He always knows exactly what to say to make me smile.
There’s a quiet knock on the door of our hotel room. I open it to find Mum, wringing her hands with nerves, something she hasn't done in a while I realise.
“Marion, you look as stunning as your daughter.” There he goes again, saying the right thing.
After their unpromising start, Mum and Ant have kind of fallen for one another. I might be a bit jealous if he didn’t make it clear, every day, how he feels about me.
He’s right. She looks ten years younger since she divorced Warren, although it’s not yet final. In her black-and-white floral maxi dress, with her blonde hair in a new sassy, wavy bob, I’d say she looks closer to forty than fifty.
It’s been nine months since our trip to Hawaii, and I hardly recognise my life.
Not only do I have my mother back, but I have a brand-new fiancé.
As expected, now that I’m into the advanced clinical training module, my work hours are a little more manageable than they were, although Grandie still thinks I work too hard.
Also, as expected, Ant got an offer of partnership from Ben. They’ve been working hard at expanding North of the Bridge Beans and Beach Road Boards, and have become good friends.
There’s a lot going on for both of us, but we always find time for each other.
Mum moved in with Grandie for a while when we got home from Hawaii, until Ben’s brother—who happens to be a lawyer—sorted out a better-than-fair settlement for her, which pissed Warren off. But the suggestion he’d be accused of emotional and financial domestic abuse if he didn’t play ball shut him up pretty fast. And when it came to light that Grandie had paid for more than half their house, he didn’t have much of a case to argue. Turns out it was Warren who was the grifter, not Ant. Shocker.
Mum now has a cute apartment in Neutral Bay with views of the city, and is taking pottery and art classes. Something she’s always wanted to do, but never could, because Warren didn’t approve.
I grab my handbag from the bed, and the three of us step into the lift. I take a moment to admire the sparkling diamond on myfinger as we descend. It’s been there for a month already, but looking at it never gets old.
Ant has splashed out on a luxury hotel in London, which must be costing him a fortune, but he said this is a once-in-a-lifetime trip and he’d be right. He’s also arranged a private dining room for today. So we can all cry as much as we need without fear of embarrassment.
In just a few moments, Mum will be seeing the love of her life after nearly thirty years. And I’ll finally be meeting my father.
And my Aunt Lilavati.
Once things had settled down after our life-changing trip to Hawaii, Ant encouraged me to talk to Mum about reaching out to my father. It took her a little while to agree, but I’m so glad we did. Mum was too nervous and felt it was maybe inappropriate, given he was a married man, so Ant offered to make the first contact. Turns out he never had any children with the woman he married, who sadly died several years ago of breast cancer. He was over the moon to hear from Mum, and to find out, however belatedly, that he’s a father.
I look up at the floor numbers. Nearly there. Mum and I stand shoulder to shoulder, and I don’t know who is squeezing whose hand harder. Ant is behind us, a hand on each of our shoulders.
The lift doors open, and we’re frozen in apprehension for a moment before we step out and walk down the short hall to the small dining room that’s been set aside for us.
And there, beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, stands a tall, slender man with a thick mane of silver hair and a stylish suit.
My father.
He’s holding the hand of a woman with dark eyes and a pointed chin, just like mine. Aunt Lilavati.
Ant gives us a gentle push into the room until the five of us are standing face to face. All crying silently, even my fiancé.
Mum’s the first to make a noise. A sob.
“Oh, Maz,” is all my father says, and then they’re in each other’s arms. Both crying, talking over each other so fast it’s impossible to follow.
Finally, they separate, although their hands are still clasped.
“And this is our beautiful daughter.” His accent is pure London with only the slightest trace of an Indian lilt.
I’m pulled into a three-way embrace.
I don’t know how it happens, although I’m sure Ant has something to do with it, but a pot of tea and a stand of the little cakes and sandwiches the English do so well appear on the table in front of us and we sit.
There’s so much to say, I don’t know how we’re ever going to get it all out, but I guess we have years for that, because this is our first meeting, but it won’t be our last.
