I sprang back, Emma in my arms. She was still screaming. ‘What’s going on?’ Dad asked wearily. ‘I was just coming to get you,’ I admitted. The words came out almost slurred, I was so tired. ‘I need your help, Dad. Emma won’t stop crying. It’s doing my head in.’ ‘Is she hungry?’ ‘No. I tried warming up some milk but she didn’t want it. And her nappy is dry and I’ve checked her cot in case something in it was making her uncomfortable, but it’s fine. Why is she constantly crying?’ ‘Dante, your daughter can’t speak yet, so how else is she supposed to let you know that something is wrong?’ ‘Dad, you’re missing the point. How on earth am I supposed to know what’s wrong with her then. I’m not telepathic.’ ‘No, you’re missing the point,’ said Dad. ‘You don’t need to be telepathic, you just have to listen to her and respond. Your mum told me that you and your brother used to have different cries when you wanted different things. Jenny said both of you had a higher-pitched wail when you were hungry and a more whiney low-pitched cry when your nappy needed changing.
