OPERATION APATHY

"Wait, Jal!"

Jal kept on walking, ignoring Abigail running after her.

"Please, stop. I just want...I want to-"

"You cow! I don't give a flying fuck what you want."

"No, please, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you didn't mean anything, but you still told your fricking friends about Chris anyway. I had to give up my afternoon with 'my brat' as you like to put it, to go through fucking polymeters with you. It's not exactly a difficult concept in terms of theory."

"I'm sorry!"

"I should fucking hope so."

Abigail stood in front of her meekly, Jal's furious eyes burning into her pale skin. Abigail didn't normally feel intimidated, but now she understood it was not fun to be on the receiving end of Jal's anger.

"I am honestly really sorry."

"You tell no-one about Chris, okay? I don't want you using my life as your own personal gossip column," Jal shrieked in frustration as she caught sight of a couple of photographers waiting for her dad outside the hall, "don't you understand what will happen if the press hear of this? I will not put up with being treated like some forlorn, love-lost leper. Unlike you, as you're so fucking pleased about, I have someone to look after now, and I am keeping him away from as much grief as I can."

Abigail froze, shell-shocked. She obviously hadn't expected quite this reaction.

"If I catch you one more time telling one of your stupid little fuckwit mates about this afternoon, I will skin you alive. And that is a promise."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Good."

Jal turned on her heel sharply away from Abigail towards the back door. She had to find Jonah and Maxxie and Dan now. She just wanted to go home and finally relax. She couldn't believe she'd been so foolish to tell Abigail about Chris – why did she even think she stupid idiot could keep her trap shut? And then she found her talking to all the other students backstage straight after the concert telling them that Jal actually wasn't a complete slut. Her 'brat's dad' had died. And then Abigail had launched into a discussion of Jal's performance, trying to speculate if she had been playing for 'her forever lost love'.

Jal was sick of all the rumours. She knew this was just going to bring a fresh round of cutting remarks or spiteful looks during lessons, the odd person having the audacity to come and insult her to her face.

But now Jal could only focus on getting out of the concert hall. She pushed her way through the doors, and found her dad waiting with Maxxie, Dan and Jonah.

Shit.

The cameramen were beginning to look hopeful too; it was obvious they wanted to get a picture of the whole family. This could be the latest instalment in the Fazer scandal - was one of these boys the dad?

Purposefully, Jal turned her back to the cameras, pulling on her hooded jacket which Maxxie had brought for her from his and James' flat: she had spent a few days there before finding the keys to hers. Now it was impossible for the press to get a clear picture of them all, and even if they tried, it would never be obvious it was Jal under the hood.

"So, Jalander..."

His slimy voice slid through the cold night air, the use of her full name making Jal want to screw up her face.

"Yes, Dad?"

Jal braced herself, adamant that she wouldn't let Ronnie get to her. She'd spent enough time trying to impress him, and Jal figured by now if he was interested he would have made an effort too. There was no point crying over spilt milk anymore.

"I wanted to say..."

Ronnie's voice trailed off, and he shook his head as if emptying all his thoughts out of his head.

"What?"

"You played well."

"Thanks."

"Well?" Jal thought, "I was fucking brilliant, thanks very much."

Still, at least he had bothered turning up.

"So how come you're here anyway?"

"Making sure that you're okay. And the..." Ronnie hesitated for a few seconds, as if he was regretting having to speak, "baby."

Jal scoffed, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

"As if, Dad. Come on, spill it. I've had enough of your shit."

Ronnie pulled her fiercely by the wrist away from Dan, Maxxie and Jonah. He seemed to have forgotten there were several cameras behind him.

Jal yelled out in protest as he wrenched her arm violently, jerking her whole body painfully across the pavement. She could tell there were some students still hanging around near the concert hall. Jal wondered if they were only still here to watch her; they had been interested enough earlier when she found Abigail telling them about Chris.

Ronnie pulled her up to him, scowling straight into her face as he spat his words out.

"You do not talk to me like that in front of other people," Ronnie threw her hand back down, a sore red patch left where the blood had risen to the surface of Jal's skin, "Or the press. You may have fucked it up but I still have a career and a reputation to uphold."

"I haven't fucked it up."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm coping Dad. I've got my life sorted. Maybe not in the long term, but for now I haven't got any problems."

"You haven't got any problems? Haven't you seen the papers lately? You've brought trouble and shame to the company. I'm working double the amount, paying double the amount for good press because of you. You're not living in the same fucking world as the rest of us."

"That's all you care about isn't it? Your fucking brand. Ace and Lynton, you act like you care about them, but you don't at all do you? You don't care about them any more than you care about me."

"You bitch."

"Really mature, Dad."

"You think you're so mature then, do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do actually. I've got my own flat; I'm looking after Jonah; I'm handling university. All on my own. I think I'm doing pretty well to be honest."

Ronnie started laughing. Jal couldn't work out why. What was so funny? Was there something going on behind her she couldn't see? Jal furrowed her brow in frustration, glaring at her dad whilst he continued to confuse her.

"You've got no idea have you?"

Jal frowned even more, detesting being patronised and being made to feel like some idiot.

"I know there's been money going into your account every week, Jal. I know you didn't find your flat yourself, or pay for it. Who do you think is doing all of this?"

Jal narrowed her eyes, aware that whatever she said, he would probably make her out to be an idiot.

"Could be Graham, Chris's dad. Maybe he cares about Jonah. Maybe he knows what it's like to go through what I have. He gets it."

"You seriously think that scumbag gives a shit what happens to you? He called round the house the day you left Bristol. Wanted to apologise for skipping out on you at Christmas. Left some cash. Fifty quid. That wouldn't even last you a week with a kid. He obviously thinks that's all you're worth. And his fucking grandson."

"That's your grandson you're talking about."

Ronnie stopped and glanced back at Jonah sleeping in his pram, its hood pulled over his tiny, wrapped up body. It looked as if he had ten baby-grows on. But even though it seemed like her dad was actually thinking about Jonah calmly for once, Jal couldn't let it rest.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she spoke softly, tired of having arguments with Ronnie and sick of the anger and frustration that she had always walked away with before, "So I made a mistake. I thought that someone cared about me when they didn't. But I've been making that mistake for years, Dad. And I'm too tired to work out your stupid little mind games. I don't know where all this money is coming from and frankly at the moment I don't care. I need it. It doesn't matter where it comes from."

"So it wouldn't make a difference if someone you hated was funding your life?"

"It's not exactly blood money."

"So it wouldn't make an inch of difference if I was your bank account? If your proud independent, ignorant little existence was actually all mine?"

"You're paying for..."

"Yes, I'm fucking paying. I thought you had brains. I paid enough for them already."

She had known what was going on really, she'd questioned Graham for a long time anyway, but Jal didn't want to have to face up to the truth. She wanted to drag out her ignorant bliss for as long as she could, but she knew that Ronnie was intent on pulling time away from her.

"So why are you still paying now then, if you hate funding me so much?"

"Do you think I have a choice? I'm not having my kid running around looking like some disadvantaged loser. You represent me."

"Nothing to do with love then? Or even guilt? Just your fucking brand again."

"You'd understand it if you knew what it was like when I grew up."

Jal laughed bitterly, zipping her jacket up angrily as the wind blew fiercely in their faces.

"I do, Dad. I remember? You told me when I already had far too much to handle. I know all about your little tragedy, about your stupid sister. I'm not interested. I know you don't like it, not being adored, not being the centre of attention anymore: that's why you hated Chris."

"No, I hated Chris because he fucked your life up."

"You fucked my life up Dad. And now I've got a new centre of attention again and it isn't ever going to change, however much you try and feed yourself back in with the money. And thank you, for the cash, because I need it, but I can't focus on you anymore. I'm not Ace or Lynton. I'm not capable of keeping my mind on the rap or the cash and the fame."

She walked away from Ronnie slowly, expecting him to shout at her, demanding her attention to return to him. But he wasn't arguing with her, he wasn't throwing insults in her face, trying to make her fall down or crumble or whatever it was he wanted out of her. And then Jal realised. He wasn't going to shout anything at her when she was over a metre away. There were cameras, journalists, and Ronnie had to protect his brand. Fuck him. She could choose what she wanted to remember and ignore in life herself. She got back to the boys, taking over Jonah's pram and leading the way back to the flat.

"Pizza, Max?"

Jal smiled at her friend, glad that they had waited for her instead of leaving; Dan did have a key, after all.

It was time to go home, finally.