Apples Never Fall

“It’s just bad luck,” said Brooke. “Bad timing.” She shot Logan a steely look. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard that Logan and Indira had broken up too.”

“Mum,” said Amy. “You will get to be a grandmother. I mean—obviously I won’t have kids, but someone will.” She indicated her sister and brothers. “One of them will! In the normal way. Not like what Troy is doing. Which is obviously weird and upsetting. But you will get a proper grandchild. I promise you.”

“How can you promise me that, Amy? I don’t see your brothers and sister rushing to agree with you! And what do you mean, you obviously won’t have children? Why not? Anyway, why are you talking about grandchildren? Have I mentioned grandchildren? Ever? Not once!” Joy’s whole body burned and shook with the injustice of it. “Never once! Did I? Well, did I?”

If she wasn’t to be rewarded for her forbearance, it should at least be recognized.

“You never did, Mum,” said Brooke, and she sounded so sad, as if she might cry, and also frightened, as if Joy were drunk or mad or sick.

“Just like you never said how much you wanted us to win,” said Troy, quietly.

Joy stood. Her legs were wobbly. The only person whose eyes met hers was her damned husband.

She could see what he wanted to do right now. She could see it settle over him: a deadly stillness, or silence, like everything was shutting down. It had been twenty years since he’d done it, but she still recognized the signs. She always used to know when it was coming. She’d see it before the children did, and if she acted fast she could intercept, she could avert the crisis. The feeling had been like running to catch something before it shattered, except you weren’t allowed to run. Maybe it was how bomb disposal people felt.

But she was no longer in the business of bomb disposal. She was too old for it and she could not believe she had ever put up with it in the first place.

“Don’t … you … dare.” She pointed a shaky finger at him. “Don’t you even think about it.”

She swayed on her feet. The ache of grief and humiliation spread not just across her stomach but all the way up her left side.

It was Savannah who got to her first, and supported her with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Make them all go,” Joy said to her. “Make them all go home.”

Chapter 25

NOW

It was now fifteen days since Joy Delaney had been seen by her family.

“My mother got very sick on Father’s Day,” said Brooke Delaney. “She collapsed. It turned out she had a kidney infection. We had to call an ambulance.”

“That must have given you all a fright,” said Christina.

Christina and Ethan were interviewing Joy Delaney’s youngest daughter at her physiotherapy practice, surrounded by exercise equipment. There were only two chairs. Ethan had accepted Brooke’s offer to sit on the balance ball, which he did with great aplomb, diligently taking notes. Christina would have fallen off.

They had met Brooke at the press conference, but it had taken a few days for this interview to be scheduled. Christina couldn’t be sure if Brooke had been deliberately delaying. Right now she seemed keen to be cooperative, or at least to give that impression.

“Well, yes, it did give us a fright,” said Brooke. “We didn’t know what was going on at first. Mum was behaving so oddly. We thought it was because she was upset, not sick.”

“What was she upset about?”

“I felt especially bad,” reflected Brooke. “Because I’m the one with medical training. She had a fever. I should have realized.”

“She was upset about something?” pushed Christina.

“Just family stuff,” said Brooke. “My brother and I had both broken up with our partners. Oh, and Dad decided it would be a good day to do a comprehensive analysis of our failed tennis careers.” She gave a faint smile.

“So what was your impression of Savannah?” asked Christina. She burned her tongue sipping the too-hot cup of tea that Brooke had made for her.

“She was just a sweet, quiet girl. She’d cooked all this food for us, but then she was kind of serving us, in our parents’ house. It was odd and uncomfortable. It was like she was Cinderella, barely eating anything herself, and both my parents had become strangely … enamored of her. Dependent on her. It was like she’d turned up and solved a problem we didn’t realize needed solving.”

“What problem was that?”

Brooke considered the question. “I guess, maybe, the problem of cooking? Or the pro

blem of retirement? My parents aren’t the sort of people who dreamed of retirement. They loved to work.”