Chapter 65

chapter sixty-five

Valentine’s Day

He was gone. The air vibrated with the terrible words they’d hurled. Joy walked in a daze down the hallway, back into the kitchen and looked around her. Her empty water glass sat on the sink. She put it in the dishwasher. Closed the dishwasher. Wiped a single droplet of water off the sink.

Right then.

It used to be that when Stan left, the fast-running current of Joy’s life picked her up and carried her through until he returned, but now there were no children to distract or console, no lessons to reschedule, no business to run. She had no idea what to do next. She didn’t know how to fill her day. She didn’t know how to fill her life.

The dusty bottle of whiskey still sat on the kitchen table. She poured herself a shot glass with shaking hands and drank it in one dramatic gulp like a person in a movie. She shuddered. Whiskey was awful but she enjoyed the slow warmth it created, like an electric blanket heating up cold sheets.

She saw a pair of nail scissors sitting innocently on top of the junk in the bowl on the sideboard, as if they had always been there, so she sat at the table and trimmed the two broken nails that had scratched Stan’s face while she wondered if they could ever come back from this, or if they’d finally reached the end of their forgiveness, their love, their patience.

It occurred to her that she wanted to be gone when Stan came back.

For once, she wanted him at home waiting for her. But where could she go?

She was in the process of idly Googling answers to all her problems when her phone rang like a gift. Her heart lifted. She answered without looking at the name. Surely it would be one of the children, remembering at last that they had a mother. Her money was on Brooke.

‘Hello?’

‘Joy?’

She recognised the voice instantly. ‘Savannah.’ Her eyes went to Harry Haddad’s memoir sitting on the table in front of her.

Should she hang up?

She had once answered a late-night call from a young man who Joy knew was trying to scam her, because he was telling her that she’d won some extraordinary prize and just needed to pay a ‘nominal fee’ for ‘shipment’ and Joy had let him rattle on for ages, just for the company. They’d ended up having an interesting chat about climate change, before she told him that he really needed to consider a more honourable choice of career, at which point he hung up on her.

She felt the same way about Savannah. She knew she should be wary, and she was wary, but she was also lonely.

‘How are you, Savannah?’ she asked. Cool but not cold. ‘Where are you?’

‘Great, Joy!’ said Savannah. ‘Excellent! Top of the world! How are you this morning?’

Oh dear. She seemed to be channelling the fast-talking energy of a door-to-door salesman who knows he only has seconds before the door is shut in his face.

Joy felt a sudden spurt of fury. ‘You know, I’m not great, Savannah. I’m not actually having the best day, as it happens, I’m drinking whiskey in the morning, so if you’re calling for another spot of blackmail –’

‘I’m not,’ said Savannah.

‘Because I hope you know that what you did to us was unacceptable,’ said Joy. ‘If you’d gone public with those accusations about Stan you could have ruined our lives forever –’

‘I returned the money,’ said Savannah. ‘And I never would have done that.’

‘Well, I don’t know what you would have done, do I?’

There was no answer. They sat in silence for a few moments and Joy remembered the day she came back from the hospital and how Savannah had brought a tray to her in bed, with a cup of tea and tiny triangles of cinnamon toast. My goodness, that toast had been nice.

‘Okay then,’ she said in the appeased, let’s-move-on tone she used to employ with her children when their behaviour had been unacceptable, but there was nothing more to be said. ‘Well. What have you been up to?’

‘I’m in a sort of new relationship,’ answered Savannah. ‘He’s a doctor. A plastic surgeon. Lots of money. I’m calling from his apartment. I’m kind of living here now.’

‘That’s wonderful news!’ said Joy warmly. She was rehabilitating herself! She was turning her life around! ‘I’m so happy for –’

‘He’s married,’ interrupted Savannah. ‘It’s more of an affair than a relationship.’

‘Oh,’ said Joy sadly.

‘Joy.’

It was her. The act was gone. She sounded the way Joy’s children used to sound when they called and as soon as she heard them speak she knew there was a crisis: the match had been lost, a heart had been broken.

She steeled herself as she used to steel herself for the blow to the stomach of her children’s bad news. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

‘My brother has written a memoir,’ said Savannah. ‘My father emailed it to me. The publishers are sending it out to anyone who is mentioned in the book for fact-checking.’

‘I know,’ said Joy. ‘We got a copy too.’ She pulled the manuscript towards her and flicked the stack of pages with her thumb. ‘Stan has read it. I haven’t read it yet.’

‘I wasn’t going to read it,’ said Savannah. ‘I thought, What do I care? I don’t want to read about your wonderful, successful life. But then . . . I got curious.’

‘Well, of course,’ said Joy.

‘My dad told my brother I was sick,’ said Savannah. She spoke mechanically now. ‘That’s how he motivated him. He thought he was playing to save my life.’

‘Yes, Stan told me that,’ said Joy. ‘He was upset to hear it.’ She said carefully, ‘I assume you didn’t know?’

‘Of course I didn’t know! I thought he was having a wonderful life. Eating steak while I starved. I hated him.’

‘Oh, Savannah,’ said Joy. ‘I hope you know you’re not responsible for what your father did.’

‘You know how it started? I really was in hospital,’ said Savannah. ‘I ate a cupcake at school so my mother made me drink salt water until I vomited. I got dehydrated and collapsed after I performed.’

She spoke as if being forced to drink salt water was the sort of thing any mother would do. Joy put two fingertips to her forehead. Good Lord.

‘So then my mother sent my dad a photo of me at the hospital with a drip in my arm. To make him feel bad so he’d send more money. My dad showed Harry that photo to make him feel bad, and that’s when he started this whole . . . charade.’

‘I see,’ said Joy. ‘So when did he finally realise you weren’t sick?’

‘It seems like there wasn’t a big revelation. It just slowly crept up on him that he’d been duped, but by then his tennis career was properly taking off and then, ironically, he ends up with a child who really does get seriously sick. My niece.’

Joy heard Savannah sniff.

‘I heard his daughter was sick and I did nothing. I felt nothing. Literally nothing. I’m no different from all those people who ignored me. I’m a terrible person, Joy.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Oh, I am,’ said Savannah. ‘I really am.’

Joy stood up from the table. She picked up one of the framed photos of her children. It was Amy’s thirtieth birthday. They stood in a line, arms around each other, smiling.

‘You need to call your brother,’ said Joy.

There was a long pause. Savannah sniffed again.

‘I talked to my dad. He says Harry wouldn’t be where he was today if my father hadn’t given him such a good incentive to win in the early days. My dad thinks it’s funny. Isn’t that sick? My family is so sick.’

‘Yes,’ said Joy. ‘It’s awful. Tennis parents can be . . . awful.’

‘Anyway, so I wanted to tell you I’m going away,’ said Savannah.

She’d changed tone again. Brusque.

‘I’ve actually signed up for one of Harry’s cancer charity things. It’s stupid, I know, it’s not like that will change anything, but I wanted to do something. For him. To atone. When I feel bad I like to . . . take action.’

‘Sure,’ said Joy. ‘I understand.’ She kind of understood. She wasn’t one to wallow.

‘It starts tonight. It’s called the 21-Day Off-Grid Challenge to End Childhood Cancer. You stay in these tiny solar-powered cabins in the middle of nowhere without phones or wi-fi. You don’t even get the address of where you’re staying until the day you leave. I thought, well, it’s not just supporting Harry’s charity, it might clear my mind. Like a . . . circuit-breaker.’

‘I don’t understand. How does doing this end childhood cancer?’

‘Oh, well, it doesn’t, obviously. But you pay a fortune and a percentage goes to cancer research,’ said Savannah. ‘People sponsor you. It’s for wealthy people. They post about it on Instagram.’ She put on a posh accent. ‘I’m just so humbled to be able to do my bit for this important cause. You know the type. Obviously, I’m not wealthy, but I am very cashed up at the moment.’ She paused. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘I will not ask,’ said Joy. ‘I hope you’re not going anywhere near the fires?’

‘Opposite direction,’ said Savannah. ‘It’s a five-hour drive. A place called Orroroo Gully. Orroroo means “wind through the trees”, so that sounds nice, I guess? It’s got waterfalls and lakes and wildlife or whatever.’

‘Oh, I think it sounds wonderful, Savannah,’ said Joy.

‘Yeah,’ said Savannah. ‘Although . . . I don’t know. I’m having second thoughts. I might get lonely. I might lose my mind. I might seriously lose my mind.’

Joy put down the framed photo. She looked at the walls that trapped her and thought of waterfalls and lakes and wildlife.

‘What if I came with you?’

‘Yes,’ said Savannah. ‘Yes, please, Joy.’

*

Once the decision was made, Joy was a whirl of nervous energy. She wanted to be gone before Stan came back. She wanted him to return to an empty house. She’d never made a decision this significant without first consulting Stan. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It would show him. It would show the children. Everyone would be very surprised. Her friends would be surprised too. It would be nice to be surprising for once.

This would be a circuit-breaker. She was enamoured of Savannah’s phrase and kept murmuring it as she got ready. This was exactly what she needed right now. For a circuit to be broken.

Stan would miss her. Or he wouldn’t miss her. If they didn’t miss each other, then the decision would be made.

She couldn’t find her phone, even though she’d just been talking on it. She couldn’t find her glasses, even though she’d been wearing them just minutes ago. She couldn’t find her wallet.

She found her phone. She texted the children without her glasses, the words blurry on the screen. Nobody texted or called straight back, as if the fact that their mother was going off-grid for three weeks was of little interest.

She found her wallet. She found her glasses. She dragged out an old promotional backpack from the bottom of the cupboard and shoved in casual clothes. Something warm for at night. Shorts and t-shirts, swimmers and runners, underwear and PJs, a brand new toothbrush still in its packaging. Savannah said they would swim and do bushwalks each day, rest and read. No need for fancy clothes. No need for much at all. It was about minimalism, apparently. It was about reconnecting with your true self. It was possibly a load of nonsense, but Joy could always come home early if she got bored.

She sat down and wrote Stan a letter.

Dear Stan,

I’m so sorry for saying those terrible things.

Delaneys would have been nothing without you. I ran the business but you were the business, Stan! You were ‘the talent’. Nobody could coach like you. Nobody could get the best out of a player like you. Even the hopeless ones. Especially the hopeless ones! You never gave a half-hearted lesson. (I did! I admit it!) I loved watching you coach even more than I loved watching you play. It was like seeing an artist at work. I probably never told you that before. I should have.

I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for sending Harry away. I wanted our children to have the best coach in Australia and that was you. It was wrong for you but right for our children and I chose them. You were right when you said if I’d really wanted to make it with my own tennis I would have done it. But I was good enough, Stan. I was so. I know it. You know it too. I never regretted that decision, I think I just wanted it acknowledged, but, oh well, it doesn’t really matter now.

There is something important I need to say. It was hard to live like that, all those years, Stan, knowing that you could walk out the door at any moment.

Each time it happened it made my heart freeze a bit more until I thought it would freeze solid.

So now it’s my turn to walk out.

I’m going away with Savannah. I know you’re still angry with her and rightly so, but she’s just a mixed-up kid, and I feel we have a kind of responsibility.

We’re doing Harry’s ‘21-Day Off-Grid Challenge to End Childhood Cancer’. It’s not costing us anything. She’s already paid. It’s for charity, which is nice. I’m staying in a ‘tiny, sustainable, solar-powered house’ with her. (I do hope you’ve been exaggerating about my snoring.) There’s a phone number you can call if there’s an emergency but otherwise I will be properly ‘OFF-GRID’.

When I come home maybe we can come up with a new strategy for how to be happy for this part of our life. We’re so good at strategy. I think we can do it.

So I guess the ball is in your court, my darling. That’s a good one, hey?

Love, Joy

PS My bike got a puncture and I left it under a tree in front of the O’Briens’ old house. Will you please pick it up for me?

PPS I’m sorry for scratching you. My nails keep breaking. I think I need more calcium.

She carefully put the note on the refrigerator door with the London Eye magnet, right up high, where it would be impossible for him to miss it. She would not do to him what he’d done to her all those times. There would be no mystery as to her whereabouts.

Now her phone, which she’d had just five minutes ago, was missing again. She spent a few precious minutes looking for it before giving up. She didn’t need a phone. That was the point of this ‘challenge’. She was ‘unplugging’. She was going ‘off-grid’.

She filled up the dog’s food and water bowls and told her where she was going and asked her to please take care of Stan. Steffi gave a low growl of disapproval.

‘No, Steffi, I think it is a good idea,’ said Joy, and she slung her backpack over her shoulder and felt as young and adventurous as if she were off to go backpacking around Europe.

*

The moment she closed the front door, her phone, which she’d knocked onto the floor as she swept up her backpack and then kicked under the bed as she left the room, began to buzz and vibrate with confused text messages from her children: Huh? Mum, this message makes no sense!

Her plan was to walk to the bus stop and catch the 401 into town, where Savannah would pick her up in a fancy car her married boyfriend was lending her.

Caro’s daughter was pulling out of her driveway at the same time as Joy left the house. Petra opened her window to say hello, and when she found out that Joy was catching a bus into the city, she offered Joy a lift because she happened to be going to a literary lecture at the State Library, which was excellent luck. Not a nice day to be outside. On the way into the city they had a very nice chat about Copenhagen, where Petra lived now, and was flying back to the very next morning, with two small children. The children were with Caro right now seeing a movie, a last-day excursion with their beloved grandma. They talked about how everyone rode bikes in Denmark and wore flat comfy shoes and Joy asked if Petra had met Princess Mary (she hadn’t) and she told her how just this morning she’d tried to be one of those lovely relaxed European ladies on a bike but it hadn’t turned out so well.

Meanwhile, back at the house, the London Eye fridge magnet slid slowly, inevitably towards the kitchen floor, taking Joy’s letter with it.

Steffi lifted her head from her paws, pattered across the floor and leisurely devoured the whole delicious sheet of paper.

Five minutes after Caro’s daughter dropped Joy off, she got a frantic call from her mother saying that her son had fallen over on their way into the cinema and she was taking him to the hospital because she was worried his arm was broken.

Petra missed her lecture and drove straight to the hospital. Her son’s arm was not broken, only bruised, and they were able to make their flight the next day, no problem, but with all the drama, it was not surprising that she entirely forgot to mention to her mother that she’d given her neighbour a lift into the city, at least not until three weeks later, when Petra was back in Denmark and her mother said that Joy Delaney had been missing for three weeks.