The Good Daughter (17 page)

Two likely lads are sitting on the green swing set out the back. Rebecca knows their faces but not their names. They’re recent Kiona High graduates, a couple of years younger than Aden and Nigel, and a couple of years older than her. They come from a sharp-eyed pack of boys. Some grades at school are like that – full of angry males, as though there was something in the water the year they were conceived. These boys always stand with their shoulders braced and ready, perhaps because they know they’re never going to shape up as true contenders in the town – they’re not a patch on their predecessors, they have none of the charm or presence of Aden and Nigel’s clan. The two boys are drinking beer and pushing back and forth on the swings. They see Rebecca, and eye her with a mixture of suspicion and appreciation. They probably only like girls at the house after dark.

Aden stops on the back step and lights a smoke. Out on the lawn are another two swing sets, and there’s a fourth swing set on the garage roof. Rebecca gets the joke – stealing kids’ play sets, the audacity of it, their actions meant to be irreverent and archly funny. They’re trying too hard.

One of the guys holds up his hand, and Aden tosses over his packet of smokes.

The cigarette pack is caught. A lighter from the guy on the other swing is offered. Aden squints up at the sun. No-one speaks. The cigarette pack is thrown back, caught one-handed by Aden. It’s all very blokey.

‘Where’s Nigel?’ Aden asks.

‘Dunno.’

‘He leave some gear out for me?’

‘Gear?’

‘Yep.’

‘Nup.’

‘I’ll check his room. You boys coming to the clubrooms later?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Catch you there.’

Nigel’s bedroom door is locked. It has a deadbolt fitted. ‘Stay here,’ Aden says, ‘I’ll go out and climb in through the window and let you in.’

He leaves. Rebecca stands alone in the wide hallway.

Nigel’s bedroom door has a poster stuck to it, a picture of Basil Brush – the fox puppet from the children’s TV program. Someone has drawn a double-barrelled shotgun in Basil Brush’s hands. The puppet is cocking its head and grinning in that cheeky way it does. The shotgun is large and imposing in its fluffy puppet paws.
Boom Boom!
the poster reads.

Rebecca looks off down the hallway, glances up at the ceiling. The domed light fitting is filled with dead mosquitoes. She catches a whiff of cold fish and chips. She walks a couple of steps down the hall and looks into the laundry. There’s a tray filled with kitty litter and beside it a handful of dried-up chips and a shell of empty batter where the cat has eaten out the centre of a piece of deep-fried fish. She finds it sweet, as though the cat ordered its own serve of takeaway – all that’s missing is a pint-sized can of Coke. The laundry door has a heavy bolt and padlock fitted. There’s no washing machine, so it’s unlikely anyone would ever need a quick route out to the washing line.

‘Hey.’

Rebecca startles and looks up.

The guy from out on the swing, the one who had shared his lighter, is standing beneath the arch leading off into the living room. He’s holding a can of beer. He doesn’t come forward. He looks at her from there; he really looks. Rebecca folds her arms over her chest. She steps back into the hallway to stand in front of Nigel’s door.

‘Hit the big time, Beccy?’

He has a mullet haircut and wears a Metallica T-shirt.

‘Yeah,’ Rebecca says.

It occurs to her that everyone knows her name, but she can never remember theirs.

‘Mmm,’ he says.

She can feel his gaze all over her. ‘Piss off.’

‘Sassy.’

She shivers from head to toe. She’s happy to let him see how he creeps her out.

‘Don’t get too big for your boots,’ he says flatly.

He walks forward. His feet are bare. The cuffs of his jeans are frayed. Rebecca strains to hear something from inside Nigel’s room. The hallway is suddenly airless. She breathes in deeply through her nose.

‘Ever tried to break into Nigel’s room?’ he says.

‘Obviously not.’

‘It’s not obvious – not now you’re double-teaming. You might break in every night. You could be like a cat burglar in that black jacket – you should get black leather pants, and black boots.’ He stops at the laundry door and glances in, as though to get some idea of what she’d been looking at. ‘Dressed like that,’ he says, facing her again, ‘I wouldn’t mind you breaking into my room. Do you crawl up all sexy from the bottom of the bed?’ He leans against the wall and looks at her.

Rebecca sighs. She faces the door and stares at it and projects a picture into her head – an image of her and Aden riding out of town on the bike. The vision makes her relax. But where is Aden?

There are sounds down in the kitchen, voices, and the clink of bottles. Someone kicks a cardboard box and it tumbles and comes to a stop beneath the arch. Rebecca looks off down the hallway.

‘More of the boys arriving,’ the guy tells her. ‘We’re having a few drinks before the game. Wanna come and have one?’

‘No thanks.’

‘You on a leash?’

‘What?’

‘Here, girl.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re funny.’

‘I can be. I’ll get you a drink. What do you want?’

‘I’m fine. We’re not staying – Aden has to get to the match.’

‘He doesn’t need you there. He can play cricket on his own. We’ll have a couple of drinks here and catch him later.’

Rebecca puts her hand on the door handle and leans in to listen at the door. It’s quiet on the other side. She steps back and thinks a moment.

‘Nigel’s put a lock on his window,’ the guy says. ‘You have to go through his bathroom window. Or did you already know that?’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Might be a squeeze.’

‘Right.’

‘Aden might need you to climb in for him.’

‘I’ll go round then.’

Rebecca steps past him.

‘Use the laundry door,’ he says, ‘it’s quicker.’

He steps backwards up the hallway and she walks into the laundry. She stops. She knows before she’s looked up that she’s been duped. The door is padlocked.

‘Funny,’ she says, and turns back around.

‘I told you I could be.’

She goes to continue on down the hallway, heading for the front door.

‘He’s in Nigel’s room now,’ the guy says, ‘I heard him. He’s unlocked the door.’

Rebecca returns to Nigel’s door and tries the handle. Of course the door is still locked.

‘You’re good value,’ the guy laughs.

Music blares suddenly from the lounge room. A screaming heavy metal guitar riff fills the house. The volume is adjusted, but the music is still jarringly loud. The front door slams shut and more footsteps reverberate. There’s got to be at least four different male voices in there now; their conversation is muffled by the music.

Rebecca bites the inside of her cheek.

‘Or maybe what I heard was him leaving,’ the guy says. He grins. ‘Wait … hang on …’ He lifts his hand to his ear, ‘Is that him leaving now?’

Nothing from outside can be heard above the music.

‘Don’t be a dickhead.’

But she looks through the open door of the bedroom across the hallway. She angles her head to try and see out the window, to try and catch sight of Aden’s bike, just to be sure … The curtain is partly drawn; it blocks her view.

The guy is watching her, grinning teasingly.

She knows it’s all a joke. But … She makes a decision and attempts to walk off down the hallway. The guy steps out and stops her.

‘Where you going?’

‘I’m gunna wait out the front.’ She steps to the left. He cuts her off.

‘Wait here,’ he says.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘It’s rude to come and visit and then leave without having a drink. All the boys are here. You’re our guest, Rebecca. It’s our job to show you a good time.’

Rebecca’s thoughts wind up steadily and quickly now, a lot like the turbos in her father’s truck kicking into gear – that same smooth whine and whirr rings in her ears. She considers, rapidly, the good and bad ways to deal with this. From experience she knows it’s best not to argue. She says, ‘Okay, I’ll have a drink.’

He comes closer and waves a single finger in her face. ‘Uh, uh, uh, I see what you’re doing. You’ll do a runner. You girls play these tricks. You can’t fool me.’ He lifts an eyebrow. ‘And … what you did right there was come on to me. Don’t say you didn’t. You girls say later that you didn’t. But right then you said you wanted to drink and party with me, with all of us.’

She can’t help it, she says, ‘I do
not
want to drink and party with you.’

‘Already changing your mind … Ahh, Rebecca …’

She straightens and runs a critical eye over him. His hair is ridiculous. It dictates his whole appearance to the point that Rebecca can’t say what he really looks like. He’s the same height as her. His eyebrows are thick. His lips are cracked.

‘Are you really not gunna let me past?’

‘Try me.’

A boy appears at the end of the hallway. He stands beside the cardboard box under the arch. Rebecca knows this boy. His name is David.

‘Simmo!’ David calls.

Simmo looks over his shoulder.

‘Whatcha doin?’ David asks.

‘Pointing out to Rebecca the sticky situation she’s gone and put herself in.’

‘How long you gunna be?’

‘Are they waiting?’

‘No-one can light the heater.’

‘What the hell do you wanna light the heater for?’

‘It’s cold in there.’

Rebecca sees a chance to leave. At that same moment though, she thinks she hears someone moving about in Nigel’s room. She pauses.

‘That’ll be him,’ Simmo says, turning his attention back to her. ‘Your hero has come to save the day. Lucky. Nigel has the place locked up tight. Once you’re in, you can’t get out. Unless you know the magic word. Do you know the magic word?’

‘No.’

‘You might not get to go then.’

Rebecca shifts her weight. She waits for the sound of Nigel’s door unlocking. David leaves. A chant has started up in the lounge room. Rebecca can’t make out what they’re saying. It seems to her as though the music has got louder.

She tries to walk off again, but this time Simmo brings his body close enough to touch hers. He goes so far as to pull her into him and he cups her backside in his hand. His face comes close, as though to kiss her. She leans away. He grins and lets her go.

The contact has made her dizzy. His beery breath invades her head. She knocks on Nigel’s door. ‘Aden,’ she calls.

‘He’s gone,’ Simmo says. ‘He wants us to look after you. Hey,’ he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, ‘listen to how excited they are.’

The chant is louder. It’s not possible … is it? … that they are saying her name? Rebecca knocks on the door again and rattles the handle. In her heart she knows Aden wouldn’t leave her.

‘Go into my room and look out the window,’ Simmo says. ‘He had to go quick. I think the match is starting.’ He checks his watch. ‘Yep, he has to be there by now.’

Without even the pretence of trying to stop her from leaving, Simmo steps in close. He’s excited. It shows in his eyes. They’re bright and wide, not heavy, not sleepy – a different sort of arousal to what she’s witnessed in Aden, what she’s grown used to, perhaps taken for granted. The gulf, sexually, and generally, between Simmo and Aden is extreme.

He takes her by the arm. Rebecca puts her hand over his. His fingers are warm and sweaty.

He may well be right. It might be the case that Rebecca’s mind does to and fro. It’s happening right now. Inside her head she leaps about, latching onto different tactics, but just as she gets a firm hold of one idea, it sinks beneath her, like a weak-sided box floating down a river. She’s inconsistent for different reasons to what he thinks: she changes tack out of fear, not for fun.

She smiles; she’s nervous now.

‘If you don’t know the magic word,’ Simmo is saying, smiling back at her, ‘I should point out some things to you …’

‘Fire away.’

‘Hold this,’ he says, referring to the can of beer, like it’s something he needs her to free him of so he can regain full use of his hands.

Fear has caused her scalp to tighten and her head to spin. It actually makes it easy for her to smile. Her grin must look natural.

‘No thanks.’

He ignores her. ‘That’s my bedroom there …’ he’s saying, inclining his head towards the room across the hall, the one with the window, ‘and that’s Super Boy’s bedroom down the end … Now, don’t get those two rooms confused …’

A good thing happens then – Simmo’s eyes dart towards Nigel’s door; it’s brief, but Rebecca sees it. She feels her jaw stiffen before her brain has even caught up with the change in situation. Simmo sees, senses, maybe smells the change in her. He steps back, wisely too – his groin was at perfect kneeing distance. Her return to confidence is rapid. She shakes her head. She turns her back on him and regains her composure away from his gaze. There’s the sound of a bolt sliding across. The door opens. Nigel stands there.

‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I didn’t hear you.’

His eyes are clear, calm blue. There’s no trace of humour.

When Rebecca glances over her shoulder Simmo is halfway down the hall.

‘Where’s Aden?’ she says to Nigel.

He opens the door wider. ‘He had to leave. I’ll take you up the oval in a little while.’

28

Zach moves with little purpose. He wanders. A fence cuts a clean line across the paddock. When he gets to the fence he climbs over it. Attached to the wire, facing out, is a sign that reads
No Hunting, No Trapping, No Baiting. Private Property
. The sign pertains to Zach’s land. Some smart bastard has drawn a cartoon fox with a double-barrelled shotgun in its paws.
Boom Boom!
is scrawled below it.

The Cummings’ place is similar in size to Zach’s land, but the Cummings don’t draw the same interest and attention as the Kincaids. And Cummings is no farmer – his animals are in poor condition. They have hollow sides and hang about in stray family groups. They’ve sought out the shelter of the bush, and hobble away as Zach approaches.