Page 46 of Always Alchemy

DEX

Parents are supposed to be as constant as the moon. No one enjoys dealing with parental upheaval, even when they’re fully grown. Although, when the thing for which the parents are known is shittiness, it’s another matter entirely.

Which is why I can’t help but feel a glimmer ofsomethingwhen Mum asks me and Belle to have lunch with her at Daphne’s in South Ken, one of her favourite haunts for years and years. The fact of her asking isn’t unusual in itself—God knows, I only see her without Dad these days—but the way she asked was a little odd. The invitation felt oddly formal. Tentative.

So when Belle and I rock up one Thursday lunchtime, a good thirty years younger than the rest of the clientele, it’s a relief to find that Mum looks well. Seriously well, in fact. She’s looking glowy and radiant. Girlish, almost. Which should be an odd thing to say about a woman in her late fifties but seems deserved today.

My sister is in good spirits, too. Rosalie is at home with Rafe, so I suspect she’s happy to be out on the town, lunching like a civilised human being.

‘How’s Dad?’ she asks idly as she dunks her focaccia in olive oil. We’ve just ordered our mains, and, a glass of chilled white having been poured for each of us, our server has retired.

Mum pauses in the kind of ominous way that has me immediately thinkingcanceror something equally awful. My stomach flips before I remember that I don’t care.

Whatever’s going on with Dad, he’s dead to me already.

‘I have some news,’ Mum says, ‘and I’m sure it’ll come as a shock to you, but I’m here to listen, and to talk. And if you’re feeling strong enough, I’d love your support, too, because goodness knows I’ll need it.’

Cancer. Definitely cancer.

‘Is he okay?’ Belle asks, her eyes wide. ‘Are you?’

Mum gives one of those little motherly nods and pats my sister on the hand. ‘Everyone’s fine. All is well. But I’ve made a decision—a very big decision, actually. This weekend I intend to sit your father down and tell him I’d like a divorce.’

There’s a stunned silence. Divorce, that exit strategy espoused by a huge proportion of married couples, is simply not an option I’ve ever considered for my parents. God knows, it’s hard to think of a more divorce-worthy husband than my father, but given how ultra-Catholic they are, I’ve always assumed the only way out of their marriage was feet-first in a box.

My mind is a whirlwind of disbelief, thoughts emerging and popping like fireworks.

I would never have thought Mum capable of this. Never. Then again, I’d never have thought her capable of standingup to Dad sufficiently to attend both her children’s weddings.

Also: Dad willneveragree to this. Never.

Also: in the eyes of the law, that doesn’t matter. If one half of a married couple wants out, I’m pretty sure there’s a way to do it.

‘Bloody hell, Mum,’ I say, blowing out a breath and glancing at my sister to see how she’s taking it. She looks as stunned as I am, but there’s something else there, too. Pride, I think, and possibly even… amusement?

‘Oh my God,’ she babbles. ‘That’s just—wow! I’m so, so proud of you!’

Mum laughs and puts her hand to her heart. ‘I’ve been so worried about telling you both!’

‘Oh no.’ I shake my head. ‘No need. This ismassive.Like Belle said, we’re so proud of you. I honestly never thought you’d walk out on him.’

Mum’s face grows more serious. ‘It’s very, very frightening. I’m almost sixty, for crying out loud. I thought I’d wake up next to your father every day for the rest of my life.’ She pauses. ‘We made vows.Till death do us part.’

Belle and I exchange another glance, this one grim.

‘You did,’ I say, ‘but you only get one life. And you didn’t agree to put up and shut up as he became more and more of a bigoted wanker.’

Mum presses her lips together like she’s trying and failing to disapprove. ‘I did agree to love him in sickness and in health,’ she said, ‘and sometimes it seems to me that what he has is some kind of sickness.’

‘Do you actually still love him?’ Belle asks before taking a healthy swig of her wine.

‘I love the essence of him,’ Mum says slowly. ‘Or at least—I can still see in him the man I fell in love with. Does that make sense?’

We both nod glumly.

‘But I don’t like him. I don’t like the choices he makes, and I can’t respect them. I can’t respect his values anymore. They’re all twisted from where I’m standing. And he’s rejected our son’—her big eyes fill with tears—‘and I’ll never, ever forgive him for that. It makes me want to slap him every time I look at that smug, self-righteous face of his. Ugh! He’s so certain of his moral rectitude all the time, and yet I can’t for the life of me find Christian kindness in anything he does.’

‘Yeah,’ Belle agrees, ‘it’s all about principles and, like, weird, archaic rules. He doesn’t seem to let himself follow his heart.’

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