She and Stan had always told the children there were no such thing as the ‘chosen ones’， there were no favourites on the circuit, it didn’t matter where you lived, or who you knew or who your parents knew, all that mattered was how you played – but there were politics in tennis. There were politics in everything.
‘More importantly, he’ll get the kind of coaching he needs, the kind we can’t give him. We’d love to keep him, of course we would, and please don’t mention it to Stan, because I’m afraid my husband can’t be objective about this. He wants what’s best for Harry, but he also wants what’s best for himself, and that’s keeping Harry. But the truth is, Delaneys is holding him back, Elias, and I can’t sit here and let that happen to your son. It’s time to take the next step.’
She knew that Elias would instinctively understand who to charm and when, just as his son was able to strategise so brilliantly on the court. Elias might even have come to the decision to move Harry on from Delaneys himself if she hadn’t suggested it.
Elias did everything Joy told him to do and he played it perfectly. He never said a word to Stan about Joy’s betrayal. He winked at Joy whenever he saw her, as if they’d enjoyed a secret tryst. It made her feel as if she had slept with him.
She later learned that Elias was a ladies’ man who often juggled multiple beautiful women, so keeping secrets came easily to him.
For a long time she’d assumed Stan would discover the truth, and she’d been ready for it, ready to defend herself, but he never did, and after a while she let her guilt （not regret, she never once regretted it） drift gently into nothingness like the tiny black curl of smoke from that snuffed candle.
She’d worried that Harry’s memoir might reveal her secret. It had never occurred to her that her house guest, who had pretended so convincingly that she didn’t even recognise Harry’s name, would reveal it.
‘How did you know this?’ she said to Savannah.
‘My mother told me,’ said Savannah. ‘Dad couldn’t send any child support money for about six months. He said it cost a lot to relocate to Melbourne, and my mother said, “Why are you doing that?” And he said, “Joy Delaney said it was the right thing to do.” I remember it word for word. Mum had to get a second job to help pay for my ballet lessons.’
‘“Joy Delaney said it was the right thing to do”，’ repeated Amy. ‘Wow, Mum. That’s . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Wow.’
After all these years, it was not Stan but their daughter looking at her with accusing eyes. She wanted to shout, But I did it for you! She tried to speak reasonably but she couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice. ‘I was not going to let you watch your father take some other kid to the top!’
‘Better some other kid than no-one at all,’ said Logan. ‘Harry would have won more grand slam titles by now if he’d stayed with Dad. He’s never won a French Open title.’
‘Harry never had the patience for clay,’ said Joy querulously.
‘Dad would have given him the patience. He’s never been as consistent as he should have been,’ said Logan. ‘He needed Dad.’
‘You needed him,’ said Joy. ‘You all needed him.’
‘No,’ said Logan. ‘I didn’t.’
God almighty, she couldn’t make him see. He was looking at this from the perspective of the thirty-seven-year-old man who had left his tennis career behind, not the seventeen-year-old boy who still saw tennis in his future.
‘Fine then, I needed him,’ said Joy. ‘I had four children, all playing competitive tennis, and a business to run. I couldn’t do it on my own. You must remember what it was like.’
But she could see by their faces that they were blissfully oblivious to what it had been like.
She thought of a night when Troy had been playing all the way out at Homebush in a tournament that ran so far behind schedule he didn’t even get onto the court until midnight. Stan was with Troy, Joy was at home with the other kids. Logan was worryingly sick with a temperature. She didn’t sleep that night. She baked thirty cupcakes for Brooke’s birthday the next day in between tending to Logan, she did three loads of laundry, she did the accounts and she did Troy’s history assignment on the Great Wall of China. She got seven out of ten for the assignment （she was still furious about that; she’d deserved a nine）。 When she thought of that long night, it was like remembering an extraordinarily tough match where she’d prevailed. Except there was no trophy or applause. The only recognition you got for surviving a night like that came from other mothers. Only they understood the epic nature of your trivial achievements.