A Reason to Exist

Chapter 26

When I got home from school, my nana's car was parked in the driveway. My heart sunk.

I dropped my schoolbag in my room and went into the kitchen. I gave nana a kiss on her loose-skinned cheeks. She'd overdone the perfume again and smelt like a toilet.

'How's school?' she asked.

'Great.'

'Are they working you hard?'

'Of course.'

Nana was drinking a whisky on ice. She has a petite frame and still likes to wear bright pink lipstick and pale foundation. She dresses in tailored pencil skirts and blouses as though she is going to an office of her imagination. She hasn't actually worked a day in her life. She came from Brighton money, went to a good all girls school and mastered the articulation and good manners to catch a handsome privileged Richmond businessman. Unfortunately, his handsomeness was allegedly matched by his hedonism. Legend goes that he drank too much and philandered with many. When he ran off with his friend's Swiss wife, my nana had to move back into her childhood home with her two young daughters.

Her parents gave her two bedrooms and a bathroom on the east side of the house. She never dared to expose her heart to such skulduggery again. She became a bitter and twisted man hater. She spent her days playing tennis with the ladies and evenings doing homework with her daughters. She wanted to bring them up as self-sufficient women who wouldn't need to rely on a man in their lives. She would often tell them 'A man is not a plan'.

She opened bank accounts for each of them and bought them their first shares in Coles Myers when they reached the age of ten. She wanted to make sure her daughters would never be exposed to the risk of abandonment in a marriage and humiliated financially. She was ashamed to be living with her parents, but having gone straight from high school to the businessman's house, she had no skills and no work experience and it was beneath her to get a low-level job. So her important work became preparing her daughters for a strong, self-sufficient life.

When her parents died, being the only child, she inherited the house and their assets. She downsized to a smaller townhouse on Beach Road, Black Rock, and gave each of her daughters, when they turned thirty, a hefty cash injection in their bank accounts to make sure that whatever happened they didn't have to depend on their husbands.

'Would you like a banana smoothie?' mum asked.

'Yes please,' I said. These are a real treat – banana and almond butter, dates, cocoa, avocado and almond milk.

'I've also got almond cookies there,' mum said, gesturing towards a plate of cookies.

'Thanks.' I sat down and helped myself to a cookie.

'You'll need to soak that stain on her dress,' nana said.

'What stain?' mum asked.

'Near the collar.'

Mum whizzed my smoothie in the NutriBullet, before pouring it into a tall glass.

'Thanks mum,' I said, smiling.

'So when's he moving in?' nana asked.

'I'm not sure,' mum replied.

'It's nearby?'

'Apparently.'

It took me a moment to realise they were talking about my dad. How do they know he's moving?

'Interesting that he can afford an apartment when he pays you the minimum child support,' nana said.

'My thoughts exactly,' mum said, pursing her lips.

'You know, you should never have let him keep the paintings. That Rex, I saw a piece by him in the National Gallery of Victoria the other day. Those paintings would be worth a fortune.'

Mum placed her palms on the benchtop.

'He was selling skateboards for goodness sake,' nana said. 'It was our money that helped him set up that gallery. You were entitled to those paintings he had in his collection. You're entitled to anything he makes in that gallery, if you ask me. You should have taken him for the lot.'

'I was more concerned about the welfare of the kids,' mum said.

'Well it's the wonder of hindsight, but you should've been clever about those paintings.'

I felt sickened to hear the two of them talking like this about my dad. Don't they know he's been through enough?

'How many has he got?' nana asked.

'Maybe ten or so. We bought some of Rex's early works when Jason first took him on. They were from his best period, before he got on the booze.'

'And Jason still has them?'

'As far as I know.' Mum took a step back. 'We bought some other works too, by another artist Ernie Bantam, but he's dead. I think he did quite well. And there were a few more that were given to us by artists he represented. I never paid much attention, to be honest, it was Jason's thing.'

'Well that's your downfall,' nana said. 'You were too preoccupied about the children. He's probably been able to sell two of Rex's paintings and buy the apartment outright.'

I could feel the troops mounting against my father. They were slipping on camouflage pants and desert boots and loading bullets in their guns. Underneath their makeup they're wearing warpaint. These are two ladies in disguise. In reality they're warmongers.

'Dad had to borrow money from the bank to buy the apartment,' I blurted. 'It was tough for him to get a loan.' I immediately regretted saying anything, because I didn't want to be a pawn in my mother's game. 'But that's none of our business,' I said. 'It's dad's business. Who told you? Was it Tate?'

'I was surprised you didn't tell me,' mum said.

'I don't tell dad anything that is going on in your life,' I said. 'So why would I tell you what's going on in his?'

'I don't know why you always feel like you have to protect him,' mum said, putting a wooden spoon down on the bench.

'I don't know why you still care about what he does. You're divorced. You wanted the divorce and you got it.'

'I wanted the divorce? Who said that?'

'I just know,' I said.

'Macy, be nice to your mum. She does everything for you,' nana said. I placed my half-eaten cookie on the plate and pushed away the smoothie. My heart was rapid firing, my head felt woozy. There was not enough oxygen in this kitchen to breathe. These two generations of ex husband haters were impacting my vital signs, my main body organs were suffering. I was going to shutdown again.

'I'm staying at Zuri's Saturday night,' I said breathlessly.

'May I please stay at Zuri's Saturday night?' nana said.

'Mum, may I please stay at Zuri's Saturday night?' I repeated.

Mum looked out the window, role-played the martyr, blinked her eyes and said, 'Sure.'