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.
She swirls her wine glass, eyes focused on something long past, and I give her the time she needs to collect her thoughts.
“After university, while I was working in London, I made a friend. Her name was Lilavati. She was Indian. Very beautiful, like you.” Mum looks up and smiles at me, her eyes full of warm memories.
“She had a brother. Rakesh.” Her voice cracks on the name.
“Oh, he was so handsome. And charming. He used to call me Maz.” She pauses, takes another mouthful of wine as if to fortify herself before continuing.
“Their family were very traditional, and Lilavati was not allowed to go out at night without male supervision, so the three of us started spending time together. Going to the movies and the theatre. It wasn’t long before Rak and I fell in love. ”
Mum’s love and sadness are written all over her face, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. This is not the story I was expecting.
After another sip of wine, she continues.
“One thing led to another, and, of course, we ended up, well, you know. But as I said, Rak’s family were very traditional.
One day he told me he had been promised to a girl in India since he was a little boy.
There had been no news from the girl’s family for a number of years, so he had been hoping the girl would reject the match and that perhaps we could be together. But we were not so lucky.”
“So he just married her?” My heart bounces between anger, horror and sadness.
“I assume so. To reject her would’ve shamed his family, and hers, in their community. Rak couldn’t bring himself to do that to his parents, his sisters. It would’ve ruined their chances for a good match. When it became clear the marriage would go ahead, we broke it off.”
“But you were pregnant,” I snap, indignant.
“Yes, although we didn’t know that at the time. I couldn’t bear to stay, to see him with someone else, so I left London and cut off all contact with both Rak and Lilavati.”
“When you realised you were pregnant, did you tell him?”
Mum shakes her head.
“No. Your grandmother felt it was best not to. And I didn’t want to put him in that position. Perhaps I was scared he would still choose his arranged bride. Maybe I was a little resentful that since he didn’t choose me, he didn’t deserve us. I don’t know. Either way, I never told him.”
I swipe at the tears that are tracking down my cheeks.
“I don’t want you to think it was easy for Rak to end things. We were both heartbroken. But what else could he do? He tried to talk to his father, but he was furious. Rak was in an impossible situation.”
“And that’s why you kept me? Because you loved Rak?” I sniff, attempting to stop my nose from running.
“Yes. And I loved you, from the moment I knew you existed. Loving you was both comfort and pain.” Mum reaches for my hand, her grip fierce as though she can impress on me how much I was loved, despite the way things have unfolded over the years.
“And then you married Warren. Why?”
“There wasn’t one single reason. He had children. I thought he might be a good father. Thought we might have another child or two, siblings for you.”
How I would’ve loved to have a brother or sister. I gulp the last of my wine and top it up with the little left in the bottle.
“Yet you never did.”
“No. It wasn’t until after we were married that he told me he had no interest in having more children, and that he’d had a vasectomy years before. I was devastated. I nearly left him then. But by then, your grandfather had passed. And Warren felt, I don’t know, he was older. He felt safe?”
I bark out a laugh at that. The last thing Warren turned out to be was safe. Mum closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“But Warren could never forgive me for not loving him the way I love Rak.”
I don’t miss her use of the present tense.
“Love? You still love him?”
Her only answer is a small nod.
I was wrong about the reasons my mother didn’t ever want to talk about my father. It was too painful for her. And maybe she didn’t want a mini-me like I assumed. Maybe, looking at me reminded her too much of her lost love. The trickle of tears speeds up, becoming a flood.
“So why have you been pushing me to get married?” It makes no sense to me, coming from the woman who lost her true love.
“Ah. Well. I never wanted you to suffer the way I did. I wanted you to be safe, wanted to protect you from falling in love and having your heart broken. It hurts too much, and I didn’t want that for you.” Mum swipes at tears on her face.
“So better to marry someone I didn’t love?”
Mum nods again.
“When I saw the way you looked at Ant, the way he looked at you. Well, I was terrified it would end in tears. And Warren was determined to put a stop to it. But it should’ve been me putting a stop to Warren’s behaviour.”
Mum lapses into silence, and I take the moment to grab tissues from the bathroom for us to dry our tears and blow our noses.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve allowed Warren to treat you over the years, Lilavati.
When I first married him, I was so sad. So lonely.
He took advantage of that. But it was my job to protect you, and I didn’t.
” Mum strokes my hair the way she used to, and I can feel the barriers between us beginning to break down.
“You realise you’ve been in an abusive marriage, don’t you, Mum?” I say, as kindly as I can. The truth of this is only now fully sinking in with me, thanks in large part to Ant. To experiencing how a man should treat a woman.
There was no physical violence, at least not that I saw. But there was plenty of emotional abuse. Probably coercive control. And had Mum stood up to Warren, who knows how things might have escalated?
“Yes. But no more. I’m done.” Mum squares her shoulders. “Now, perhaps we can get Ant to arrange a room for me? You wouldn’t have some spare pyjamas I could borrow, would you, darling?”
We both laugh at the banality of that after the conversation we’ve had.
I stand and hold my arms open. Mum rises and moves into my hug, and we stand like that, fused together, crying, for a long time.
“I love you, Mum,” I finally whisper.
“I love you too, Lilavati.”
It’s almost too big to take in. To believe. But after all these years, I finally have my mother back.
It’s been a big day.