Misty and the Single Dad

Her house was full of food and drink, full of people who’d loved Gran. There was laughter and stories and tears, all about Gran.

‘I keep thinking about Paris,’ someone said-it was an old lady Misty scarcely recognised. And then she did. This was Marigold, her grandmother’s bridesmaid. She remembered Marigold visiting them when she’d been a child. Marigold lived in Melbourne now, with her daughter. That she’d come so far to say goodbye to her friend made her want to cry.

‘Paris?’

‘Before we were married,’ Marigold said. ‘Your grandmother and I scraped enough to buy tickets on a ship and just went. Our parents were horrified. Oh, the fun… Not a bean between us. We got jobs waitressing. We taught each other French. We had such adventures. The night we both got bedbugs… There were two lovely English boys who let us use their room. They slept on the floor so we could have clean mattresses but the scandal when Madame found out where we’d slept; you’d have thought we were worse than bedbugs.’

Her old face wrinkled, torn between laughter and tears. ‘Such a good friend. Such memories. Memories to last a lifetime.’

‘Gran went to Paris?’

‘She never let me tell you,’ Marigold said. ‘She told your mother and look what happened.’ Then she glanced at Nick with the unqualified appreciation of a very old lady for a piece of eye candy. ‘I can tell you now, though,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t leave this to racket around the world like your mother. This is lovely.’

For some reason, Misty was finding it hard not to cry. Why now, when she’d held it together all day? ‘I…’

‘Misty’s had enough,’ Nick, interceding gently. ‘Today’s been huge. If you’ll excuse her…’

‘That’s right; you look after her,’ Marigold said approvingly. ‘She’s a good girl, our Misty. She always does the right thing.’

The crowd left. Nick started clearing the mess but he shooed Misty to bed. The dogs were on her bed, warm and comforting, but she felt cold.

Gran had gone to Paris?

And then…the sounds of a car arriving. She glanced at her bedside table-eleven o’clock? What? Bailey had wanted to stay with Natalie tonight. Was something wrong? Had Natalie’s parents brought him home?

She heard a car door banging. Nick’s greeting was cautious-not the greeting he’d give Bailey. She heard a woman’s voice, raised in sharp query.

‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’

She knew that voice.

It was her mother.

It took her five minutes to get her face in order; to get her thoughts in order, to get dressed and calm enough to face her mother. By that time, Grace was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee, dragging on a cigarette.

She looked older, Misty thought, but then why wouldn’t she? How long since she’d seen her? Ten years?

She was wearing tight jeans and black boots to above her knees. The boots were stilettos, their heels digging into the worn wooden floor. She was too thin. Her hair was black-definitely not what Misty remembered. It was pulled up into a too-tight knot and tied with a brilliant scarf that dragged the colour from her face.

This was a new look mother. Grace had a new look every time she saw her. Not so hard when she left years between visits.

She saw Misty in the doorway, stubbed her cigarette out and rose to embrace her. ‘Misty. Sweetheart. You look awful.’

‘Mum.’ The word was hard to say.

Nick was standing beside the stove, silently watchful. He’d obviously made Grace coffee. He motioned to the kettle but Misty shook her head.

Her mother was here.

‘Why have you come?’ she asked, maybe not tactfully, but the emotions of the last few days had left her raw and unable to do anything but react instinctively.

‘I was in Australia, darling, when the lawyer contacted me. In Perth.’ Her mother sat down again and lit another cigarette. ‘Wasn’t that lucky?’

‘How long have you been in Australia?’

‘About a year.’ A careless wave of the cigarette. Took had emerged from the bedroom to check out this new arrival. The cigarette came within inches of her nose and Took retreated.

Misty felt like doing the same.

A year…

‘I let you know about Gran’s strokes,’ she said. ‘I contacted the lawyer every month saying how ill she was.’

‘Yes, but there was nothing I could do. Hospitals are not my scene. It was bad enough with Dad.’

‘You only visited Grandpa for ten minutes. Once.’

‘Don’t you get preachy, miss,’ her mother said tartly. ‘I’m here now.’

‘Not for the funeral. They’re not your scene, either?’

Nick said nothing. He stood silent, wary.

‘No,’ her mother said. ‘They’re not. I can’t pretend grief for someone I hardly knew. But I’m here now.’ She glanced at Nick, considering. ‘You two aren’t in my bedroom, are you?’

‘No.’ Her mother’s bedroom was on her side of the house. Beside hers.

‘Excellent. No one told me you had a man.’

‘I don’t have a man. Nick’s my tenant.’

‘Some tenant.’ She yawned. ‘Such a long flight. I had to take a cheap seat. Did you know Fivkin and I have split? So boring. The money…you have no idea. But now…’ She glanced around the kitchen thoughtfully and Misty suddenly knew exactly why she was here.

‘I don’t know any Fivkin,’ she said, playing for time.

‘Lovely man. Oh, we did such things. But now…’ Her mother’s face hardened. ‘Some chit. He married her. Married! And the paltry amount he settled on me makes me feel ill. But that’s okay. I’m fine. I’ve been checking out real estate prices here. We’ll make a killing.’

‘We?’

‘Well, you and I,’ Grace said, smiling tenderly at her daughter. ‘The lawyer said I may need to give you a portion. You have been doing the caring, after all.’

It took only this. All of a sudden, Misty wanted to be ill. Badly.

‘Leave it,’ Nick said, and suddenly he was no longer on the sidelines. He was by Misty’s side, holding her, his anger vibrating as a tangible thing. ‘This is not the time.’

‘To speak of money?’ Her mother rose, too. ‘I suppose you think I’m insensitive. It’s just that I need to sort it and get away again. I’ve been stuck in Perth for too long. I hate keeping still. I talked to Mum years ago about selling this place but she wouldn’t. Now…’

‘Is there a will?’ Nick asked. He was almost holding Misty up.

‘I…yes,’ Misty said.

‘Whatever it says, it doesn’t matter,’ Grace told her. ‘I’m the only daughter. Misty inherits after I go.’

‘Misty’s going to bed,’ Nick said, cutting across her with brutal protectiveness. ‘We’ll talk this through in the morning.’

‘We?’

‘You fight Misty, you fight me,’ he said.

‘I’m sure Misty doesn’t want to fight. She’s a good girl.’

She was going to be ill. Seriously. If she stayed here…

‘We’re going,’ Nick said, ushering her through the door. ‘Look after yourself, Grace. Misty’s had a terrible few days and she’s exhausted. I need to look after your daughter, and I will.’

She’d thought she was shivering before. Now… She couldn’t stop. Her whole body shook. Nick held her and swore. Or she thought he swore. She didn’t actually recognise the words but he kept right on until finally what he