‘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.’