Maybe it’s selfish of me. I don’t know. But as much as I know I should just tell my children that Kevin got sick, got better then left, I can’t bring myself to say those words. So, I’m trying to do something fun instead. And getting out of this house—this giant box of memories—is the most fun thing I can think of right now. And we need fun. Some good memories to fill in the space between now and the reality of our situation, before I’m forced to hurt them with the ugly truth.
“What’s really going on?” Abby asks, one heavily lined eye narrowing as she tries to read my thoughts.
As mist coats my eyes, I start clearing the table so I don’t have to make eye contact while I lie. “Nothing is going on, sweetheart. Your father got called away last-minute for this work thing”—I told them he was at an IT conference in Vegas—“and I thought it’d be fun for us to do something last-minute too.”
That eye gets even smaller. “What about school?”
I tuck boxes of cereal under my arm as I balance bowls and milk in both my hands. “You can take a couple of weeks off. It’s year nine. Nothing you can’t easily catch up on.” I shoot her a bright smile, keeping my voice breezy as I drop absolutely everything into the sink. “It’ll be fun.”
She looks between me and the sink where the milk bottle has lost its lid and white liquid is glugging out, coating cardboard. “Something isn’t right with you.”
“Everything is perfect,” I say, my tone a touch too high as I keep that smile plastered on my face. I move closer to her and place my hands on her shoulders, guiding her out of the kitchen towards the stairs. “Just go and pack. We haven’t seen Nana in years. This’ll be an adventure.”
“I have a maths test.”
“I’ll write you a note.”
“And an English CAT.”
“Abby, please. Just go with me on this.” I plead with my eyes, hoping she’ll drop it.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. But if I have to repeat year nine because you’ve had some weird mental breakdown, I’m getting emancipated.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say with a smile as I give her a gentle push towards her room. All I can do is smile and pretend. I can’t face reality. “Be ready in twenty minutes.”
THREE
DARCY
“There aren’t any lights on,” Abigail points out as I trip up a step on the way to my grandmother’s ground-floor apartment. I feel like a teenager again, sneaking up here at night with Jo, whispering and giggling because we’d been drinking cheap beer with boys while sitting on the rocky groynes. I can hear the crashing of waves on those rocks, the power of the ocean telling me everything is going to be OK. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This feels like I’m coming home.
“It’s OK,” I say in a whisper, reaching out for Archer’s hand, helping him onto the wooden deck.
“Does she even know we’re coming?” Abby asks, standing at the open gate but not venturing any farther inside. She hasn’t been here since she was Archer’s age, so it’s understandable she feels like a trespasser. And Archer wouldn’t remember this place at all, he was a toddler during that last visit. It’s been so long since I’ve smelled this air and anticipated the exceptional company that is my grandmother. Too long. And at the end of the day, that’s my fault. Kevin never liked Nana and her quirky outspoken ways, so somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting for my right to visit her and settled for phone calls and letters instead, coupled with the occasional hug and conversation at an extended family gathering. Even that communication has been few and far between. I haven’t been a good granddaughter at all.
“I have an open invitation,” I whisper back. Which is true. Every time I’ve spoken to or seen Nana she’s said, “Come and stay with me. Any time you want. My door is always open.” As much as I know I should have called before driving three hours in the dark, I didn’t have the mental capacity to explain the reason why. Showing up unannounced at ten o’clock at night, bags in hand, means she’ll take us in now and ask questions later. I need a quiet moment to breathe, to work out what the hell I’m supposed to do next. “You’ll figure something out, Dar. You always do.” Those were the words Kevin used when I asked the same question of him earlier today. I’ll figure something out. Ugh. Dump it all on Darcy; she’ll sort it out and I’ll get off scot-free like the manchild I’ve always been. Bastard. He obviously doesn’t give a shit about the predicament he’s put me in. But that is typical Kevin—he’s always thought of himself first. It is the one thing I’ve always hated about his personality, how whatever he wanted was so much more important than everything and everyone else. There were some days when I wished I had that Moving Pictures song, What About Me on a recorder so I could press play instead of arguing with him. I mean, once he decided that he wanted to go to a paintball tournament that took place at the same time as his daughter’s birthday. Her thirteenth. Who does that kind of thing? And still, she thought he walked on water. Man, I was livid that day.
Frowning slightly, I force my mind back to the matter at hand, ushering both children up onto the decking so I can close Nana’s gate and get us inside.
God, it’s so easy to focus on the shittiest parts of a person when you’re angry at them. And after twenty years of marriage, there are plenty of times he’s been a less-than-stellar human being. But, he was my human being, and despite his faults, I had still loved him through it all. I guess the hard realisation in this moment, is that he obviously didn’t love me. Not enough to stay, anyway.
“Is there a doorbell?” Archer asks when I don’t move again. He drops my hand and walks up to the large glass sliding door, pressing his face against it.
“At the front door there is,” I reply, clearing my thoughts once again. “This one is kind of like the back door at our place.”
“Does she leave it open like we do?” He grips the handles and pulls them apart with a dramatic flick of his arms. They slide open effortlessly, almost silently.
“I guess she does.” I return his infectious smile and pull the billowy curtains to the side so we can all step through. Abby still hasn’t moved. “It’s fine,” I assure her. “Nana is always asking me to bring you here for a holiday. She’ll be ecstatic to see us. I promise.”
With her patent-pending teenage eye-roll, she clomps across the deck, muttering something about breaking and entering and police sirens. I smile because my fourteen-year-old daughter is so straight-laced I often wonder how she’s mine. But then I remember how straight-laced I’ve become in recent years. I used to be carefree and ready for mischief. But I let that fall away and replaced it with responsibility and organisation. You know, I could probably write a step-by-step guide on leaving behind your misspent youth to become the textbook version of the perfect wife. Sure, my current abandoned status could affect sales numbers, but it could be worth a shot. After all, I’m going to need some sort of income now. I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy getting child support after the way Kevin left, and I don’t want to rely on him, anyway. I’m too angry to need him for anything.
In the silent darkness of the living room, both Archer and Abby stand unmoving, bags in hand, waiting for me to tell them what to do next.
“You know she’s going to wake up in the morning and have a heart attack when she finds us here,” Abby says in a harsh whisper while I close the sliding door.
“You are so dramatic. Wait here. Sit on the couch or something, I’ll go and wake her to let her know we’re here. No heart attacks needed.”
“She’s old, Mum. Be gentle.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Nana, known as Esme Aubrey Sullivan to her friends, is the most active eighty-three-year-old on the face of the planet. Her entire life has been one big adventurous celebration. Her only son—my father—was exactly the same, except his gregariousness had been channelled into a life of excess, which became his downfall when complications from Type 2 diabetes took his life at fifty-two. Nana, on the opposite end of the scale, is healthy as a horse. A hippy at h
eart, she was a vegan before it became popular with the Facebook spruikers of today. A nuclear bomb could go off and Nana would survive, claiming her crystals and daily echinacea tea was the reason behind it. She’s something, my nana. And I love her dearly—even though my mother did her best to discredit her by calling her a ‘kook’ and a ‘crackpot’ while we were growing up, I always thought she was fabulous.
Turning for the short hallway that leads to the bedrooms, I freeze and catch my breath as a rather sleepy-looking man comes sauntering out, giving his nether region a bit of a scratch—his naked, rather wrinkly, nether region.
Crap.
Throwing a look over my shoulder to where my children are supposed to be sitting, I find them standing with wide-eyed looks as the older gentleman staggers to the refrigerator and opens the door, filling the room with enough light to clearly highlight his, er…
“Look at his saggy old man balls,” Archer yells, just as Abby starts screaming hysterically.
Oh God.
Everything goes a bit crazy—well, crazier—from here.
Freaked out, the man stands so fast I actually hear the moment his back cricks. Then he clutches at it, howling in pain as he turns away from the fridge to grab for the bench, giving us an unfettered view of his old-man package as it swings from side to side, a stretched-out memory of his youth, hanging far closer to his knees than a dick and balls has the right to be. People go on and on about combatting saggy breasts with supportive bras, but I’m thinking there needs to be a movement highlighting the need to secure one’s balls. Gravity is not kind to those things, and for some reason, I can’t stop staring as the whole package horrifyingly dangles and sways hypnotically. Abby’s screams get louder, snapping me from my trance, and now she’s also covering her eyes with her hands and whirling around, possessed. Jesus.
Archer, being the unflappable kid he is, pulls his iPhone from his pocket and holds it up. “Even his pubes are white,” he yells, delighted. I’m pretty sure he’s filming.
“Archer. Put that down,” I command, marching over to him and snatching the phone from his grip. “Abigail, stop your screaming for heaven’s sake. The neighbours will think you’re being murdered.”
“Good, my life is over,” she argues, cupping a hand at the side of her face so she can look at me without seeing the naked groaning man. She’ll be scarred for life after this. “I’ll never be able to look at a penis now.”
Well, there’s an upside to everything. “Excellent. That will save your father and I a whole lot of worry,” I say instinctively, a stutter hitting me in the chest as I realise that I’m the only one with that worry now. Kevin is gone. He left without saying goodbye or caring how upset and adrift we’d all become. It’s just me and the kids, and—
The lights flick on. “What in heavens…” Nana appears amongst the fray, a flowing blue kimono wrapped around her strong and slender body, giving off the impression she’s floating as she moves towards her injured friend and takes in the unfolding scene.
“I’m so sorry, Nana. I should have called,” I start, suddenly feeling so out of line and so out of place. “I wasn’t thinking.” Actually, all I’ve been doing is thinking. But my thoughts are so random and frantic that I’m not even sure which way is up right now. Coming here was more of an instinct than a decision, because Nana has always been the person to whom I flee. The one person who never failed to catch me.
Nana waves my apology away. “Pish,” she says. “The more the merrier, I always say. Although, George here might be thinking otherwise.” She laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief while she enquires over her friend’s injury. Her amusement makes my nerves settle a little. This was the right call. Just being near her makes life feel better. Nana makes everything better. She always has.
“I’m OK,” her friend—George—pants in his gruff voice. “Just got a fright is all.”
“Why don’t you go and put some pants on?” Nana suggests. “I’ll be in soon.”
He nods and toddles off, his left hand cupping his manhood as his right clutches at his back, his stark white butt cheeks wrinkling at the fold with each step. Archer giggles. He thinks this is the most entertaining night of his life.
“Is it safe to open my eyes now?” Abby asks.
Nana chuckles. “Yes, dear. The coast is clear. Although I’m not sure what all the commotion was about. It was just a naked body. We all have them, you know.”
“Not like that,” Archer yells, his volume seeming caught at only one level.
“Archer,” I hiss while Nana smiles.
“Well, yes, yours is a little different to his, isn’t it? Gravity gets us all in the end I’m afraid. But, as long as your bits still work no sense hiding them, right?”
“Oh my God,” Abby groans, covering her face.
Suddenly, I’m smiling, and Nana is standing in front of me, holding out her arms. “I’m so happy you’re finally here, my beautiful Darcy.”
“Nana.” I fall into her embrace, feeling small again as she gives me a tight squeeze that tells me she knows I’m hurting and that she’s here no matter what. Despite my mother’s dislike for her mother-in-law (an issue that only intensified in the years following Dad’s and her divorce) my love for Nana is unending. In a family of high-achieving, logic-driven women, Nana has been the only one who I felt understood my ‘outside of the box’ thinking—something I never lost with all of my responsibilities. I could organise the crap out of a family schedule, but I’d create that schedule using a chalkboard on the ceiling so it was always within view without taking up too much space.
Looking back, I think I had the best of both worlds growing up. While my mother pushed routine and goal setting, Nana encouraged spontaneity and exploration. “Fly wherever the wind takes you,” she used to say. She was fun and enchanting, and I swore I’d be exactly like her when I grew up. But then, I grew up, and somewhere along the way, my mother’s lessons grabbed hold and didn’t let go until I was just like everyone else. Well, on the outside, anyway.
FOUR
DARCY
“Want to talk about it?”
It’s now closer to twelve. The children are asleep in the spare room, and Nana and I are out on the deck, looking at the moon-lit sea and drinking some sort of tea she says will give me clarity.
“Kevin and I went to the hospital today,” I tell her, pressing my lips together because I don’t want to cry. I’m too hurt to cry. “He’s been battling cancer.”
“Oh my.” She places a hand against her chest.
“He’s OK. He’s in remission now—which is what we were at the hospital for. They told us today that his tests came back cancer free. Exciting, right?”
She nods, but she’s not showing any further emotion. In true Nana style, she knows we haven’t come to the punchline yet.
“I wanted to go out and celebrate.” I wipe a hand across my nose, sniffing. “But Kevin, well, he suggested a divorce instead. Said we got married too young and he wants different experiences. Can you believe that? He survives cancer and the first thing he does is dump his wife and kids for some woman he met through a friend. Which friend, I don’t know.”
“He was cheating on you?”
I shake my head. “He says he didn’t, that he was waiting for the right moment to tell me. But, I don’t know.” I touch my fingers to my forehead and rub back and forth. “I keep trying to piece all of this together, find clues, you know? But it’s all a jumble up here. We had our troubles like all married couples do, but I didn’t think…I just didn’t expect this.” It sounds like a cliché, I know. But I’m truly blindsided. Perhaps I shouldn’t be—we were far from perfect people—but I did think we’d gotten to a stage in our relationship where we’d fought every fight there was to fight, that we’d gone through the worst and come through it as a stronger unit. I thought we’d grow old together.
“How did the children take it?”
I shift my gaze to meet hers, concerned and wise. “They don’t know. T
hey didn’t even know about the cancer. I couldn’t tell them. I don’t want to explode their world.”
She nods, understanding.
“I told them he’s gone away for work, so we’re taking a holiday of our own. I needed to get out of there. I know this is running away, but I’m so angry.” I hold my hand out to show her the quiver of my fingers. “I couldn’t stand to be anywhere near anything that reminds me of him.”
“Well then, I think you came to the right place.” She reaches out and takes my hand and holds it for a few moments. A warming comfort spreads up my arm and envelops my chest, allowing me to take a deep, sobering breath. “You’ll find new strength here.” She releases me then relaxes back into her chair, her body weight causing the wicker to creak in the quiet night.
“I just need some time. Time to wrap my head around this and figure out what I’m going to do next. I feel like I’m adrift and tumbling, and my chest, it hurts.”
“Of course it does, my sweet, trusting girl. You take all the time you need. You and the kids are welcome here, and I’m so pleased you came.”
“I’m sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.” My voice wobbles as my eyes fill with the tears I’ve been trying so hard to keep in. They spill out and race down my cheeks, falling from my jaw and splashing against my chest. When I wipe at them, the torrent is barely interrupted. I cover my face. “I’m sorry, Nana. I’m such a mess.”
“Oh, pish.” She wraps me in her warm embrace. “This is what family is for, dear girl. Let someone else take care of you for a change. You grieve, you cry, you scream. Do whatever it is you need to do to feel right again. I’ll take care of everything else. Don’t you worry about a single thing.”
Love is a Beach: a romantic comedy Page 2
