Only Daughter Read online

  As I walk out of the room, I can hear the mumble of the brothers’ voices. I stand there for a moment, hoping to catch something, but the talking stops abruptly. They must have heard my footsteps. For a moment I consider knocking, but I don’t know what I would say to them.

  Downstairs, the dad sits in the lounge room, watching television. Although I’m not sure if he’s watching it so much as just staring at it. His eyes look glossed over. It’s creepy. He doesn’t look up when I come in, so I keep walking into the kitchen. The mom stands at the sink washing dishes.

  “Morning,” I say, making her jump.

  “Sorry, Bec. I was in my own world. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “Sure, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” she says, pulling the plug out and taking off her rubber gloves. The water shrieks as the sink empties.

  “Thanks! Do you need a hand?” I say, remembering to play the dutiful daughter.

  “Oh, no, you just sit and relax. When is Vince coming by?”

  “I’m not sure. He just said morning.”

  I watch as she whisks eggs with milk and then pours them into a frying pan. My mouth begins to water at the smell of them. Now that I’ve known real hunger, I don’t know if I’ll ever see food in quite the same way again.

  “I got you a phone,” she says, nodding to the brand-new iPhone on the counter.

  “Wow!” I say. “Thank you so much!”

  As I turn it on I get that glowing feeling in my chest that I get from things that are shiny and new. I try to swallow it away—the pursuit of that feeling has gotten me into a lot of trouble.

  “It has your old number on it,” she says.

  “That’s great. How did you wrangle that?”

  “It was easier to just keep paying the plan.”

  I put the phone down on the table. Rebecca was most likely dead, but the parents had paid her phone plan every month for over ten years. It feels weird now to be excited by this new toy. It was kind of sad.

  “Here you go, sweetheart,” the mom says, putting the steaming eggs in front of me. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your coffee.”

  I smile up at her. This is what a mother’s love must feel like. I wonder if my mom had been like this for me, waiting on me like I was something precious. I doubt it. I think I would remember her better if she had been like that. When I think of her, the framed photograph my father keeps on our mantel is the only thing that comes to mind. If it wasn’t for that I might not even know her face. I begin shoveling the eggs into my mouth. They are perfectly creamy, with just a hint of saltiness.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, swallowing.

  I don’t notice the mug slip out of the mom’s hand, only the sound of it smashing as it hits the ground.

  “Fuck, are you okay?” I say, instantly regretting the swearword, though the mother doesn’t seem to notice. She’s on her hands and knees on the tiles, frantically wiping up steaming black coffee. Shards of the mug are around her. I get up to help her.

  “I’m sorry!” she says in a whisper, looking up at me.

  “It’s okay. I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, no, don’t do that. It’s my own fault. I’m so stupid.”

  I grab a plastic bag and kneel down next to her to pick up the pieces of porcelain.

  “I’m so sorry, Bec,” she says, still talking in a hushed voice.

  “It’s fine. What’s the big deal?”

  “You won’t tell them, will you?” she says.

  She stares up at me like a scared child. The rag she is using has red spots on it as well as the dark brown of the coffee.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” I say, grabbing her hand. The skin between her thumb and forefinger is cut open.

  “It’s fine. It’s my punishment for being clumsy.”

  “I’ll do this. You wash your hand and put a Band-Aid or something on it.”

  “Oh, Becky. You were always such a lovely girl. I wish I had paid more attention to you before. I’m so sorry.”

  For the first time, I feel deep pity for her. She blames herself for what happened to Bec.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Just fix up your hand.” The blood streaming from her cut is starting to make me feel a bit sick. She gets up and washes her hand. I finish wiping up the coffee and put the bits of porcelain in the bin.

  “See, good as new!” I try to sound reassuring, although I’m not used to playing the nurturer.

  “I should have shown you how precious you were,” she says. Her eyes are distant. I think about Dad, how he would never say something like that to me. He didn’t think of me as precious. I just got in the way.

  “It’s okay,” I say, trying to comfort her. “I’m back now and I’ll be a good daughter.”

  “I don’t need you to be anything other than yourself,” she says.

  She squeezes my hands tightly. She means it. I don’t need to play a role to make her love me; she already does.

  “I need you here. You won’t leave me again, will you?” she says quietly, staring down into the sink. She looks so tired and defeated.

  “No,” I say.

  She looks up at me and seems to really see me, her eyes full of hope and love and fear. It’s overwhelming.

  “Do you promise?” she says.

  “I do,” I say, and I mean it. I’m not sure when exactly I made the decision, but I know for sure I’m not going back. I’ve worked so hard for this new life. I’ve paid for it with my own flesh. Without a doubt, this time I’m playing for keeps.

  As I walk toward Andopolis’s blue Holden Commodore, I notice him tuck something under the collar of his shirt. He smiles at me as I open the door and buckle myself in next to him.

  “Morning!” I say, my voice all brightness and warmth.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling today?”

  “Really good. It was so great to be back in my own bed.”

  “I’m glad.”

  His car stinks of hot food. He must have eaten breakfast as he drove here.

  “So where are we going?” I ask.

  “I thought we’d take the long way to the station.” He starts the ignition and puts the car in Reverse. “See if anything stands out to you.”

  He turns to look out the back window and his shirt tightens across his chest. I can see the outline of a crucifix on a chain around his neck. I look out the window to hide my smile. A Catholic. That explains the guilt complex. This was going to be too easy.

  “I know it’s painful but I want you to try to remember the night you were taken.” He winds down his window and mine with the controls on his door. “See if any sounds or smells stand out.”

  We drive in silence for a while. Canberra flashes by. It looks so different to Perth. We weave around the suburbs; there are pockets of bush everywhere, contrasting with the stark architecture.

  The houses are manicured and new, with freshly painted fences and cleanly cut grass. There are no old terrace houses or cottages like I’m used to; everything looks like it was built in the last fifty years. As we get closer to the city, the roads become wide and grand. There are endless fountains and large important buildings all around. Everything is perfectly clean and symmetrical. There is none of the big-city griminess; instead it all feels sanitized.

  We pull up around into the back parking lot of the police station.

  “Will it just be us today?” I ask. Having a spurned Malik sniffing around is the last thing I need. A slip here would be disastrous.

  “Our counselor really wants to speak with you.”

  I don’t think so.

  “I only want to talk to you,” I say.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take today slowly. I think she could really help you, when you’re ready.”

  Maybe this guy really is an idiot.

  With his hand on my back again, he leads me into the same room we were in yesterday. The couches and the kids toys are still there but today there’s a television with an old VCR set up, as well. He doesn’t
mention them as he sits down across from me on the couch.

  “How did it go last night?” he asks.

  “It’s like a dream.” I let my voice go all syrupy with sentiment.

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  The way he looks at me is a little strange. When his smile drops, what’s left is so intense. I know he feels guilty, but this seems like more than that. His eyes are haunted. I wonder for a moment if he has pictures of Rebecca stuck up in his house. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  “What’s that for?” I ask, motioning to the television. Really, I just want him to stop staring at me. It’s giving me the creeps.

  “It’s a way to jog your memory,” he says, then puts a hand up defensively. “Not of your abduction, not yet, but of the time before.”

  Before? Why would he need to know what happened before Rebecca went missing? I don’t understand how it’s relevant, but if it’s going to waste some time I’m all for it.

  Andopolis picks up the remote from the couch’s arm. He holds it in his hands for a second.

  “I know this might be somewhat upsetting for you, but I think it’s important. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Hopefully it’s some home movies. Maybe I can learn some more about her. Me.

  He presses Play. Black lines flicker across the screen before a grey room snaps into focus. A teenage girl sits at a table in front of the camera, her face in her hands.

  “Elizabeth Grant, session five, thirtieth of January 2003, 9:47 p.m.,” a voice says from behind the camera. A man sits down across from the girl. I can see only the back of his head, but I realize with a start that this is Andopolis.

  “I’ve told you everything already.” The girl’s voice is choked. “I don’t know why we have to keep talking about it.”

  It’s an interview room, not unlike the one I was held in back in Sydney.

  “We need all the details, everything, even if it doesn’t seem relevant.”

  The girl looks up. Her face is a mess. Black smudges of makeup are under her eyes, her face is blotchy and red, and her nose is running. Through it all, I recognize her. It’s Rebecca’s best friend, Lizzie.

  “Okay,” she says.

  I feel bad for her. She is way too young to look that exhausted, that beaten down.

  “You’ve told me about the last few weeks, but I’m wondering if there is anything else you’ve remembered that stood out. Anything she said that didn’t seem right, about school or her home life.”

  “No,” she says, “nothing.”

  She’s hiding something, I can see that, but I wonder if Andopolis can. He takes her in for a moment, letting her squirm in the silence.

  “Your friend is missing,” he says eventually, his voice different now, cold. “Who knows what violence is being inflicted on her right now while we play these games.”

  “I’m not playing games!” Liz wails.

  I turn to look at Andopolis. That was really harsh. It didn’t seem at all like him to be so cruel. He keeps watching the screen, unfazed.

  “Then think harder,” he continues on the screen, “think of any time where Rebecca seemed different. Where something seemed out of the ordinary.”

  Lizzie takes a few deep breaths. I lean forward, watching her.

  “There is something. I don’t think it’ll help, but if you want to know…” She looks up at him, clearly terrified, then continues when he doesn’t reply. “It was ages ago. Last summer. I was away visiting my aunt. When I came back, Bec seemed different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” Lizzie’s words start tumbling on top of each other. “She just… It was pretty subtle. It was probably nothing. I don’t think anyone else even noticed. No one said anything, anyway. But we’re best friends. We’re like sisters.”

  Lizzie swallows, her chin wobbling.

  “No more waterworks, please,” Andopolis says.

  What an asshole. I inch away from him on the sofa. On the screen, Lizzie puts her shaking hands on the table, trying to calm herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, swallowing again.

  “What kind of things changed about her? I need specifics,” Andopolis says.

  “It’s hard to explain. She was jumpy. She got spooked really easily. She would freak out over really small things. And, like, the way she held herself changed. She’d always stood straight, trying to look as tall as she possibly could. When I got home she looked different. Clothes hung on her in a weird way and it took me ages to figure out why. Then I noticed that she kind of hunched. Like she was shielding herself or something like that.”

  “Growing pains?” Andopolis asks.

  “You asked!” Lizzie says, her bite surprising me. Maybe Liz was more than just a scared little girl. “It was more than that, too. She didn’t confide in me as much as she used to. And also, Jack told me she came to my house while I was away. Why would she come over when she knew I wasn’t there? It was weird.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “No.”

  Leaning in closer, I watch Liz. Trying to see if there is something else there, something more she is not telling Andopolis. But the closer I get, the more her face dissolves into tiny coloured blocks.

  Andopolis turns off the screen.

  “So, what happened?” he says, staring at me square. “What happened the summer before you went missing, the summer of 2002?”

  This, I hadn’t prepared for.

  “I don’t know. Nothing,” I say. “She just imagined it, I think. It was just me growing up.”

  “She imagined it, or you were growing up? Which one is it?”

  I feel like I’m being grilled. It’s like he’s forgetting that I’m a grown woman, not a scared teenager like Lizzie.

  “Both, I think. It was a long time ago.” I needed to change the subject, fast. He might know more about this than he was letting on.

  “Lizzie looked so sad,” I say. “Poor thing. I wish I could reach through the screen and give her a hug.”

  “You can’t turn back time, Bec,” he says, deep pain in his voice, that haunted look still in his eyes.

  This isn’t going well. I can’t get a read off him. The sweet man with the lopsided grin seems like a different person. Maybe I should have picked Malik.

  “Now’s the time. I need to know, right now.” He’s still staring.

  “Huh? Know what?”

  “If you’re protecting someone,” he says.

  That completely throws me, and I hope he can see it.

  “I’m not. Of course I’m not! Why would I protect the person who did this to me?” My voice is high and quavering. I look at him like he’s betrayed me.

  He falls for it.

  “I’m sorry, Bec. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reaches out an arm to console me, but thinks better of it. He’s apologized, but it’s not enough. I feel like the power has shifted. He’s taking the control back, way too quickly. I can’t have that.

  Later, as he drives me home, I let the silence stretch between us. People hate uncertainty. I find that if I’m really nice to someone and then suddenly cold for no reason it drives them crazy.

  “Are you all right?” he says, finally.

  I don’t answer. He pulls over.

  “What’s wrong, Bec?” he says. “Are you still upset about what I said at the station?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then what?”

  I count to ten in my head, stare at my knees.

  “How long is this going to go for?”

  “Are you feeling sick?” He thinks I mean the drive.

  “No. I’m just sick of trying to remember things I don’t want to remember.”

  “You don’t want to catch who did this?” He looks genuinely shocked.

  “I just want to go home and be happy with my family.” That was probably a little too aggressive. I bite the inside of my cheek until the tears come.

  “Why won’t you let me just be
happy?” I say, staring up at him like he’s some kind of monster.

  “I’m doing this for you, Bec! I want to find the person who took you away and punish them for it.”

  “Doesn’t it matter what I want?”

  “Of course it does,” he says quietly, although we both know it doesn’t.

  I say nothing and after a few seconds he turns the ignition back on. Damn it. I’m sick of playing this game with him. I just want to be able to relax, to be comfortable in my new life. There has to be some way to make him back off a bit. It’s too hard to think when I’m constantly acting. I need a moment alone.

  I look at my phone, pressing icons like I don’t know how to work it.

  “Yes!” I say quietly after a few minutes of driving in silence.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve finally figured out how to open a text message on this thing! I don’t know why they make them so complicated now.”

  He doesn’t say anything, as though a young person who doesn’t know how to use an iPhone is the saddest thing he’s ever seen.

  “Can you drop me at Yarralumla shops instead?” I say, now that his defences are down again. “That was my dad saying he wants me to help him with the shopping.”

  His eyes flick to mine like he’s about to disagree, but he stops himself. Good. My fingers are itching for a cigarette, and I want to assert who’s boss again. He pulls into a parking space next to a van outside the local shops, then turns to look at me.

  “I understand that you want all this to be over,” he says, the car still idling, “but it won’t really be over until we catch the person responsible.”

  They never will. Whoever did it is long gone.

  “Tomorrow I’d like to start retracing your steps on the day you went missing. Your walk from the bus stop home, the bus ride, leaving work. There has to be something you remember. I want you to try, okay? For me.”

  “Okay,” I say, looking up at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted. “For you.”

  I catch him hesitating on my white cotton skirt and bare legs. He looks away quickly. I wonder how many Hail Marys he’ll have to do for whatever impure thought he had in his head just then.