The Truth about My Success Read Free Page B

ankle.”
    “There’s always something,” says Mrs Figueroa. “Your father not feeling well today?”
    “No,” says Oona. Although he rarely leaves the property, sometimes her father can get through a whole week – maybe even two – before he has one of his “setbacks”. And sometimes he can’t. “He had a bad night.” It’s either a bad night, a bad morning, or a bad afternoon. (Though, to be accurate, this current bad night happened two days ago.) If he cuts back on his medication it can be a bad week. There hasn’t been a good year since Oona was twelve.
    Mrs Figueroa nods. “Life is a hell of a thing.” This, of course, is merely a statement of fact. You don’t live at El Paraíso because you want to. You live here because luck deserted you, and Fate dealt you a lousy hand, and then things got even worse. The people here don’t judge; they sympathize. They all know what it’s like. “You’re a good girl to help him out like you do.”
    As if Oona has a choice.
    “He’s my dad,” she says. She’s all he’s got. And vice versa. Except, of course, for Harriet.
    The burnt out bulb is in the bathroom. While Oona changes it, and then does a few other small things that Mrs Figueroa can’t do because of her hip, her knees and her hands, Mrs Figueroa chatters on and feeds Harriet the dog biscuits she buys just for her.
    When she’s done, Oona refuses the tip Mrs Figueroa tries to put in her hand. She often does Mrs Figueroa’s shopping when she’s not well enough to get out in her walker; she knows how much money she has.
    When Oona and Harriet get back to their apartment, her father is exactly where they left him two hours ago. Which is on the sofa, in front of the TV. The plate and cup from the breakfast she made him is still on the coffee table. He is still in his pyjamas. He might still be watching the same show, for all she knows. The expression on his face is also exactly the same as it was when Oona left. If Abbot Ginness were a piece of property and not a person, he would be a vacant lot. But he turns as soon as he hears the door shut behind her.
    “There you are,” says Abbot. “What took you so long? I was getting worried.” He may not do much, but he can manage worry.
    “I had a couple of odd jobs to do. Mrs Figueroa… And Andy. Remember, somebody shoved him off the bus?”
    “Right. Right. I should’ve realized.” Abbot nods. “It’s just that I was texting and you didn’t answer.”
    “Sorry, Dad. I left my phone here.” She makes it sound as if it was an accident, but in fact Oona always leaves her phone at home unless she’s at work or at school – somewhere that keeps her away most of the day and where Abbot knows he can only call in a real emergency – or he’d be texting constantly to make sure she’s all right.
    “You should try never to forget it.” This is something Abbot says at least once a day. “I know you were only outside, but things can happen, Oona. You know that. People get killed just taking a shower.”
    “You want me to bring my cell into the shower with me?” teases Oona.
    Once upon a time, that would have made him laugh, but he doesn’t laugh now. “Of course not, honey. I’d hear you if you fell.”
    Unlike Mrs Figueroa, Abbot Ginness is not a warrior. He lives firmly on his knees, though he wasn’t always like this. He used to go to work and ride in cars and walk up streets and run down stairs and take showers and laugh and sing and have dreams and never think about what disaster was huddled around the corner, waiting to jump him. Until his wife got sick with a cancer. She was only in her early thirties. The doctors got rid of that cancer, but then she got another. And then another. And another after that. That was when he stopped praying.
    The bills mounted. Abbot was trying to work and look after Lorna and look after Oona, but he couldn’t keep up. Lorna’s death didn’t make anything easier. He had debts he could only pay if he