Misty and the Single Dad

by Marion Lennox

  ‘He hasn’t even…I mean we’re not…’

  ‘You mean you haven’t slept with him yet?’ Her friend threw up her hands in mock horror. ‘What’s keeping you, girl?’

  Nothing. Everything. Louise got another duster thrown at her and Misty went to lay the situation before Gran.

  ‘I love him,’ she told Gran and wondered why it didn’t feel as splendid as it sounded.

  Maybe it was sadness that was making her feel ambivalent about this wonderful direction her life was taking. For Gran didn’t respond; there was no longer any way she could pretend she did. Her hands didn’t move now when Ketchup lay on the bed. There was no response at all.

  Oh, Gran…

  If she didn’t have Nick…

  But she did have Nick. She’d go home from the hospital and Nick would hold her, knowing intuitively that things were bad. She’d sink into his embrace and he’d hold her for as long as she needed to be held. He’d kiss her, deeply, lovingly, but he never pushed. He’d prop her into a rocker and make her dinner and threaten her with cocoa if she didn’t eat it.

  He and Bailey would make her smile again.

  What more could a girl want?

  ‘Are you sure he hasn’t asked?’ Louise demanded a week later.

  She shook her head, exasperated. ‘No.’

  ‘He looks like a man who’s proposed. And been accepted.’

  ‘How could I miss a proposal?’

  ‘You’re not encouraging him.’ Louise glared. ‘Get proactive. Jump his bones. Get pregnant!’

  ‘Oi!’

  ‘He’s a hot-blooded male. There must be something holding him back.’

  She knew there was. It was her reluctance. He sensed it and he wouldn’t push.

  All she had to do was smile. All she had to do was accept what he was offering.

  She would, she thought. She must.

  And then Gran…

  Five in the morning was the witching hour, the hour when defences were down, when everything seemed at its worst. For some reason she woke. She felt strange. Empty.

  Something was wrong. She threw back the covers and the phone rang.

  Gran.

  ‘She’s dead.’ She barely knew if she’d said it out loud. She was in the hall, standing by the phone, staring at nothing. And then Nick was there, holding her, kissing her hair, just holding.

  ‘I…I need to go.’

  ‘Of course you do. Put something warm on,’ he said, and while she dressed-her fingers didn’t work so well-she heard him on the phone. Then someone was at the front door. There was a short bark from Ketchup, quickly silenced, and she went out to find Louise in the hall.

  Louise’s husband farmed the neighbouring property, and Louise’s son was in the same grade as Bailey. Louise and Misty often swapped classes, so Bailey already knew Louise well.

  She hugged Misty now, tight. ‘Oh, Misty, love, she was a lovely lady, your gran, she’ll be missed. Nick says he’s going to the hospital with you, so we’ve agreed that I’ll stay here until Bailey wakes. Then I’ll scoop him home with me. Is it okay if I tell him what’s happened?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said numbly.

  ‘And it’s Saturday so there’s no pressure,’ Louise said. ‘If Bailey’s okay with it, maybe he can have a sleepover. That’ll leave you to get on with things. But we can talk later. You’ll be wanting to get to the hospital. Give her a kiss goodbye from me,’ she told Misty and she hugged her again and propelled her out of the door.

  Nick held her as they walked to the car. She shivered in the dark and moved closer. She’d known this was coming. It wasn’t a shock. But…

  ‘She’s all I’ve had for so long.’

  ‘I wish I’d met her,’ Nick said. ‘Your gran raised you to be who you are. She must have been wonderful.’

  She huddled into the passenger seat while Nick drove and she thought of his words. They were a comfort.

  And Nick had known Gran. He lived in Gran’s house. He walked on the beach Gran loved. He cooked from her recipe books. And once… She’d needed to stay back late at school. It had been late before she’d made it to the hospital-something she hated. Gran probably no longer knew she came every day but there was a chance…

  So she’d rushed in, feeling dreadful, to find Nick beside the bed with Bailey curled up beside him.

  Nick was reading aloud, Anne of Green Gables, Gran’s favourite book of all time. It wouldn’t be hard to guess it, for the book had been lying on the bedside table, practically disintegrating with age.

  She’d stopped short and Nick had smiled at her, but fleetingly, and he hadn’t stopped reading until he reached the end of the chapter.

  ‘I guess that’s all we have time for tonight, Mrs Lawrence,’ he’d said as he drew to a close. ‘Misty’ll take over now. Bailey and I will leave you while she says goodnight.’

  Who knew what Gran had been able to understand, but Nick had read to her, and for now it felt right that he take her into the hospital to say goodbye.

  ‘Thank you,’ she told him as he drove.

  ‘It is my very great honour,’ he said. ‘This is a privilege.’

  The next few days passed in a blur. Too many people, too much organization, too great a bruise on her heart to take in that Gran finally wasn’t here. If she’d had to do this by herself…

  She didn’t. Nick was with her every step of the way. That first night she clung and he held her. If Nick had carried her to his bed she would have gone. But…

  ‘I don’t want you to come to me in grief,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll hold you until you sleep.’

  ‘You’re stronger than I am.’ She tried for a chuckle. ‘If you think I can lie beside you and sleep…’

  ‘Okay, maybe it’s not possible,’ he said and tugged her tight and kissed her, strong, warm, solid. ‘So separate bedrooms still.’

  ‘Nick…’

  ‘No,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘I want all of you, Misty. When you come to me it’s not to be because you’re raw and vulnerable. It’s because you want me.’

  ‘I do want you.’

  ‘For the right reasons?’ He set her back, tilted her chin and his smile was rueful. ‘Loving you is taking all my strength but I won’t go back on what I promised. I won’t rush you.’

  He was stronger than she was. There was nothing she wanted more than to lie with him, to find peace in his body, to find her home…

  And she knew, as he turned away, that he sensed it. That she was torn.

  There was still a part of her that wasn’t his.

  She and Gran had a contact point for her mother-a solicitor in London. A postcard had arrived about five years ago, adding an email address, ‘In case anything ever happens’. She emailed her mother the morning Gran died. She left messages with the solicitor but she heard nothing.

  So what was new? She went about the funeral arrangements and she could only feel thankful that Nick was with her. He didn’t interfere. The decisions were hers to make, but he was just…there. His presence meant that at the end of a gruelling time with the funeral director she could stand in Nick’s arms and let his strength and his warmth comfort her. She wasn’t alone.

  The funeral was huge-Gran had been truly loved. Misty sat in the front pew, and who cared what people thought, Nick sat beside her.

  She spoke at the ceremony, for who else was to speak for Gran? When she choked at the end, it was Nick who rose and held her.

  This was the end of a life well lived. She couldn’t be too sad that Gran was finally gone. But what did make her desperately sad…

  Where was her mother?

  She remembered her grandfather’s death, terrifyingly sudden, her grandmother devastated.

  ‘But your mother will come home now,’ Gran had whispered, her voice cracked with anguish, and Misty knew she was searching for something that would lighten this awful grief.

  ‘I expect she will,’ she said, but of course she didn’t.

  So why should she come
now?

  If Nick hadn’t been here…

  All through that long day, as neighbours came, hugged her, comforted her, Nick was beside her, ready to step in, ready to say the right thing, ready to touch her hand, to make sure she knew he was there for her.

  The locals responded to it. Nick had been here for little more than a month, yet already he was treated as one of them. He was Misty’s partner. Misty’s man.

  If he wanted to marry her she’d say yes, she thought, as the day faded to dusk. It might not be the right thing to think on this day but it steadied her. She had Nick and Bailey and two dogs and a house, and a job she loved and a town full of people who loved her.

  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 was saying cut through her shock and misery.

  He was definitely cursing-but not in English.

  She let it be for a while, letting the string of invective wash over her, finding it weirdly comforting. Being held by Nick and listening to…

  ‘Russian?’ she managed at last, and he said a few more carefully chosen terms of obvious invective.

  Distracted, she pulled away. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘What do you think I’m saying?’

  ‘Swearing?’

  ‘A nice boy like me?’

  It was impossible to keep shaking when he was smiling. ‘A nice boy like you,’ she said, and she found herself smiling back. ‘Definitely swearing.’

  He tugged her back again, into his arms. Against his heart. ‘Don’t stop me,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I’m going to have to slug your mother and it’s already been a black day. Ending up in jail might put the cap on it.’ He waited until she was nestled against him again. He rested his chin on her hair and swore again.

  ‘What is that?’ she managed.

  ‘Something a good girl shouldn’t listen to.’

  She choked. ‘Language?’

  ‘Tajikistan,’ he said. ‘It has the best cusses. Uzbekistan’s good and so’s Peru. Mozambique’s not bad and Kazakhstan adds variety but, when I’m really against it, good old Tajikistan comes up trumps every time. Tonight’s definitely a Tajikistan night.’

  ‘That’s my yurt territory.’

  ‘Yurts and swear words. A truly excellent country.’

  How could you not smile at yurts and Tajikistan swear words? She was almost forced to chuckle. Oh, but Grace… ‘She’s appalling,’ she whispered.

  ‘She is appalling. Is there a will?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Leaving her the house?’

  ‘Leaving me the house.’

  ‘You want me to evict her tonight? It’d be my pleasure.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I could set the dogs on her,’ he said thoughtfully, and once again shock and sadness gave way to laughter.