“Another thing to mention is that Harry Haddad was a sniveling little cheat.” Troy studied his wineglass.
“Never saw it happen,” said Stan, calmly, but with that edge: the edge still sharp enough to make his children bleed.
He still didn’t get it, even after all these years. He never saw how he betrayed Troy every time he made that statement.
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” said Troy evenly.
“How can you cheat?” asked Savannah. “Isn’t there like a … ref?”
“There are no chair umpires at the lower levels,” said Brooke. “The players make their own line calls. It’s hard for some kids to be … ethical.”
“It’s hard for some grown-ups,” said Joy. She’d seen plenty of players at the club make questionable line calls. “Sometimes umpires can be biased too.”
She thought of the first time she played in the Under 13s grass court championships at White City. Her grandfather was busy that day, and so her mother took her. Her mother, bored out of her mind, flipped through Vogue while Joy played. Joy couldn’t understand why the umpire kept calling her shots out and her opponent’s shots in. She later discovered the umpire was her opponent’s mother. “Well, you’re much prettier than her,” her mother said on the way home, as if that was what counted. (It did help a little bit.)
“Look at his talent, Troy. Look at where he got. He didn’t need to cheat.” Stan was still stuck on the topic of Harry. He would forever be stuck on the topic of Harry. He grabbed the string of the balloon and snapped it free from the chair, so that it floated up to the ceiling.
“Oh,” said Amy sadly, watching it go.
“Good to see you’re still so loyal to him, Dad,” said Troy. “Considering how loyal he was to you.”
Brooke sucked in air through her teeth as if she’d stubbed her toe.
Stan pulled at the fabric of his too-tight shirt with such ferocity Joy was reminded of the Incredible Hulk bursting free of his ordinary clothes when he lost his temper. Troy used to adore that show. Perhaps because of his own unstoppable temper.
“It was Harry’s father’s decision to drop me.” Stan spoke calmly. He wasn’t going to explode into the Hulk. “To drop us.”
He directed his attention to Savannah. “Harry’s father decided to change coaches.” He shrugged. A big fake shrug. “It happens. Tennis parents are a unique breed. They get some success and they start looking for something bigger and better. That’s life in the coaching game.”
Maybe it wasn’t a fake shrug. His insouciance seemed almost believable. Did he truly feel that now? Was he over it?
“But I guess you must still feel really proud that you discovered him?” said Savannah.
“We do feel proud,” said Stan. “Sure.” He looked uncertainly around the table. “Where was I?” His eyes caught on Brooke and his face softened. “The little one.”
“The little one who is a whole inch taller than me,” commented Amy, her gaze still on the balloon.
“Brooke was the smartest of our kids,” said Stan.
“Thanks, Dad.” Troy tipped his finger to his forehead.
“On the court,” said Stan. “She was the smartest and most strategic one on the court. She had to be, because she was playing you lot and you were all so much bigger and faster than her. She was analyzing her competitor’s weaknesses at an age when most kids were just thinking about getting the ball over the net.”
It was true that Brooke was clever on the court, but Joy had never really enjoyed watching her play as much as the others, because Brooke herself seemed to take no pleasure in the game. That permanent frown made its first appearance when Brooke was about eight. Even before the headaches.
“But Brooke gets migraines,” said Stan. “It was a terrible, terrible shame.”
He shook his head with such regret and sadness you would think he was describing Brooke’s early death, not her early retirement.
Joy remembered the day Stan and Brooke came home hours early from a tournament.
“What are you doing here?” Joy had asked. She was rushing out the door on her way to fill in for one of the coaches who had called in sick. She was in a permanent rush in those days.
“She’s done,” said Stan. “She’s finished.”
“What happened?” Joy asked as Brooke walked past her and went straight to her room without saying a word, but the look she shot at Joy seemed so accusatory, and when she looked at Stan she saw the same accusation in his eyes: You failed. Because the children’s medical care was her responsibility and she couldn’t fix Brooke’s headaches.
“That doctor you take her to has no fucking clue,” Stan had said, and what Joy should have done was tell Stan to take her class for her, and she should have gone and comforted Brooke, but she was so angry with Stan for swearing at her, for blaming her, that she didn’t even think of it, she just left, slamming the door behind her.
“If we’d got the right medical advice things might have been different,” said Stan now, and Joy felt that long-ago frustration rise within her as if it were yesterday.
Savannah lifted up Amy’s plate of brownies. “Would anyone—”
“I took her to doctor after doctor after doctor!” said Joy.
“No one is blaming you, Mum,” said Brooke as the dog began to whine.
“Well, it certainly sounds—”
“Indira left me,” said Logan, and the room fell instantly silent.
Chapter 24
Logan sat upright and stoic after his announcement, his forearms on his armrests as if he were strapped to the electric chair. Even the dog seemed shocked and gazed steadfastly at the wall as if to point out this awful business was nothing to do with her.
“Eh? What’s that?” said Stan confusedly.
“Now just seemed like as good a time as any to mention it,” said Logan.
“Oh, Logan.” Amy looked back down from the balloon. “We love her.”
When Logan had arrived today and said that Indira was at home sick, Joy had a thought, a deliriously hopeful thought: Maybe she’s feeling sick because she’s pregnant.
That cryptic look on Indira’s face the last time Joy saw her had not been the indication of a special secret announcement she was waiting for the safe twelve-week mark to make. She’d been getting ready to leave. The flower magnet Joy had so hoped was an ultrasound picture had been a farewell gift.
“I loved her too,” said Logan.
“Did she know that?” asked Amy.
“Should have put a ring on it.” Troy shook his head in mock exasperation.
“Says you,” said Logan.
“I’ve been married.”
“You haven’t stayed married.”
Brooke opened her mouth as if to say something and then briefly closed her eyes.
“Have you got a migraine coming on, Brooke?” asked Joy. A cramping sensation hit her lower abdomen again. She suppressed a groan. “You mustn’t drive home if you do. You must never drive when you’re suffering a migraine.”
“I’ll drive her home,” offered Savannah.
“I don’t have a migraine!” snapped Brooke. “We’ve talked enough about migraines today.”
Joy didn’t believe her. She really didn’t look well. “If you do, maybe you should stay here. Grant won’t be much use to you if he’s sick.”
“GrantandIhavebrokenuptoo.” Brooke spoke so rapidly it took Joy a moment to separate out the words.
“I beg your pardon?”
Brooke exhaled, and her shoulders sagged. “It’s a relief to say it.” She looked at her father. “Sorry to ruin Father’s Day.” She looked at Logan. “Although Logan started it.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” said Stan with deep sadness. He patted Brooke on the shoulder before slumping back in his chair. “These things happen.”
Joy said, “You mean you’re getting a divorce?”
“It’s just a trial separation for now, but…” Brooke squinted as if at a sudden brig
ht light. “It looks that way.”
Joy should have realized this was more than a migraine. The poor girl looked exhausted, pale and haggard, with dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was just so lank.
Troy put his arm around his sister.
“How long?” he asked.
“We’ve been separated for six weeks.”
“Six weeks?” Joy didn’t mean it to sound like an admonishment, but how could Brooke have been separated for six weeks without saying a single word about it to her parents?
“Was it all the pressure you put on yourself with that damned clinic?” Now she was accidentally giving away her hatred of the clinic. She was getting this all wrong. This was becoming one of those pivotal life moments she would wish she could go back and do again so she could say all the right things. She put her fingertips to her hairline. She was sweating. Food poisoning? Savannah’s roast chicken had been so wonderfully tender! Was this the price you had to pay for tender chicken? It was too high a price!
“I should have helped out more at the clinic,” she said to Brooke. She should have! Grant probably felt neglected. “I should have insisted.”
“Oh, Mum,” said Brooke wearily.
“I can’t believe you never told me,” said Amy.
“Can we not make it about you, Amy?” said Brooke.
Amy’s face crumpled. “I just meant I could have helped you.”
“Okay, well, thank you, I’m fine.” Brooke massaged tiny circles in her forehead with her fingertips. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. I thought we might … work it out. Nobody needs to get upset.”
Savannah had folded her napkin into a neat square, concealing her mostly uneaten brownies. What must she think of them all? It was embarrassing to remember how she’d worried that Savannah would be envious of Joy’s loving, stable family.
“Well!” Joy said to Savannah. “I hope this isn’t too awkward for you. All these upsetting announcements on Father’s Day!”
“Sorry, Dad,” said Logan remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to ruin Father’s Day.”
“Neither did I,” said Brooke. “Sorry, Dad.”
“No one needs to be sorry,” said Stan. He looked at the balloon floating above his head, grabbed for the end of the string, and pulled it down. He clutched the balloon like a child in a stroller being pushed around a fairground.
“What are you doing?” Joy asked him.
“Holding my balloon,” said Stan.
“Do you actually need me to give you all some privacy?” asked Savannah. “I could go to my room—” She corrected herself in a sudden fluster and glanced at Amy. “Not my room.”
“We don’t need privacy,” said Stan. “We’re fine. These things happen. It’s no one’s fault.”
“Of course it’s no one’s fault,” said Joy doubtfully, although she’d quite like to ascertain where the fault did lie in each of these breakups.
“Does anyone need—” began Savannah.
“We’re fine,” Stan cut her off.
There was silence for a moment. Stan kept idiotically clutching his balloon. Joy didn’t know if it was fury or nausea rising in her belly. Was she about to vomit or yell, faint or cry? All of them seemed like possibilities.
Troy said, “Seeing as the curveballs are coming from every direction, I might throw one more.”
“Fabulous,” said Joy through gritted teeth. “You do that, Troy. Throw us another curveball. You throw it right at me, darling.”
“Right, well, okay then, Mum,” said Troy. He actually looked nervous. It couldn’t be another breakup. He wouldn’t bother telling them. He was in and out of relationships all the time. “I was considering keeping it a secret, but to hell with it. I could do with your advice.” He moved his glass to one side, sloshing red wine onto the white tablecloth. Was he drunk? Was Joy herself drunk? She really did feel very strange indeed.
He said, “So, you remember Claire?”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, Troy, yes, we remember Claire,” said Joy.
Claire was Troy’s ex-wife, once a much-loved member of the family, just like Indira and, to a lesser extent, Grant. It was like a death each time her children broke up with someone, and over the years there had been many, many deaths.
(She would write that in her memoir: When I look back over the last decade, it’s like looking at a battlefield strewn with the corpses of all the perfectly lovely young men and women who have been in unsuccessful relationships with my annoying, ungrateful children. What would the little innocent teacher think of that? She did say to try to be colorful.)
Troy said, “So, I saw Claire when I was in the States—”
“Are you getting back together?” Amy’s face was full of foolish hope.
“Of course they’re not getting back together,” said Joy, to conceal her own foolish hope. Surely not. Hadn’t Claire gone off to Texas or somewhere like that—somewhere that made you think of cowboys—and married an American cardiologist? A friend of a friend from when Troy and Claire lived together in the US?
“No, she’s happily married, permanently settled in the US,” said Troy. “She’s ready to have a baby.”
“Well, I’m not surprised. She was ready to have a baby with you all those years ago,” said Joy bitterly. Claire and Troy had been in the process of going through IVF when their marriage broke up. Apparently Troy had been unfaithful, and at the time Joy had been so angry with him she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for a good six months. She shivered violently. It was too hot or too cold in here.
“So, she and her husband have been trying for a long time now and apparently they haven’t been having any luck,” said Troy.
“Oh no,” said Brooke. “Tell me she doesn’t want to use—”
“Yes,” said Troy. He looked at his sister, who seemed to have guessed something that Joy couldn’t even imagine. “Yes, she does.”
“Use what?” asked Stan.
“Well, we’ve kept our embryos on ice all this time. From when we were doing IVF. Claire has been paying the storage costs. Anyway, now she’s wondering how I would feel if she … tried her luck with one of those.”
Joy felt like she was stumbling about in the dark for a light switch. “You mean Claire wants to have your baby? But I don’t understand, why can’t she do IVF with her new husband? Make some new … embryos?” She tripped over the word embryos. When she was getting pregnant, there had just been babies or no babies.
“She had low ovarian reserve back when she was doing IVF with Troy,” said Brooke, who remembered everyone’s medical histories. “She’s probably got no more eggs.”
“But you’d be this child’s father,” said Joy, and she saw Troy as a baby: the cutest and naughtiest of her babies. He’d wail so loudly each time he woke you’d think he was dying, and Joy would go running, tricked every time, and the instant she picked him up the crying would stop like a switch had been flicked and he’d smile that heart-melting smile, crocodile tears still wet on his fat rosy cheeks.
“She wants her husband to formally adopt the child as soon as it’s born,” said Troy, and Joy heard him trip on the word husband in the same way she’d tripped on embryo.
“But could you be involved? If you wanted to be involved?” asked Amy.
Troy shrugged. “She says it’s up to me, but what would be the point of me turning up every few months and taking the kid out to McDonald’s like some sad divorced dad? Better if it just thinks the cardiologist is its father, don’t you think?”
Joy was on a boat being rocked about on a stormy sea.
She met Stan’s eye. He looked stunned. She could tell he didn’t really get it. The brand-new possibilities and dilemmas created by modern technology, modern science, and modern thinking were beyond him.
“You like this idea?” asked Logan.
“No, I don’t like the idea at all,” said Troy, and there it was: a flash of anguish. “To be frank, I hate the idea.”
“Well,
then, mate, you’re not obliged—”
“But it could be Claire’s only chance to have her own biological child.” Troy lifted his hands in a hopeless gesture of surrender. “Her only chance. Ever. How can I take that away from her? When those embryos are just sitting there? It would be so cruel.” His voice dropped, and he moved his wineglass around in circles on the red-wine stain on the tablecloth, as if he could rub it away, which he couldn’t. That stain would be there forever.
Troy added in a small, remorseful voice, “Especially after what I did to her.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake.
This was exactly how Joy used to feel when Troy got in trouble as a kid, and he’d sit there in front of her and Stan, head hanging, hands dangling between his knees, looking so sad, remorseful, and bewildered, as if the actions he’d taken hadn’t been his choice, not really, but he was once again stuck with their consequences.
“I think I have to say yes, don’t I?” He looked up the table at Joy. “Don’t I, Mum?”
Joy sighed. She put a hand once again to her burning cheek and shuddered. She was freezing.
“Don’t you think, Mum?” said Troy. “I have to say yes?”
He needed an answer. He’d always looked to her, not his father, for answers to the moral quandaries in which he found himself.
I stole this CD, Mum, and now I feel bad about it. Should I just take it back to the shop and tell them? But I kind of scratched it.
“Oh, Troy.”
Joy thought of Claire’s parents. She and Stan had met them only a handful of times, but they’d liked them. Uncomplicated and kind people. They’d even played doubles against them. The mother, Teresa, had a nice double-handed backhand. Joy had been mortified when her son had broken Teresa’s daughter’s heart like that. She’d phoned her and told her she was so sorry and she was ashamed of Troy, and Teresa had been kind and gracious. If the situations had been reversed Joy would have been well mannered too, but cool and snippy. Now that nice woman would get Joy’s grandchild, and Joy wouldn’t be allowed to see it, to hold it or know it. What if the baby had Troy’s smile? And Claire’s beautiful red hair? Joy would have especially loved a redheaded grandchild!
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