Page 123 of Ride the Wave

The arrow hits its mark that time. Leo flinches, stung.

That’s the power she wields, swiftly reducing him to the lost boy he took drastic measures to suppress and ignore, the kid who couldn’t help but let his mother down. It didn’t matter if he was champion of the world. Once, twice, three times, whatever. Surfing was never going to be enough for her. That title was never going to be enough for her.

Hewas never going to be enough for her.

My heart sinks as I watch him crumple.

‘You have no idea what we’ve been through as a family,’ Michelle hisses, her emotion coming through now. ‘You have no idea whatheput me through, what I’ve had to do to protect him.’

‘Protecthim?’ I repeat, baffled by her delusion.

‘She’s right,’ Leo croaks, his eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Leo—’

‘No, Iris, she’s right,’ he repeats, his forehead creased in agony. ‘I didn’t… I didn’t tell you everything because I didn’t want it in the article.’ He glances up at her, before closing his eyes and lowering his voice. ‘The night at Bells… when I went surfing drunk—’

‘And on drugs,’ Michelle mutters, lifting her eyes to the ceiling.

Leo takes the hit. ‘Yep, and on drugs. The person who saved me from drowning was there at my house because of Mum. She’s the reason I’m here today.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, frowning, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘When Ethan Anderson won the World Championship title again, I knew that Leo would do something stupid,’ she says briskly. ‘I was in London at the time, but I sent someone who worked in my Melbourne office to go check on him. It was God-knows-what-time in the morning over here, but I forced that person to get up, leave his family sleeping peacefully, and check in on my son. When he got there, he saw him heading out to Bells Beach with his surfboard, swaying and clearly not of sound mind.’

The tremor in Leo’s hand causes it to vibrate against my fingers. He clenches his hands in an attempt to stop it.

‘He rescued him,’ Michelle continues, folding her arms. ‘I did everything in my power to keep the unfortunate incident out of the press, which wasn’t easy, let me tell you. A lot of people involved needed… financial encouragement to keep their mouths shut. And his rescuer got a healthy promotion, too, despite being a pompous, brain-dead idiot. I paid dearly for his bump up – but that’s best forgotten.’ She rubs her forehead and then gives a wave of her hand. ‘Anyway, that was when we all decided it was best for Leo to get away from the temptations here and move to Burgau where he could lay low.’ Her eyes sharpen at me. ‘There. You think I don’t know my son? You are very much mistaken. I know exactly who he is. I knew his next actions before he did.’

Leo is silent, his head bowed, his hands still balled into fists.

I process this fresh information.

‘You already told her about the Bells Beach incident for the article then, I take it,’ Michelle surmises, sucking air through her teeth. ‘I hoped that you had better sense than that, Leo – I assumed that you’d skate over the hairy details and make something up about why you quit the country, but I must have underestimated Miss Gray’s capability of extracting even the most gruesome of details from her subjects.’

‘Gruesome,’ I whisper in disbelief, but she doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care.

‘If you must include it then I trust that these extra additions won’t make an appearance,’ she says in a severe tone. ‘I’d rather not be in any way involved.’

I glance up at Leo. He looks smaller somehow. Shrunken, thwarted, beaten.

Michelle heaves a sigh: the martyr who tried to stop this before it started.

‘Let’s move on, shall we?’ she proposes, before gesturing to the ballroom behind her. ‘One photo, Leo, and then you can leave.’

‘No.’

I hear myself say it before I’ve thought it through.

Michelle starts, before her lips curve into a mocking smile. ‘I was talking to myson.’

‘He doesn’t need to be a part of this,’ I say quietly but surely.

Leo has lifted his head now and he’s watching me, puzzled, his eyes desperately searching my expression, trying to work out what’s going on. Michelle remains bemused by my insistence on getting involved, a pebble jutting out in the middle of the path she’s bulldozing through. A minor inconvenience, easily flattened.

‘A part of what, Miss Gray?’ Michelle asks curiously, the challenge gleaming in her eyes, her smile stretching.

‘Your attempts to smooth over your PR crisis.’

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