‘Fix me,’ finished Amy.
‘No,’ said Stan. ‘Not fix you. Help you.’
‘Move it along, Dad,’ said Amy. She bundled her hair up into a messy topknot, put her elbows on the table, and locked her hands together. Joy knew it was only a defence mechanism but Amy’s mocking, glamorous smile reminded Joy of Stan’s mother. Joy hated it when Stan’s bloody mother made a guest appearance on her beloved children’s faces. ‘Let’s hear why the others failed.’
‘No-one failed.’ Joy’s stomach cramped. ‘And I’m sure Savannah isn’t interested in this.’
‘Oh, no, it’s very interesting,’ said Savannah brightly, as if she couldn’t sense the tension in the room. It was the first time Joy had ever felt even slightly annoyed with her.
Stan jerked his head at Logan. ‘This one was an athlete. Jesus, he was an athlete. Doesn’t look like it now, of course.’
‘Gee, thanks, Dad.’ Logan lifted his wineglass in a mocking toast.
‘He had one of the most powerful forehands I’ve ever seen. Extraordinary.’
‘Powerful, yes, but would we call it accurate?’ asked Troy with a sidelong look at his older brother, and Logan gave him the rude finger, as if they were both little boys.
‘Logan was so fit.’ Stan ignored Troy. He was into his stride now. It had been years since he’d had the chance to talk to someone with no previous knowledge and such apparent interest in the topic of his children’s tennis.
‘He could play for hours and look like he’d just walked onto the court. I remember one match when Logan was up against this kid who was meant to be the next big thing.’ Stan’s eyes shone with the memory of that long-ago January day. ‘Logan wore that kid out. Every game was deuce, ad, deuce, ad, deuce, ad. Every rally was a marathon. We’re talking ten, fifteen shot rallies. One hour in, that was it, this other kid, this supposed star, he was done.’ Stan sliced his palms sideways. ‘Meanwhile this one –’ He pointed his thumb at Logan. ‘Fresh as a daisy. Barely broke a sweat.’
Joy hadn’t been at that match, but she must have heard the story a hundred times, and each time Stan told it with such delight, his head unconsciously going back and forth like a tennis spectator as he chanted: ‘Deuce, ad, deuce, ad.’
‘But,’ Logan took another two brownies, one from each plate, ‘my turn for the “but”。’
‘Logan never truly committed to the sport. He just didn’t want it enough. He never had that burning desire, it was like he could take it or leave it, he was too –’
‘Passive?’ said Logan, with a strange expression on his face. ‘Is that the word you’re looking for, Dad?’
‘I was going to say you were just too nice,’ said Stan. ‘I sometimes wondered if you even liked winning. You hated seeing the other kid lose.’
‘I liked winning,’ muttered Logan. He aggressively massaged the back of his neck. ‘Bloody hell, Dad, how much of my childhood did I spend on the court if I didn’t commit to the sport? How much more committed did I need to be?’
‘Yeah, but, mate, like I said, you just didn’t have that desire.’ Stan discarded poor Logan and turned his gaze to Troy. ‘Now Troy had the desire, because all he cared about was beating you and Amy. Younger siblings always end up the better players. Look at Venus and Serena. But see, the thing with Troy –’ Stan shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘Troy was a show pony.’
‘Still is,’ said Logan.
Troy whinnied. Brooke giggled. Savannah smiled uncertainly.
‘He was all about the show reel,’ said Stan. ‘He’d go for shots that Federer wouldn’t go for. Show-off shots, and sometimes he’d get those shots, but I’d say to him –’
‘Spectacular doesn’t win the match,’ filled in Troy. He picked up his glass. ‘Could someone pass me the wine?’
‘Exactly.’ Stan twitched as the Father’s Day balloon brushed against his face. ‘Spectacular doesn’t win the match. You have to have substance.’ He pushed the balloon gently away as if it were a small child trying to look over his shoulder.
If Joy and Stan were having this conversation alone she would have told him it was nothing to do with bloody substance. It was focus. Troy could keep his concentration for only so long and then it was gone. That was the kid’s fatal flaw. He’d be a set and a half up and Joy would see him staring dreamily at the sky or checking out some attractive young girl in the stands. He did the show-off shots to keep himself interested.