't let you go, she huddled you closer to her chest and pushed inside. Dad she yelled out Dad! Dad! And eventually he emerged from his office with a look of absolute angst and anger on his face. His narrow eyes met mine and I couldn't help but look at the floor. My hand never left the small of your mum's back as your grandfather stared us down. For what felt like hours there was deathly silence, until your grandpa said, "listen!" Then your mum did the most incredible and bravest thing I'd ever seen her do. "No Dad you listen, I'm old enough, I'm strong enough and I am in love enough to look after this baby forever and without your judgement. If you want nothing to do with the baby I don't care, just remember right now is your last chance to change your mind. Daisy is mine Dad, and I love her with my whole heart, I spoke to my teachers and as long as I get my work done, I'll be able to graduate, if that is what you're worried about because money is the most important thing in life isn't it Dad?" Your grandpa looked at you, then looked at your mum, he snatched you from her and held you up, shaking you and bellowing in your tiny ears, LOOK AT THE TROUBLE YOU CAUSED I WISH YOU WERE DEAD, the haunting screams that came from your Mum will give me shivers for the rest of my life, she grabbed your tiny body and handed it to me, then she clenched her fist and hit your grandpa so hard it dislocated his jaw, tears were gushing down her face and your grandma attempted to pry your grandpa's hand from your Mum's neck, "get out of my house, GET YOURSELF YOUR DEMON AND YOUR PISS WEAK BOYFRIEND OUT OF MY HOUSE!" He yelled so loudly it made the windows shake. So we did, we left in tears, our hands twitching in fear and anger. When we got back to my place, we lay together on the floor of my bedroom with you between us, your Mum didn't say a word for a long, long time until she whispered I love you.'

Dad has never gone any further than that, usually because the tears trickling down his cheeks were filled with regret and heartbreak. He misses Mum, I can tell, but there is nothing in the world that I can do to bring her back.
Dad always manages to put me before everything. He was a mechanic before he became a coach and has always taught me new things. I spent 97% of my childhood hanging out with him in the work shop, jamming to the old tunes blasting through the radio and learning how an engine works. I love the fact it was just me and Dad, stumbling our way through life like with our hearts on our sleeves and smiles on our faces.

In our small town, everyone knows everyone, Dad and I are no exceptions. Everyone knew that we were happy and doing just fine, when I was a kid, yet everyone still bought a lasagne to our door step everyone once in a while.

Dad raised me right, he encourages me to push myself, break boundaries and go to school. I love sport, almost more than I love Dad, I am a star sportsman in my tiny town, and in my school. Like I said before I spent 57% of my time in the workshop, working on cars or the odd tractor. I spent 26% of my time slaving away behind a school desk listening to a teacher rant on about something I didn't particularly care about, but it was the other 17% of my life that I treasured, that 17% was spent on a cricket pitch.