One True Thing (25 page)

I'm so shattered when I get home that I almost forget about the concert. But when I check my phone around midnight, I see a bunch of texts from Kessie, one from Tyler and seven missed calls from Jake.

I check the time and call Jake first.

‘How's Luke?' he asks without saying hello. That Luke
is his first thought is almost enough to undo me. ‘Kessie told me.'

‘He's okay now. They're keeping him in hospital for a few days, but he'll be fine.'

He sighs heavily. ‘Good. Great.'

‘I'm sorry I didn't call earlier.'

‘Don't worry about it,' he says.

‘I am worried about it.'

A low, deep chuckle. ‘So you should be.'

I slide onto my bed and pull the quilt over my legs. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and then force the words that I've been avoiding for weeks. ‘Colin is my brother,' I say.

‘What?'

‘My half-brother.'

‘Wow.'

‘I've known a while.'

‘Wow.'

‘Yeah. I don't know what to do with all that.'

‘Why do you have to do anything?'

I pause. ‘That's an excellent question,' I say. I take a deep breath and decide to plunge right in. ‘Any chance you'd like to come see my band play?'

‘Is this a date?'

A slow smile creeps across my face. ‘I don't know.'

‘I think it might be,' he says, the grin as clear in his voice as if he were right next to me.

‘So will you?'

‘Yes.'

‘What about your dad?'

‘I'd rather he didn't come.'

I laugh. ‘I mean, is he angry? Is he going to send you back to Canberra?'

‘The jury's still out.'

‘That would suck.'

‘Yes, it would.'

‘But you'll come to the audition?'

‘Yes.'

‘I have to warn you,' I say. ‘We're pretty good.'

He laughs. ‘I've heard.'

‘You might fall in love,' I say.

‘Yes,' he says. ‘I might.'

The TV flickers relentlessly, showing shots of Mum beaming into the camera, another meet-and-greet from yesterday, this time a red-carpet event at an awards ceremony. Despite all the drama, all the criticism and scandal, people flock to see her because she's still a celebrity and they seem to need that. But her popularity among voters has taken a huge hit, according to Harry, who calls by to report the numbers almost nightly, a deflated, heavy sigh announcing each new debacle.

‘Another three points in the south-east,' he's saying, reading off his phone. ‘Two in Northern Hills.'

‘We're half a point up in the southerns,' Christie offers cheerfully, then frowns and shakes her head. ‘No, that was last month.'

Harry looks pained and waits.

Christie sets her jaw. ‘Down two point eight.'

Mum comes in with a tray of snacks and drinks, looking a little ridiculous given she's wearing a vintage evening gown that is probably worth more than a small used car. She's got another fundraiser tonight and she had to try on her dress and do a camera test before Sarah and Harry would give it the okay.

‘At least we've staunched the blood out west,' Harry says without much enthusiasm.

‘And out east –'

‘Enough!' Mum sets down the tray, her voice slicing through the general misery. She eyes us all to make sure we're listening. ‘Right now –'

‘Don't say it, Ro,' Sarah says mockingly, tucking into the platter of sandwiches that she'd ordered from the local supermarket.

Mum smiles, that hint of mischief she so obviously inherited from Gran looking a little faded, a little worn, but beating on despite the depressing news. ‘There's only one poll –'

‘– that matters,' Christie chimes in, finishing Mum's favourite line.

‘That's right,' Mum says. ‘The election.'

‘There's still time,' I say firmly. ‘You're still ahead.'

‘Just,' says Sarah.

‘Yes,
just
. And on that,' Mum says, ‘duty calls. You guys
go ahead. I'll get changed and follow in the car with Harry.' She hesitates, frowns. ‘I should just wear this,' she says, showing us her dress. ‘It's silly that I have to keep changing.'

‘Then the media will only write about the fact that you wore the same dress twice,' Harry says, without looking up.

‘Evan Sandry wore the same suit over and over again,' Mum says crossly.

‘We've been through this,' Harry says.

Mum runs a hand through her hair, trying to make it behave. ‘I know. I know.'

Mum is going to make a statement later. She's still determined to protect Colin, but she's going to refute all the accusations and insist it's a private matter that has no bearing on how she governs the electorate. Dad's also going to make a statement, saying that recent events have been challenging for everyone, but that he's never loved his wife more than he does today. Mum argued that he shouldn't have to say anything, but Dad was determined.

Christie and Sarah stand heavily, grabbing a handful of sandwiches and a plate on their way.

Luke walks in. He came home yesterday and was a bit shaky, but every extra hour seems to bring a bit more of the old Luke back.

Mum examines him closely before declaring him fit for school on Monday.

‘What about swimming?' he asks.

Mum narrows her gaze, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. She tilts her head, about to shut him down, but Dad cuts in. ‘Two weeks. The doctor said we need to let your body recover before you return to training.'

‘Two weeks?!' That familiar Luke Mulvaney-Webb whine is right back where it's meant to be, and it's the best sound I've heard in ages. ‘That's too long!' he wails, the too-cool-for-school ten-year-old a distant memory in the face of his profound disappointment.

‘
And
he's back,' I say, grinning.

He shoots me a near-perfect dagger before Dad grins at him and says, ‘At least you get out of dishes for one more day. Frankie?'

I sigh. ‘In a minute.'

Luke follows Dad into the kitchen, working on his negotiation skills along the way. Harry disappears into the hallway to make some more calls.

Mum and I smile at each other. After we left the hospital the day of Luke's attack, I told her about Colin and me, our day at the beach and the hotel. Pretty soon the whole thing came out, including Jake's photos.

She was surprised but not as angry as I'd expected her to be. ‘I guess you need to respect his commitment,' she'd said.

‘Really? You're not mad?'

She clasped her hands in front of her, making a steeple of her fingers like she was about to pray.

‘Don't go all Zen on me,' I said. ‘One life-changing event at a time, if that's okay with you.'

She laughed. ‘He should have spoken to me first, but that's not how it works most of the time. I don't know …' Her voice trailed off. ‘If I wanted to be a journalist and I saw a politician shrieking at a stranger in the middle of the night, I'd be tempted to yank out the iPhone too.'

‘Yeah, but it's not
right
.'

‘No.' She sighed. ‘It's not right, but that's the way it is for now. Maybe not forever. I hope not forever.'

‘That's depressing,' I said. ‘You know what they say.'

‘
They
seem to say a
lot
.'

She laughed lightly. ‘They really do.'

‘Go on. You won't be able to hold back anyway.'

She closed her eyes, reciting the line from memory. ‘All it takes for evil to happen is for good women to stand back and watch.'

‘I'm pretty sure they said “good men”.'

She shrugged. ‘Meh. What would
they
know?'

The landline rings, jolting me back to the present. It cuts out before anyone answers.

‘Are you nervous?' Mum asks.

‘I don't know. Not right now.' We have our audition tonight for Battle of the Bands. I think we're ready. I hope we're ready. I guess there's only one way to find out.

I start clearing the table. Mum's sitting on that coffee like it's the last one she'll ever have. It's as if she's avoiding something.

‘Is everything all right?' I ask.

‘There have been some grumblings.'

‘Leadership?'

‘Always.'

‘Well, hopefully the presser tonight will clear it up.' I've been paying more attention, I'll admit. Even tuning in to Seamus Hale every now and then. I don't know if I'm imagining it, or if it's just wishful thinking, but he hasn't seemed quite as horrible this week. Or maybe I just refuse to let him hurt me anymore. I guess the words only have power if I give it to them. ‘Anything we need to worry about?'

‘Yes. Your performance on stage.' She smiles broadly.

‘Way ahead of you there,' I say.

She laughs. ‘You'll be great.'

I finish clearing the plates and Mum flicks on the TV at the same time her phone rings. I'm about to head off to change when a familiar voice gets my attention. A familiar Irish voice. Colin is on TV.

Mum is listening into the phone and pushing the volume button on the remote urgently. ‘I'm watching now,' she says, looking up briefly as Harry rushes into the room.

We all stare at the screen.

Colin is reading from a statement. Across from him is Seamus Hale, but he's not spouting his vitriol for once. He's sitting there in silence, waiting for his turn to speak. In the bottom of the screen are the words ‘Yummy Mummy's Adoption Affair'.

‘… This has been a difficult time for all of us, including my mother, and I would like the media to respect our privacy,' Colin says, reading from a sheet of paper.

My mouth falls open. ‘Did he just say “mother”?'

Mum stares at me, still listening into the phone, her face frozen in shock.

Colin can't look at the cameras. He steadily reads the notes in front of him, never once wavering from the script as he carefully explains that Mum is his mother, that he was adopted out at birth when she was sixteen. That although his mother had spent a long time trying to find him, they met for the first time two months ago.

There's a strange, sad smile on Mum's lips. And there's something else too
– pride
. I wish Colin could see this. I wonder if it would make a difference. Though, looking at him now, maybe it already has.

Colin relates as much of his story as he knows and finishes with his plea to respect his privacy – and ours. Seamus Hale closes the statement explaining that it was recorded two days earlier and that Colin Leith has returned to Ireland ‘to pick up the pieces of his life'.

Every phone in the house starts ringing. Mum's again, Dad's, the landline, even mine. Sarah and Christie burst into the room. They mustn't have made it out of the driveway before they heard.

‘Holy …' Harry whistles. ‘This is …' We're left to wonder what exactly ‘this' is while he answers his phone. I wonder briefly if smartphones can melt from overuse, because I imagine Harry's is about to get a serious workout.

Mum looks at me, torn, her hand shielding the mouthpiece. ‘Your audition.'

It's not a question. There is no question. ‘You need to go to work and you need to go now. Don't worry about it.'

Dad comes in, hearing the chaos, and sees Colin's face on the screen. They're starting the commentary now, but showing Colin's statement in the background. Dad looks at Mum and for the longest moment I'm sure she's going to fall apart. Her expression is rigid and fragile all at once. Dad places his hands on her shoulders, looking her dead in the eyes, and says, ‘Everything will be okay.'

Mum blinks, unconvinced.

‘You can do this.' Then he kisses her hard on the lips. ‘
We
can do this.'

Mum nods once, then she looks at me. ‘Why now?'

I shake my head. ‘I think he wants to help. Maybe he's a good man no longer standing back.'

‘He didn't need to. He's been through enough.'

I smile. ‘I guess Gran's right. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.'

Mum's smile softens. ‘You're a lot smarter than you look,' she says, winking. And I watch Premier Rowena Mulvaney turn to her media secretary, her whole body shifting into the role she was born for. ‘Get me Seamus Hale,' she says.

‘Not Seamus,' Harry says. ‘Let's go with Keith or Lesley. They'll give you space to tell your side, let you set the agenda and drive the narrative.'

My mum laughs. ‘No, they won't, nor should they. Besides, it won't be anywhere near as much fun.'

Harry looks almost sick at this. ‘Fun?'

‘Yes, Harry,
fun
. I mean, seriously.' Mum's grinning now, confident and sure. ‘Where's your sense of adventure?'

Harry shakes his head but he's chuckling softly as he dials and waits for someone to answer. Then he speaks into the phone, loud and proud: ‘Putting you through to Premier Mulvaney.'

‘Here's how it's going to work, Seamus,' Mum says into the phone. ‘You get your exclusive – one hour, any question you want and I'll answer as honestly as I can. Nothing off limits – as long as it's in good taste.' She chuckles then, as though he wouldn't dream of anything else. ‘But then that's it.'

She pauses while she listens to Seamus. We're all watching her, waiting to see whether it works.

‘That's the offer, Seamus, and then case closed. Story over.' She listens, then winks at me. ‘That's fine. Lesley's ready to go if you're not.'

Silence. Then Mum's slow victory smile.

‘We have seven days before the election,' Mum says. ‘After the interview, you only discuss policy.'

Dad and Harry whoop, admiration clear in their faces. Sarah is shaking her head, delighted and impressed, while Christie has her fist in the air, clenched in anticipation.

Mum cocks her head, listening. ‘That's fine. The Opposition's policy too. No problem. But no more personal stuff. No more
burn the witch
. You cover our announcements and take a position on policy – take whatever stand you want – but you will not mention my family or my marriage again. Do you hear me?'

She nods, then shoots me a quizzical look.

‘I will,' she says. ‘Do we have a deal?'

Everyone seems to hold their breath.

She smiles into the phone. ‘I'll be at the studio for make-up in one hour.' She hangs up, a triumphant grin on her face. ‘Got it.'

Christie punches the air.

‘
And
… she's back,' Sarah says, grinning at me. She gives Mum a quick, warm hug.

‘We're in business,' Dad says while Luke smiles shyly at Mum, probably worried she'll find out about our trip to Seamus's office.

Harry is on the phone again, calling the rest of the team, trying to put whatever spin on this he can. He looks a little shell-shocked but also revitalised.

‘So,' Mum says to all of us, ‘I have no idea what will happen next – whether we win or lose – but at least there's a chance now.'

‘Nice work,' I say.

‘Seamus said an odd thing, though. He sent his regards to you, Frankie – and Luke.'

I laugh, feel the heat touch my cheeks. Luke studies his feet. ‘He's probably just being polite,' I say.

‘Somehow, Francesca, I don't think so.' But instead of pushing the question, she touches her lips to my forehead and holds them there for an extra beat. ‘Whatever it means, he seemed impressed. As he should be.'

‘Yeah, well,' I say, grinning. ‘Personally, I blame the tree.'