Friday, January 12, 2007


My father 'left' my mother some years ago. They never formally separated or divorced (that would have required them agreeing on something), and I write 'left,' as he really had no choice in the matter. He arrived home one day to find my mother had changed all the locks. He got in his car, drove off to his place in the country, and I haven't seen him since.

That is, until just before Christmas. I rang him. I decided if I can forgive him for being an argumentative and unpleasant arsehole, he should certainly forgive me for taking after him. Driving out to see Father was difficult; I had no idea what to expect. I had to pull over and have a few nervous cigarettes before driving up to the house. What would we talk about? As a child, he was hardly ever around, and when he was, anything he had to say disappeared until the full verbal tide of Mother’s sherry-drenched shores.

I needn't have worried. He was delighted to see me. "Hello, darling!" he roared. "Merry Christmas! Here’s some money for you." He thrust an envelope at me, containing six hundred-dollar bills. We had coffee in the kitchen, the only room that showed any sign of occupancy. It was stuffed with a bizarre assortment of items; the family silver, fishing gear, tomato plants growing in buckets. I perched on a box.

"You just missed your sister. She was here, getting the girls' school fees. They are going to St XXXX, now." I hadn't seen my sister in years either, so was secretly thrilled that she was apparently short on money, but also extremely annoyed that my future inheritance was being squandered on her children. "Things not going so well for dear X?" I asked, feigning concern. "No, she's fine," was the reply. "On holiday at the bach in Paihia. I have these curtains I don't want. You can have them. An early birthday present."

I fumed. My sister gets tens of thousands of dollars for stinking school fees AND the use of the bach, and I get some cunty mother-fucking curtains. Second-hand, bottle-green, cunty curtains. I planned on how best to contest his will, so the school fees and bach could be deducted from her share. I was going to set fire to the curtains the moment I got home. And changing my phone number so the insane old coot couldn't bother me any more.

I chatted tersely for a while, until it was time to leave. "Lovely to see you again," he said, happily. "I think I’ll put you back in my will."



Martha said...

'Cunty' is the best word ever.

Cactus Kate said...

Yes I have the same thoughts.

And another reason why I am against private schools.

I see no reason why family money should be gifted to pay for education of children just because your brother or sister are too lazy to have earned their own cash to pay for run to Mummy and Daddy.

In the meantime the siblings who are hard working and responsible get nothing.

Cunty is a good word.

Mrs Smith said...

Being neither hard-working, nor particularly responsible, it may be best if I maintain a diplomatic silence.