Maya sits up straighter on the lounger, rubs her eyes. A line of sunscreen is caught in the crease of her stomach, a flash of white amid the brown. “I was embarrassed. The whole thing—it was humiliating. Jo meant well, but you know what she’s like. I’d assumed she’d cleared it with Seth but turns out she hadn’t even mentioned it.” She circles one of the rings on her finger. “Seth pulled it, all apologies, of course, gave me all the I’ll keep an eye out, pass your CV to a mate, but that was it. Game over.”
“You hadn’t signed a contract?”
“It was supposed to be finalized that week. All I had was Jo’s word.” Maya shakes her head. “I was gutted, relying on it to make the rent, and because I thought it was definite, I wasted weeks I could have spent looking for another job.”
“Did Seth say why he wasn’t keen on you working there?”
“Apparently he didn’t want people assuming it was nepotism, that they needed to go through the proper recruitment process, blah blah, which is all true, but I’d have been willing to do that. I was well qualified for the job. But he was worried about what people would think if he gave a job to someone he had a connection with.”
“And the trolling?”
Maya flinches. “I spread the rumors online, but the other stuff she was going on about, the emails . . . that wasn’t me.” She hesitates. “Look, it was wrong, putting it on social media, I know, but I had the rage, Han, at how bloody unfair it all was. The same week I’d been to see Sofia with Mum and Dad. Mum was so upset . . . I saw red. It was just the way he did it, like it was nothing. A click of the fingers, no clue what it might mean for me, for my life.” She shakes her head. “I’d been looking up all this stuff about him, the charity work he’s involved in. The poster boy for all these good things, but in the real world, something that isn’t some PR stunt, none of it matches up.”
“But there must be some legal thing still with a verbal contract.”
Maya’s face is pained. “I tried that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to Bea, Han. Given her training I thought she might be able to help.”
“And she didn’t?” Hana falters. How could she not know any of this?
“No. Didn’t want to get involved. Plus she was busy, and apparently”—she makes quote marks in the air with her fingers—“？‘not her area of expertise,’ that was the phrase she used. Gave me the name of some ridiculously expensive lawyer.” Maya shrugs. “Getting the job back, it didn’t matter that much, it was more the point I wanted to make. All I wanted was for her to help draft some vaguely legal type of letter, make him think twice, but clearly . . . she couldn’t. Too busy, or maybe she just didn’t want to.”
Hana’s struck again with the same destabilizing feeling as it sinks in how little she knew her family. What else had she missed while grieving?
“Sorry, I feel pretty shit, talking about Bea like that.” Taking off her panama, Maya shakes out her curls. “You know what they say, never speak ill of the dead.” A silence opens up between them before Maya speaks again. “Saying that, it’s a rubbish statement, isn’t it? Just because someone’s dead doesn’t mean they’re suddenly perfect.”
Opening her mouth to speak, Hana takes in Maya’s expression and closes it again. For a moment, she doesn’t look like her cousin at all. There’s something blank, unreadable about her.
“I’m going inside to get some water,” Hana says finally.
Maya nods, leaning back against the daybed.
As Hana walks up the path, an insect flits past her—two hoverflies attached to each other, jerkily careering toward the pool.
At first glance, it seems like they’re in the throes of love, but when she looks again, she can see that the one on top is battling the other one. Pinning it into submission.
50
Elin hoists her backpack higher up her shoulder.
Fifteen minutes off the main track and it feels like they’re going nowhere, the hodgepodge of trees and shrubs eerily similar from one yard to the next, only slivers of sky visible through the thick tree canopy.
The meandering path is narrowing, undergrowth encroaching, wild snarls of brambles edging onto the track. The woodland is growing denser—each tree jostling for space; tall sleeping giants of pine and oak, twitching with insects and animals.
“Everything seems darker down here, doesn’t it?” Steed falls into step beside her. Already sweating, he pulls at his shirt, flapping it outward to try to fan himself.