‘Everyone stuffs up sometimes, Mya. I think they’d understand.’
‘They wouldn’t. And I couldn’t bear for them to know. It alienated me from the others. My cousins, the other neighbourhood kids … They gave me a hard time then. I don’t want more of a hard time now. I don’t want my parents disappointed. Life’s been tough enough on them.’
She’d been bullied as she walked across the neighbourhood in her school uniform—the only kid in the block to go to a school with a uniform. Taunted—told she’d become a snob, torn down. Freak. You think you’re better than us?
She hadn’t thought that. She knew just how hard those in her ‘hood worked—or worked to try to get a job. Sure, a couple hadn’t. A couple had gone off the rails in the way Lauren had once threatened to. But she knew better than anyone that snobbery worked both ways. In the one hand she’d carried the hopes and dreams of her parents; in the other she’d been burdened with the spite and jealousy of others. She didn’t fit in here any more, but she sure hadn’t fitted in with her new school either.
And now she was held up as the neighbourhood example—her cousin’s five-year-old daughter had said she wanted to go to uni and be just like her. She couldn’t let them down.
She’d had opportunities others hadn’t had and she’d squandered them on a man who was so removed from her own sphere—that elite, born-to-it world that she’d never once felt comfortable in. She couldn’t let them know what an idiot she’d been. And she couldn’t be that naïve girl again. This damsel was doing her own rescuing. No man, no fairy-tale fantasy, would come between her and her studies.
‘How will you get home after lunch?’ he asked as they neared her home.
‘Same as always.’
She knew he was looking at the gang symbols graffitied on the fences they passed. The lush greenery of the affluent central suburbs gave way to unkempt, sunburned brown grass and bare dirt. The old-looking swing-set in the park and the new activity set that had already been defaced, litter spilling from the bin. She knew what he was thinking; she thought it too. The neighbourhood wasn’t just rough; it was unsafe and was worsening. Her resolve firmed. She was getting her parents out of here as soon as she could.
They were sitting on the porch when Brad turned into the driveway. The two-bedroom government-supplied house had been modified so her father could walk in easily. He didn’t rise as Brad stopped the car, but her mother hurried over. Brad got out of the car and greeted her with his intensely annoying polite manners. Mya watched her mother blink a couple of times, watched his full impact on her—that overpowering charm. And she helplessly watched him accept her mother’s invitation to join them at lunch. All done before she’d even said hello.
When Brad walked into the house, he was shocked—but not for the reasons Mya might have thought he might be. He’d seen way smaller, emptier properties. No, what shocked him was the wall in the lounge.
It was smothered in the evidence of Mya’s achievements. There were certificates everywhere. Certificates going back more than a decade—from when she won spelling competitions at age six. Competitions far beyond her years at that. There were newspaper articles citing her academic successes. There were pictures of her in her uniform. Pictures of her accepting cups and prize-giving. But there were no pictures of her playing.
Proof of their pride in her was everywhere and he realised she hadn’t been kidding about the pressure. No wonder her identity was so bound up in performance—perfect performance. But surely her parents weren’t so success-obsessed for her that they’d disown her if they knew she’d failed? She was their only child.
‘Brad’s a lawyer. A tutor at university.’ Mya walked in with her father, who was leaning on her arm. ‘He’s been helping me with my studies this year. He just gave me a ride because I was running late to get here.’ She bit her lip and looked at Brad as if worried she’d made a slip in mentioning law school given she was supposed to be on holiday.
‘She doesn’t need my help, you know.’ Brad went with her story with an easy smile. ‘She’s just trying to make me feel useful.’
The sad thing was he liked feeling useful to her. Even if in truth he wasn’t.
‘She’s a genius.’ Even as he was saying it, he realised he was buying into the Mya-brain-box worshipping—doing it as badly as her parents. Talking her up until she was terrified of failing. Mya, who needed no help academically because she was such a star. Never-fail Mya. Never dare fail.
So he switched. ‘But she works really hard at it.’
He encountered a beseeching green gaze just at the moment her mother’s proud tones came from the other side of the table.
‘Mya always works hard.’
Brad worked hard himself then, keeping the conversation light—and away from work. Mya was abnormally quiet and giving him keen looks every so often. It bothered him she was so nervous—what did she think would happen? Did she trust him so little? He wouldn’t let her down and give her away.
‘I hope it wasn’t too bad my staying.’ He finally apologised for butting in when they were back in his car and driving towards town. ‘But I really enjoyed it.’
‘It was hardly your usual restaurant standard,’ she answered brusquely.
‘You couldn’t get fresher than that salad,’ he pointed out.
That drew a small smile. ‘It’s the one thing he likes the most but tending the garden takes him a long time. He has chronic pain and he gets tired.’
‘It was an accident?’
‘In the factory years ago.’ She nodded. ‘He’s been on a sickness benefit since. Mum does the midnight shift at the local supermarket.’ She sighed. ‘So now you know why I want to get the big corporate job.’
He nodded.
‘I want to move them somewhere else. Somewhere much nicer.’
‘I can understand that.’ He paused. ‘You really care about what they think of you, huh?’
‘Don’t you care about what your folks think of you?’
He laughed beneath his breath. ‘It no longer matters to me what either of them think.’
‘No longer? So it used to?’
‘When I was a kid I wanted to please Dad.’ He laughed—the small kind of laugh designed to cover up real feelings.
Mya didn’t want him to cover up. ‘But you don’t any more?’
‘I’m really good at my job and I enjoy it. What he thinks is irrelevant.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He didn’t do anything.’
‘I’m not stupid either, Brad.’ She turned in her seat to study his profile directly.
‘So you know what he does.’ Brad trod harder on the accelerator and gave her the briefest of glances. His warm brown eyes now hard and matte. ‘Buys his way out of anything.’
‘What did he buy his way out of for you?’ Mya asked quietly.
Attention. It was all about attention. For him. For Lauren. He’d once asked his father to come and see him in a debating contest of all things. Sure, not the most exciting of events, but he’d been fifteen years old and still young enough to want his father’s approval. At that time he’d wanted to be his father. A brilliant lawyer, top-earning partner in his firm with the beau
tiful wife, the yacht, the two kids and the dog.
‘I caught him.’ Brad surprised himself by answering honestly.
‘Doing what?’
‘Betraying us.’ He glanced at Mya. She’d revealed a part of her life that she preferred to keep private and that she wanted to fix. He wanted her to know that he understood that. So he told her. ‘I wanted him to come to see me in the debating final when I was a teen. But he said he had an important meeting he couldn’t get out of. I won and went up to show him the medal.’ He’d gone up to his father’s office, excited with the winning medal in hand, anticipating how he’d quietly hold it up and get the smile, the accolade. Instead he’d discovered that the very important meeting his father hadn’t been able to wriggle out of had been with one of the junior lawyers. Fresh from law school, whether she was overly ambitious or being taken advantage of, Brad didn’t know and no longer cared.
‘The meeting was with a trainee,’ he said. ‘She was on her knees in front of him.’
‘Oh, Brad.’
His father had winked. Winked and put his finger to his lips, as if Brad was old enough—‘man’ enough—to understand and keep his sordid secret. His scheduled screw more important than his own son. And the promises he’d made to his wife.
So many dreams had shattered that day.
The anger had burned like acid as he’d run home and hidden in the damn tree hut that he hadn’t built with his father, but that his father had paid some builder to put in for the look of it.
Brad decided never to be a lawyer like his father. It would never be a father-and-son firm as his father had always envisaged. No insanely high billing rates for Brad. He’d turned to the far poorer-paying child advocacy in direct retaliation to his father. He had the trust fund from his grandfather. He was never going to be short of money. So there was something more worthwhile that he could do. Something that would irritate his accolade- and image-driven dad.
But eventually he realised his father really didn’t give a damn what he did. Brad just wasn’t that important to him. His gestures might be grand, but they were empty. Just purchases. There was a missing element—no true paternal love. All his father was, was hungry for success, money and women—and for maintaining that façade of the perfect family in society.