Only Daughter Read online

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Those ads just got me freaked out. I was being dumb.”

  He put one of his thick arms around her and pushed her cheek against his chest.

  “Don’t say sorry, Becky. Now I feel bad! Sometimes I just forget you’re a kid cos you’re so smart.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but it was nice being squished into him like that, so she left it. She felt so protected, breathing in his warm sweaty smell. As though nothing bad could ever happen to her.

  “Hey, what about me?” she heard Luke say and she felt more arms reach around them both.

  “Get back to work, both of you,” said Matty, pushing them off. “It’s too hot for this!”

  Bec went back to the counter, but she was smiling. At work, she could be a different person, warm and unaffected. It was so different to being at home.

  “It’s my birthday next month, you know,” she said to Luke. “What are you going to get me?”

  Seventeen, she would be seventeen, which meant he could ask her on a date. That would be the most amazing gift of all.

  “Actually, I’ve got something for you now,” he replied. “One second.”

  Her head had just begun to spin with ideas when he came back with the mop.

  “Happy early birthday! Apparently the ladies’ is flooding.”

  She tried to think of something witty to say, but nothing came, so she just grabbed the mop and stormed off into the ladies’ bathroom.

  Opening the door, she saw the water was already about a centimeter deep. One of the taps had been left running and the water was overflowing from the sink. She waded over and quickly turned it off. She realized that not only had someone left the tap on but someone else must have seen it and gone to complain to Luke, without even trying to help. It was going to take her forever to mop it all up. It smelt gross in there, too, and the air conditioning didn’t venture that far.

  Listening to the slowing drips of water falling from the sink, she spent an hour mopping the floor, interrupted every so often by a customer looking to use the bathroom. When she’d tell them it was flooded they’d look her up and down with a disgusted expression and then walk out like it was all her fault. She hated that, the way she must look. So pathetic and dirty. She had started sweating, too. It wasn’t the way she wanted to see herself. If there really was a camera on the other side of the mirror, she hoped that they weren’t filming now, that it was a commercial break or something. This was one of those uncommon moments when she truly hated her job.

  Eventually the floor was dry enough. She checked herself in the mirror before she left the bathroom, wiping off the eyeliner that had slid down under her eyes and practicing a few smiles. She still looked pretty good, not quite as fresh as before, but definitely not like she’d been mopping a dirty wet toilet floor for an hour. Opening the door, she could hear Lizzie’s voice; she must have started her shift. That meant her time on the counter with just Luke was already over. She put the mop back and came around to the counter. The three stopped talking and looked at her.

  “What?” she said. “Do I smell like pee?”

  Luke looked at Lizzie uneasily.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” Lizzie said. “I thought you would have told them about the specter.”

  “Liz!” Bec said, realizing why they were all looking at her. She’d been thinking about Luke so much that, strangely enough, the specter had been completely wiped from her mind.

  “Are you all right?” Luke asked. “Seriously, that sounds horrible.”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a trick of the light or a dream or something?” asked Matty.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “You don’t have to believe me, but I know what I saw.”

  They must think she was crazy. Trust Lizzie to go babbling about all her secrets; this was why Bec had to be careful what she told her.

  “I believe you,” said Luke. “If you’re sure, then I’m sure.”

  Her insides swelled.

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” he said. Lizzie turned away from them and Bec hoped it was because she was feeling guilty.

  Just then, a family came in, all red-faced and arguing. Worst timing, of course. Luke started keying in their order and Matty went back to the grill. More people started piling in for the afternoon rush. Lizzie caught her eye from behind Luke.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed and Bec knew she meant it.

  Later on, when it quieted down and Bec’s shift was almost over, they got a chance to talk again.

  “I had an idea last night. It might be dumb but it’s worth a shot,” said Lizzie.

  “What is it?” Bec asked.

  “Well, I was thinking. What do people in the movies do when things like this happen?”

  Bec knew exactly what she was about to say.

  “We should have an exorcism!”

  Bec heard Matty groan from the kitchen. He’d never said he believed her.

  “I’m not sure,” said Bec.

  “Why not? If it doesn’t work it doesn’t matter.”

  “I think we should do it,” said Luke.

  This surprised Bec, as she’d always thought of him as more of a skeptic.

  “Really I just want to see inside your bedroom, though,” he continued.

  “Oh, shut up!” she said, hitting him softly, but she was smiling.

  “Well, think about it,” said Lizzie.

  “Okay, if something else happens, then we’ll do it,” Bec said slowly, “but fingers crossed it won’t.”

  Lizzie raised crossed fingers in the air. Bec didn’t want to think about something happening again. She couldn’t even imagine feeling that scared for a second time. She tried to hide a shiver as it snaked down her spine. Looking at the clock, Bec realized her shift was over.

  “I’m done. Do you still want to see a movie later?” she asked Lizzie.

  “Catch Me If You Can? Yes!”

  “I bet you two are just seeing that because of Leo,” Luke said, leaning against the counter.

  “No!” said Bec right at the same time as Lizzie squealed “Yes!”

  “Bec!” said Liz. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have an I love Leo shrine in your room. I saw it!”

  “Shut up! It’s just meant to be a really good film, all right.”

  Luke raised his eyebrows at her. For a second she wondered if she could get away with inviting him. No, that could be weird. She’d wait for him to ask her on a proper date. She went around the back, changed into a summer dress and grabbed her handbag.

  “’Bye, guys!” she called, wishing she didn’t have to open the glass door and go back out into the blazing hot afternoon.

  7

  2014

  There’s an iciness to the air, even though the sun is out. The street is silent except for the faint rustle of the breeze through the drying autumn leaves and the crunch of my shoes against the gravel. If I listen carefully I can also hear the purr of Andopolis’s car tailing me as I re-create Bec’s last walk home, but I try to ignore it and enjoy the moment. It’s colder than yesterday. I keep my pink fingers jammed into my jacket pockets.

  The mother had wanted to throw my jacket away. The lining was still stained with the dark plum of my blood. Rebecca’s old coat was hanging, waiting, in the cupboard, baby blue with fake fur around the hood. The girl really had the tackiest taste in clothes, although perhaps it was fashionable back then. I couldn’t remember. It shouldn’t have made much of a difference wearing her coat—I was already wearing her clothes right down to my underwear—but it felt nice to still have something with me that was mine. Although, really, this jacket wasn’t mine. It was Peter’s.

  He’d been a good boyfriend for a while, with his sun-bleached mop of hair and constant enthusiasm. We were both unemployed, so we’d spend every sunny day at the beach. It was when I was in my surfer phase last year. My wardrobe was filled with Roxy board shorts and flip-flops. Althoug
h we girls didn’t really surf; we were expected just to sit on the beach and watch our boyfriends. The other girls seemed to like it. They wore bikinis and worked on their tans. I got sick of that quickly. I bought a board and tried to get Peter to teach me, but he got frustrated and impatient. He’d loaned me the jacket because I was cold at a beach bonfire. Then I caught him making out with one of the bikini girls. I kept the jacket not to remember him, but because I knew he didn’t have enough money to buy another one. Every chilly winter’s day it would keep me warm to know he was cold.

  I wrap it around myself, breathing in the sweet smell of rose gardens and mown lawn. It’s exhilarating being someone else, but also exhausting. I enjoy the rare moment of not pretending.

  “Stop there!” Andopolis calls from the car.

  He pulls in onto the curb and comes walking toward me.

  “Did anything come back to you?” he calls.

  I am halfway up the hill of Rebecca’s street, about five doors down from her house. I wait until he’s closer before I speak.

  “I remember the fear.”

  “What else?” he says quietly.

  “I thought I was alone.”

  “But you weren’t?”

  I think about the black van yesterday. “I remember the sound of a car accelerating.”

  “Go on,” he says, his voice hushed now. He’s excited.

  “The squeal of tires.”

  “And then?”

  “Darkness.”

  “And after that?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Do you remember the car? The make and model? Even the colour?”

  For a moment I consider saying it was a black van but decide against it. I was trying not to think about the text message. The person driving the van must have written it. Was it possible it was the person who took Bec?

  I’m torn. If I give Andopolis the number the text came from he’ll find the driver, but he may also find the truth—about Bec but also about me.

  “No,” I say in the end, “nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks at me again in that penetrating way, like he’s trying to find a clue from the squint of my eyes or the bend of my mouth. Almost like he thinks I’m lying.

  “How did you know it happened in this spot?” I ask.

  “We traced your phone and found it here.” He pointed to the rosebush to my right. “It was under that bush.”

  So this was where it happened, right where I was standing. I imagine how this street would look in the dark, the quickening of Bec’s heart when a car pulled up next to her, the struggle. She’d been so close to home.

  It’s as if history was trying to repeat itself. I force myself to believe the van wasn’t even following me. It was probably just going the same way and the driver had laughed when I started running like that. And the text might have been a wrong number. It had to be. No one even knew Bec was home. They couldn’t be connected. I was being paranoid.

  “Get in and I’ll drive you home,” he says.

  “But my house is just there,” I say.

  “Get in, Bec.”

  I walk to his car obediently and get into the passenger seat. He sits in the driver’s seat and closes the door but doesn’t start the engine.

  “I know you aren’t interested in seeing a counselor.”

  I say nothing. Not this shit again.

  “So I’ve made an appointment with a hypnotist. She has the potential to really help with your memory loss.”

  A hypnotist would be the worst possible thing. I had to think of something quick. If they really did hypnotize me I would probably confess in an instant. I took a deep breath.

  “It’s so good to be home,” I say, letting my voice wobble. “When I think about it…it’s just like a big black hole filled with fear and pain but that’s all. Thinking about it is like going back there.”

  He looks at me, his eyes searching for something that isn’t there.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to know what happened?”

  “No! It’s just…” I could think straight if he’d just stop staring. “…I think right now it would be too painful. I’m only just holding on as it is.”

  He says nothing. Just stares. I wonder if this is the way he looked at Lizzie all that time ago in the interrogation room.

  “I used to think I might know your face better than I knew my own. I’ve spent so long looking at photographs of you. Looking into your eyes and trying to understand the secrets you must have held. Knowing if I could just find you everything would be revealed. But now I’m looking right at you and it’s like I don’t know your face at all.”

  Fuck. His voice is low, but it makes the hairs on my arms rise. I can hear in it a festering rage that is barely being restrained. I’d feel less scared if he had yelled.

  “But you didn’t find me, did you?” I say. “I waited but no one ever came to save me. I had to save myself. Now just leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca, but I just can’t do that,” he says, “not until I know who you are protecting.”

  “No one!” I yell. But now it really is a lie and I wonder if he can tell. I might really be protecting Rebecca’s killer.

  I get out of the car and run to the house. I can feel my anger flare. Not just because he saw through me somehow but because he won’t let it go. He cared more about finding the answer then he did about Bec. He wasn’t just a good guy plagued by guilt. I’d massively underestimated him. There was a wretchedness to the way he spoke. I couldn’t tell if it was himself or me that he was so angry with. Perhaps both. It didn’t matter. This case had somehow sent him over the edge, and for whatever reason, he seemed to think solving it would be the only way back. I’d never believed in redemption, but he did. He wanted it from me but I could never give it to him.

  The only thing I had on my side was the DNA test, the absolute proof that I was Rebecca. If I didn’t have that, I think he might have seen through me a while ago.

  I climb up the stairs two at a time. He was so selfish. I hated him, but I couldn’t show it. Somehow, I had to get him back on my side. If he thought I was protecting someone, he might start digging. Asking questions I didn’t have answers to.

  I throw open my bedroom door. The mother is standing inside, her back to me, and she jumps.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, angry with her now. Why is she in my room? Has she found the cigarettes under my bed? Does she doubt me now, too?

  “I was just cleaning up for you, honey,” she says, turning. Behind her I see my bed is made. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, sorry. It’s just…” I don’t know what to say.

  “No, you’re right. I should ask first.” She looks down, almost cowering, like she thinks I might hit her. I lean in to hug her and I feel her body tense.

  “I appreciate you cleaning my room. You’re the best mom ever.” Her body loosens slightly. “I just snapped because my arm is hurting again.”

  “Oh, Becky, you should have said.” She pulls away and takes my arm, looking at the bandaged section carefully. “You have your appointment at the hospital tomorrow. Maybe I can call them and make it today instead?”

  “No, that’s okay. I can wait until tomorrow.” I’d forgotten about the appointment. I was meant to be getting the bandages reapplied, but I really didn’t want to see how bad the wound was.

  “Okay, well, I’ll get you some ibuprofen and brew some tea before you go and see Lizzie.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mom.”

  She leaves my room and closes the door softly behind her. I feel bad for talking to her like that, although it seemed to upset her so disproportionately, like when she dropped the mug in the kitchen.

  Now that I had this new life, I desperately didn’t want to let it go. I’d felt so lost and lonely for so long it had begun to seem normal. I’d thought freedom and protection was what I wanted out of this game, but it had begun to feel like more than that. Having
a family around felt so amazing; having a mother again was so much better than I’d imagined. Despite myself, I was really starting to care about her. But now I know to use anger if I ever need to control her, although I hope I won’t have to do that.

  I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed. My packet of cigarettes is still there. I’d have to find a better place to hide them. I hid condoms in my paired socks when I was a teenager—maybe I’d try that. I open Bec’s underwear drawer and pull out a pair of knee-high school socks. Unpairing them, something heavy falls out onto the floor. For a moment after I pick it up I don’t know what it is, and then I realize. It’s an ink tag. The kind stores put on clothes; the kind where if you try to pull it off it sprays ink everywhere. There’s a small circle of fabric around the clip, cut so perfectly it makes me smile. I put it back in the socks and scour the undie drawer to see if I can find anything else. Right in the back corner is a photograph, folded up into a tiny square. It’s a close-up picture of Bec’s face, younger and smiling broadly. She’s holding a brown tabby, pressing her cheek against the top of its head.

  I sit down on the bed, still looking at the photograph. The cat isn’t Hector, who is black-and-white. It must have been an older pet. I can see its collar around its neck, the name Molly engraved into it. What a strange thing for Bec to hide. I put the photo down, a feeling of grief coming over me. I had just enacted this girl’s final steps. If Bec really was plucked off the street like that, then she is most likely dead. Her family thinks she’s back with them, but she’ll never be back. I wonder for a moment if her body is nearby, a little stack of bones buried somewhere in this town. I shiver; it’s better not to think about it.

  Dialing the number that sent me the text again, I get the same “turned off or unavailable” message. I spin the phone in my palm, considering sending a message back to them. In the end I decide it’s better not to stoke the fire. Whoever it is, I don’t want to make this person angry.

  What I really need to be thinking about is Andopolis. He’s getting impatient with me. More than that, he’s starting to doubt me. The man driving that van couldn’t get me with the safety of police and family all around, but one wrong move and Andopolis could put me in jail for a very long time. I needed to give him something, some kind of detail that would put his attention elsewhere.