In the face of my brother’s inertia, I prepare to take a stand myself. I put my hands on the armrests, ready to push myself to my feet, swoop in, and drag the prey from the predator.
But just as I get out of my seat, so does Parker. She moves away from the piano stool and takes the microphone from its stand, shaking.
‘Sorry,’ she starts. ‘Actually, no. I’m not sorry. My mum taught me girls are always apologising when they should be taking up more space. Let me start that again …’
AUDREY
‘Professor Ridges is here today,’ Parker begins, speaking into the mic. ‘He taught my stepmum at university, and she is also here.’
Maggie and I exchange a glance. I shake my head to convey that I had no idea Parker was going to mention me, nor any idea where this is going.
‘She’s the one who inspired me to chase this dream. So, Professor, I guess I owe you, because you taught her.’
There is a sickening round of applause. Parker only has half the story! It’s like watching a train crash …
FRASER
‘My stepmum passed away three years ago,’ she says, as Rach takes my hand discreetly. ‘She died still chasing her dream. In fact, she was killed on her way to help me, and I’ve spent three years trying to think of a way to—’
She looks right at Joshua now. He seems trapped in his seat, and in this tower that he’s built, where he’s climbed so high he’s beyond the reach of his entire family.
‘My uncle knew my stepmum at university. He saved tons of videos from their time composing and recording in the studio together and sent them to me soon after she died, so I’d feel like I still had her with me.’
AUDREY
‘So, sorry for the last-minute programming change, but instead of playing my own composition today, I want to play you one of hers. Date-stamped eighteen years ago. Especially for you, Professor.’
FRASER
Beamed on the screen is footage I’ve never seen of Audrey and Josh, laughing in the studio together, experimenting with chords and melodies, drinking coffee and writing, before Audrey finally settles down to play. My heart pounds at visual evidence of what I’ve always known—that their creative bond was electric. Beside me, Josh has frozen.
AUDREY
I know exactly the piece I’m about to play in the video. This was the moment I first played it for Josh. It’s the moment I improvised it. He is staring at the screen, mouth slack, as if he can’t believe he sent Parker this recording.
We watch as I play the opening lines, creative imagination sparked. I’ve never seen it from the outside in—my breathlessness. The flash of inspiration across my face. But a few lines in, Parker has edited the video. The music soars, but the visuals transition from me playing the piece for Josh to Ridges performing it at one of his acclaimed performances at the Sydney Opera House.
FRASER
There is a confused and increasingly horrified hush in the audience while the final notes reverberate, the acoustics delivering a slam dunk as Parker’s editing lands on a still shot of Ridges’ album cover, the track circled, his name credited.
‘Ihavewritten an original composition this week,’ she says, looking straight at their patron, who looks on the verge of apoplexy. ‘But I am not playing it in front of you.’
AUDREY
The lights come up. There’s an extraordinarily uncomfortable pause while Ridges, ashen, clambers to his feet with intent to remove himself from the auditorium, career in tatters.
‘Professor Ridges, as I’m sure you know from the stacks of research you’ve done on this topic, plagiarism is a criminal offence,’ Parker continues as the people on either side of him block his exit from the aisle. ‘I was going to call the police ahead but didn’t know if they’d listen to a thirteenyearold girl, so if the security guards could just barricade the doors, maybe one of the five hundred adult witnesses in the room could make the call? Audrey?’
I stand up, Joshua sinking further into his seat, and pull out my phone to make undoubtedly the most satisfying call of my life. Every adult rises to their feet after I’ve audibly requested police presence, and Ridges is escorted from the auditorium in disgrace, having to push himself through a unanimous standing ovation for the child who tore him down.
Ourchild. The one we are all so concerned about, whose welfare has kept us awake since the day she lost her dad.Will she survive this loss? Is it going to ruin her life?And here she is, clever, radiant, courageous—standing up for herself in a way that none of us could.
FRASER
‘I think she’ll be all right,’ Maggie says, turning to hug me, wiping tears from her eyes, actively sobbing, in public, in away that she’s never done. ‘Self-harm can be linked to a lack of control. But look how much control she just took back …’
‘Maggie, just this once, forget you’re a psychiatrist? Just be her mother. Isn’t sheincredible?’
