“You’d rather I sign it all over to you, I suppose?” With a smile, Grandie accepts a glass of the pinot gris I find in the fridge, before turning a look of impatient enquiry on Warren, who doesn’t get the chance to respond.
“I’d be careful what you say, Warren.” My voice is calm but as hard and cold as a glacier. “Accusations like that can land you in a world of trouble.” I move to stand behind Lil and put a hand on her shoulder.
Warren ignores us and continues to argue his point with Grandie.
“Better that than having it all disappear into the pockets of a grifter.” His face is now puce, spittle flying from his mouth as he gets himself more and more worked up.
“Stop. Just stop,” cries Marion from where she’s standing in the corner, which shocks us all into silence. It’s only now that I notice tears pouring down her face. “You have no right to threaten Lilavati’s trust fund!”
The fact that she has spoken up, and her use of Lilavati’s full name, render us all silent. Well, all except for Warren.
“I am your husband and her father. I have every right.” Warren turns on Marion, and for a split second, I think he might hit her. I take a step towards her, ready to intervene, but the moment passes.
Everything I’ve observed about Marion suggests she’ll back down. But she doesn’t. Her shoulders square, and despite the fear in her expression, she snaps back.
“But you’re not, are you? And that’s always been the problem.”
Holy shitballs. This conversation—this family—is about to go nuclear.
I catch Lil’s eye, and her mouth is agape, just as mine is.
“As usual, you’re talking nonsense.” Warren dismisses Marion with a wave of his hand. “If she wasn’t so much like you, thinking with her hormones rather than her head, we wouldn’t be in this position. So just stay out of it.”
But she continues to surprise us all, her voice gaining strength with every word.
“No, I won’t stay out of it. I’ve stayed out of it for too long. You will not speak to my daughter like that. I’d like you to leave. Now.”
Lilavati is speechless. Grandie is smiling at Marion as though she’s just taken the training wheels off her bike, and Warren is spluttering incoherently, face red, eyes bulging. And there’s that vein again, throbbing furiously.
“You heard the lady, Warren. Please leave.” I pick up the house phone. “Unless you’d rather I call security?” I threaten, just as he threatened me. I do love a bit of payback.
“You’ll regret this. All of you.” And with a flurry of curses and threats of dire retribution, Warren stomps out the door.
Chapter Forty
Lilavati
Ant, Grandie, Mum and I stare silently at one another for what feels like hours after the door swishes closed behind Warren.
“I believe I might like a glass of that wine now, thank you, Ant. Is it pinot gris?” says Mum with only the slightest quiver in her voice.
Ant pours two generous glasses, handing one to Mum and one to me before topping up Grandie’s glass. He grabs a beer from the fridge.
“I’ll be on the lanai. Just yell if anyone needs anything.” He kisses me on the head as he passes, and, closing the door behind him settles on the sunlounge, leaving three generations of women in the apartment looking at one another in stupefied silence.
“There is something I’d like to say. Then I’ll leave you both to talk,” Grandie starts after taking a large gulp of wine. “I want to apologise to you, Marion, for not understanding what you were going through when you came home from London pregnant.And for encouraging you to marry Warren. In hindsight, that was a grievous mistake. But we can discuss my sins tomorrow. Tonight is about Lilavati.”
Grandie turns and strokes my head with a trembling hand. “Despite appearances, sweetheart, I only want what’s best for you. I’ve finally realised you know what that is better than me. Suffice to say, there is no circumstance under which Warren Gordon can get his hands on your trust fund. It will go to you on your thirtieth birthday, as planned. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’ll see you both in the morning.”
With that soliloquy, Grandie leaves, taking her glass of wine with her.
And then there were two.
The silence draws out while my mind is furiously looking for a way into what I know will be a painful conversation. I realise there’ll never be a better time to ask my mother the questions that have plagued me all my life, so I jump in feet first.
“What happened with my biological father?”
Mum sinks onto the chair Grandie just vacated and I sit next to her.
