Selling the Drama (2 page)

"It's just sensationalism, Toby. Because of
who your family is. Rubbish. It's all rubbish." Rachael, Ian's
wife, banged the frying pan into the sink, her anger at the media
being taken out on the kitchenware. "Just throw the stupid paper
away, Ian!" Her back was stiff as she ran the hot water over the
pan, her arms jerking with fury.

Toby sighed, long and hard. "So, what is it
about this time?"

Ian opened the paper, spreading it out in
front of Toby. A double page, with colour photos. Because of who
his family were. Because of what they represented. How the mighty
can fall. Toby stared at the headline, glanced at the pictures. He
didn't need to read it. This was his life and he was intimately
familiar with its history, in the way that all heirs to a dynasty
know who and what they are. Looking up at Ian, he met the
sympathetic gaze being levelled at him with a shrug.

"There's a theory about this sort of thing,"
Toby said, sitting back with an ease he did not feel, pushing the
paper away with his fingertips. "Glorying in the fall of others.
Especially in the fall of people who are perceived as having more.
More money, more brains, more beauty. You cut them down to size.
Teach them a lesson for getting ahead of themselves." He shook his
head and looked away. He saw Rachael, out of the corner of his eye,
shaking her head also. "All of this," he gestured to the paper, "is
public information. Anyone can look up the history of my family in
the library. This is not news. I don't care what it says."

Ian tapped the paper, dropping his gaze back
down to the table. "Sure enough. It goes through the history of
your grandfather's business dealings, the fortune he made, his
brilliance-"

"The shady deals? Illegal property
acquisitions? My grandmother? Does it mention her? It must do. It
would be no story without all those gory details." That the media
would seek to drag his maternal family through the mud at this time
should come as no surprise. His grandfather's business had long
been open to speculation, the regurgitation of such a topic a mere
indication of how thin on the ground for news they must really be.
What angered him most about a story such as this was the
insensitivity of rehashing his grandmother's suicide in the name of
selling papers. He had read enough about it over the course of his
life in the archived articles in his grandfather's library. He did
not need to read about it once more. It was a story that had no
place in this current tragedy, yet here it was, linked and
overshadowing, shifting the focus from his father's crime,
transferring the guilt to his family, and subsequently diminishing
what had been done to his mother. It was so wrong. So incredibly
wrong.

Full of anger, Toby turned his rage outward.
"Tell me one thing. Does the article mention how my father attached
himself to my mother like a leech, sucking her dry over the years
until she was nothing but a shell of what she could have been? Does
the article mention anything at all about my mother in any way
other than to refer to her as someone's daughter or wife? Does the
article give her any credit at all for having been alive?! She was
my mother! Does that article condemn my father for taking her away
from me?" Toby stood abruptly, the chair skidding back behind him,
the noise loud and abrupt, giving Rachael cause to jump. Breathing
heavily, he covered his face with his hands, trying desperately to
ground away the tears that were threatening to drown him. It was
mortifying to feel so overcome. He was too old to cry.

Rachael whirled at the sink and faced them
both. "I told you to throw it away!" She pointed at Ian,
accusingly, her voice shrill as she continued to rail at him. "He's
been through enough! He doesn't need to read a bloody hyped up saga
about his own family." She shook her head, anger still evident as
she trembled before them.

"I'm sorry." Ian was contrite, closing the
paper as he made to stand.

Toby swallowed deeply, removing his hands,
feeling a measure of emotional control once more. Picking the chair
up from where he'd knocked it over, he slid it into place, resting
his hands onto the back of it. The loss and confusion swirling
within him had never been so overwhelming as it was in this moment.
Even forming words had become a struggle. Keeping his eyes
downcast, he spoke with a heavy tone, breaking over the words as he
attempted to convey his fear. "I don't know what's going to happen
to me. My only aunt lives in England and I have no interest in
moving over there - not that she would probably offer. She and my
father hated each other. I've hardly ever heard from her." He
paused, overcome once again by the hopelessness of his situation.
While he had the financial means to support himself, at sixteen, he
was still too young to be declared as an adult. "I don't want to
end up in a group home in the city."

"It won't come to that. I'm sure something
will come up. There are foster families-"

"Who want teenagers? From a violent home?"
Toby interjected.

Ian sagged a little at those words and
Rachael turned back to face the sink.

"I tried to get her to leave." Toby's words
pierced the tension within the kitchen. "The money was all hers,
the house was hers, all of it. But she just wouldn't do it."

Rachael pressed the tea towel to her
face.

"She loved him," he stated. The emptiness of
that filled him. The waste. It was more than he could bear.

Ian tossed the paper directly into the bin.
Before he could make any reply, Toby spoke once more.

"Everyone loved him." He stared out of the
window past Ian's shoulder. There was rain streaming down the
outside of the glass, a fog forming on the inside from the warmth
of the kitchen. Toby caught Ian's gaze and held it. "He never
fooled me."

"I don't think many people could."

When a neatly dressed woman showed up at the
police station claiming to be his godmother, she was greeted with
so much enthusiasm it was a wonder she didn't turn on her heel and
flee at the first opportunity. Toby had never seen her in his life,
but given that their last meeting had apparently been when he was
six weeks old, his lack of memory of the encounter was probably
understandable. She had photographs, of herself with his mother, an
unfolding of years that depicted a longstanding friendship, one
that appeared to have started quite early on in their lives,
lasting up until this much celebrated christening of his. She even
had a couple of photos of herself holding Toby at his christening,
her young face pretty and beaming as she held him close, her own
belly swollen with pregnancy. The deal breaker? She had a
certificate, signed by a priest declaring her as his godmother.

Just as Ian prophesied, something had indeed
come up. Toby was too relieved to do anything more than accept her
at face value.

"You want to sell all of the
properties?"

Toby nodded.

The solicitor bore an expression that looked
comical, his disbelief was so evident. "Two of the houses are
historical buildings. They've been in your family for
generations."

Toby turned his face up to study the
ceiling, scanning the ornate cornices. His eyes came to rest on a
spider's web in the corner. He watched as the spider deftly stalked
the prey it had ensnared within its web, binding the fly for later,
its mission accomplished. The fly should have been more strategic.
The trap was such an obvious one. Perhaps that was the point. The
spider was the higher species here. The spider could not ever be
outwitted, so why try? Returning his gaze back to the solicitor, he
nodded once more.

"You can't legally make this decision now
anyway. We'll seal the houses up and revisit your plans when you're
in full control of your estate." The solicitor looked back down at
the papers in front of him, shuffling and frowning all the while.
He was old, had been a personal friend of his grandfather, as well
as their family solicitor for all time. He was familiar to Toby in
a way few people were. Perhaps this situation was affecting him on
a personal level in some way. Seeing the family of his old friend
reduced to such depravation.

"When will I be legally old enough?" He kept
his voice low and respectful. This solicitor was now an important
person in his life. It would pay to not piss him off, or give him
any reason to question Toby's maturity and intelligence.

The solicitor met Toby's eyes once more, his
kindness evident. "You will have full control when you turn twenty
one. Of course, all of your living expenses will be met up until
then, educational fees, whatever you need. An allowance will be
paid to your guardian, but she will have no access to any part of
the estate. I've set up an account for your immediate use and
arranged for a monthly transfer to take place. You'll have more
than enough for anything you might need. If you do find yourself
needing more, just give me a call. I'll take care of the life
insurance claim for your mother. You don't have to concern yourself
with that."

"I wasn't." Toby swallowed deeply. "But,
thank you. I appreciate your assistance." He stared at the
solicitor, weighing his next question carefully, wondering if he
really even wanted to know. Frowning, he asked, "Did you know? Did
you ever suspect?" He couldn't bring himself to elaborate any
further than that.

The solicitor took off his glasses and sat
back. He stared at Toby for a long moment. "I never liked your
father. He was too polished." Pausing, he rested his fingers
beneath his chin, a thoughtful expression upon his face. "Tell me,
Toby, what do you think of this woman, this 'godmother' of yours?
How do you feel about being placed into her care?"

Toby stared right back at him. "I think it's
ideal. A new town in a whole different state. I can't think of a
better outcome."

Now no one would ever have to know anything
about him at all.

Her name was Iris Blackwell. She knew enough
about the whole sorry situation to not ask him for details. He
appreciated her consideration and her inclination towards silence.
It was refreshing to be around a person who didn't have the urge to
talk all the time.

She drove them to Melbourne in a hire car,
where they then caught a plane to Brisbane. From there, they caught
another plane to Cairns, but this one stopped at three other towns
along the way, the flight becoming one long drawn out expedition
that Toby feared might never end. When they finally did arrive, it
was to emerge out into a world that was blindingly bright, the air
warm and so heavy with moisture, Toby instantly felt uncomfortable
in his heavy southern clothes.

Iris seemed to be assessing him as he looked
around in wonder. "The weather sure is something else up here.
Takes a bit of getting used to. The moisture in the air; it's like
breathing through a wet washer some days. Took me awhile to get
over it when I first moved up here as well. If you haven't got
enough summer gear, I'll take you shopping tomorrow." She put her
hand down onto his shoulder then, lightly, as though she were being
careful not to scare him off with too much familiarity. "You're
going to be okay here. I promise you, everything is going to be
alright."

Her eyes were a bright blue and they
crinkled in the corners as she smiled at him. She looked like the
very image of a mother, as ridiculous as that seemed, yet there was
a relaxed and homey beauty to her that had been distinctly absent
within his own mother. If he could have sunk into her, rested his
head against her chest, and felt her heart beat against his cheek,
he would have. Right here, right now. But that would have been
weird, and not only because he didn't know her; he was simply just
too old for that shit.

At last he found his voice. "I don't want
people to know about me. About what happened." It was the most he
had said to her since their first meeting back at the police
station.

She nodded, her gaze now filled with
sympathy, her face reflecting a deep understanding for what he was
asking. "My husband and daughter already know, but we can keep it
within the family. We'll tell everyone else they died in an
accident. Nothing more needs to be said than that. It's nobody
else's business." Iris dropped her hand from his shoulder and
pointed towards the terminal. "Look, over there. See that man, the
tall one with the cowboy hat? The one with his arm around the girl
with brown hair? That's my family. Royce and Charlotte."

His gaze followed the direction of her hand,
easily spotting the couple she was pointing out.

"Charlotte is a few months younger than you.
You'll be able to go to school together." Iris increased her pace
while she spoke, as though she couldn't wait to reach her family
now that they were within sight.

Hoisting his backpack higher up onto his
shoulder, Toby fell into step beside her, sweating profusely within
thirty seconds of moving. The heat was drenching. No wonder
everybody had nothing but thongs and board shorts with a singlet
on. You'd die from the humidity otherwise. When they reached the
terminal, Iris dropped her bag and embraced her husband in a manner
that was slightly embarrassing to behold. He slid his gaze away,
shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing around the airport
which was significantly smaller than the one in Melbourne, and even
Brisbane.

"Far out, you must be boiling! Was it cold
in Melbourne or are you just one of those skater homey freaks who
like to overdress for attention?" The voice was filled with
sarcastic humour and had a musical lilt to it that drew his
attention like nothing ever before. A cascade of images flashed
through his mind: a butterfly trapped under a glass; honey dripping
off a spoon; the sun kissing his skin on a lazy hot afternoon.