Only Daughter

by Anna Snoekstra

  “So,” I say, hoping to get him talking about himself again, “where do you work, anyway?”

  “Red Cross,” he says, pulling the corner of a red vest out from underneath his hoodie. “Got the night shift tonight.”

  “Really? Jesus, Jack!” I say.

  “What?”

  “It’s like you’re a bloody saint or something!”

  “No, I’m not.” But he’s blushing slightly; he likes the idea that I think of him like that.

  “You’re so nice I don’t even know what to do with you.”

  “I’m not that nice,” he says, trying to sound tough.

  “Don’t even try!” I say, hitting his shoulder playfully. He laughs, clearly embarrassed. It surprises me that he was into metal in high school. He’s so goofy. I imagine him more as the nervous nerdy boy too afraid to ask you to be his partner in dance class.

  Jack takes my hand from my lap and holds it in his as he drives with the other. He runs his finger across my knuckles, and the feeling sparkles through my body. Maybe he wasn’t that nerdy kid after all. The sun shines through the windscreen as we drive back to my house. In that moment I don’t think about Andopolis, I don’t think about the text message, and I don’t think about the dad sobbing by himself in his bedroom. All I think about is the feeling of Jack’s fingers lacing between mine. Then I see it.

  “Pull over,” I say.

  He lets go of my hand.

  “Sorry!”

  “No, it’s not that. Just pull over.”

  He puts his indicator on and pulls up onto the curb. The van does the same, lurking behind some parked cars.

  “That van. It’s been following me.”

  “What?” says Jack. “For how long?”

  “I’ve been seeing it since I’ve been back.”

  “You don’t think it’s…” He trails off, staring at it in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and then I feel a new resolve. “Let’s find out.”

  I unclip my seat belt and get out of the car. With Jack here, I don’t feel as vulnerable, and I’m sick and tired of being afraid. I hear him get out of the car, too.

  “Bec!” he says. But I ignore him, even though my heart is beating fast.

  Approaching the van, I try to see through the windows, but they’re tinted. Jack catches up to me and moves to block my path.

  “We should call the police.”

  “No.” I try to pass him, but he steps to the side, blocking me again.

  “We have to! This could be dangerous! I’ve…we’ve lost you once already.”

  He takes his phone out of his pocket to call the police. I put a hand on his shoulder until he stops and looks up at me. I can’t let him call them.

  “Will you come with me? I won’t be in danger with you there, too.”

  Jack pauses, staring at me, his finger hovering over the call button.

  “I’m tired of being scared, Jack. I need to do this.”

  He takes my hand and holds it tight.

  “Okay.”

  Every part of my body wants to turn and run as we get closer to the van. The faceless man from my dream flashes through my mind and I start feeling myself shake. I stop walking when we are close to the driver’s door window but still far enough away to run.

  “Hey, fucker!” I yell. “Why are you following me?”

  Nothing. All I can see is my own pale reflection in the glass.

  “I’ve got your plate numbers and I’m calling the cops in ten seconds.”

  I hear a shuffle from inside the car.

  “Ten, nine, eight.” And then the window starts sliding down. I feel every part of my body tense, waiting to see a monster.

  But it’s not a monster. It’s a fat, bespectacled guy who looks back at me through the open window.

  “C’mon, don’t call the cops,” he says, his voice whiny.

  “Why are you following me?” I say.

  “Rebecca?” he asks, looking at me carefully.

  “Who’s asking?” Jack says, before I can answer.

  The man clears his throat.

  “Jason Borka, Channel Eight. Are you Rebecca Winter?”

  “Why don’t you answer her question first?” says Jack.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I needed to be sure,” the man says in his annoying voice, looking me up and down, “and you’ve convinced me. If you give me an exclusive I can offer you a very generous deal.”

  A few months ago, I might have been tempted by something like that. But now I don’t even hesitate.

  “I’m not Rebecca,” I say. It feels so good to say the truth out loud.

  He looks at me dubiously.

  “I’m her cousin,” I add.

  “I don’t believe you,” he says, piggy eyes narrowed.

  “Believe what you want, asshole. If you come anywhere near me again, if you text me again, I’ll have the cops on you like that.” I click my fingers and turn on my heel. Jack follows.

  “Last chance!” calls the guy. “I can get you on A Current Affair!”

  Getting back into Jack’s car, I can feel the endorphins rush through my system. I couldn’t believe that little rat had gotten me so scared. Hiding behind tinted windows and anonymous text messages—what a coward.

  “Wow, Bec,” says Jack, sliding in next to me, “I didn’t know you were so kick-ass!”

  I lean over and look at him closely. He stares back at me with surprise. Then, very carefully, his hand reaches up and touches the side of my face. I kiss him slowly. His mouth is soft and warm as his stubble rasps against my cheek. My muscles dissolve into tingles and butterflies. He pulls me closer and the world around us disappears.

  12

  Bec, 15 January 2003

  It was one of those amazing parties where time seems to move in fast-forward. Blue lights made faces glow like full moons and the throbbing music was like a pulse as Bec jumped up and down on the dance floor. She was dipped by Luke and then Lizzie and then Luke again until the world whirled and twirled.

  They talked slowly on the balcony. Lizzie lying on her lap. Bec’s head resting on Luke’s shoulder. Existing together in a perfect moment that felt like it could last forever. Watching as the sky brightened and air hushed until it was 5:00 a.m. and she and Lizzie were walking home, the soles of Bec’s feet turning black.

  When Bec woke, she didn’t know what time it was, what day it was or what had happened the night before. All she knew was her mouth was dry and her head was throbbing. She lay still, staring at the grey bulb on her ceiling. The sound of a plane flying overhead got louder and louder until, sure it was about to smash into her house, she gripped the blanket, closed her eyes and waited for her own death, images of crumpled bodies and carnage flashing in front of her eyes. Then the plane only got quieter until the noise had gone completely and she was left feeling silly while her heart still hammered.

  “Are you awake?” The blanket shifted and Lizzie turned around to face her.

  “Sort of.”

  “Remember how Lisa used to wake up and cook us a massive breakfast when we stayed at her house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Best hangover cure ever, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to call Lisa.”

  “I think she’s away. Isn’t she away?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Me either.”

  “Call her.”

  “You call her.”

  “Okay.”

  The mattress heaved again as Lizzie turned back over, her breathing slowing almost instantly as she went back to sleep. Slowly, images from the night before began to dribble back. Reliving each moment and listening to the rhythmic sound of Lizzie’s breathing, Bec felt truly and deeply happy.

  Later, when Lizzie had gone but her headache remained, Bec sat in the middle of her unmade bed deciding how to spend the day. She had a fashion magazine open on her lap, a strong coffee billowing steam from her bedside table and Justin Timberlake blar
ing from her speakers. Ideally, she could spend the whole day doing exactly what she was doing now. But there were two things, two equally important things that weighed on her mind. Tonight was the exorcism and Luke was coming over. She’d already decided she’d ask him to come at eleven and tell everyone else midnight. He was going to be in her bedroom. Looking around and seeing her things through his eyes made her both giddy with excitement and cringe with embarrassment. He would be on her bed, though, sitting right where she was now. What would happen in the hour before everyone else arrived?

  She imagined him sitting next to her, stroking her leg, touching her hair. It was too much. Bec put the magazine over her face and let out a squeal of anticipation. She had to decide how far she was going to let him go. She knew she wanted to do it with him. To have sex. But then, if she did it straightaway, there was probably no reason for him to ask her out.

  She remembered the last time she’d gotten close. Her boyfriend last year had wanted to do it. She’d thought she wanted to as well but then when he was on top of her, breathing his hot-dog breath into her ear and fumbling around with her undies, she realized it was the last thing she wanted to do. He’d gotten so angry that she had dumped him on the spot, all the desire she had felt replaced with revulsion. It would be different with Luke, though. Her phone buzzed and she blushed, knowing it was him. Last night was amazing.

  I know. I had the best time, she wrote. As soon as she sent it she wished she had asked him a question. If he didn’t respond, she would have to text him again about tonight and then she would look crazy. But before she could get too annoyed, her phone buzzed again.

  Is tonight still on?

  Yep, do you want to come at 11 and help set up?

  She held her breath and crossed her fingers.

  Sure. Still just want to see what your bedroom looks like.

  The magazine went back over her face as she squealed again. She sent him her address and then put the phone under her pillow, unable to look at it again just in case he changed his mind.

  She smiled to herself, wondering how she was ever going to fill the time between now and eleven o’clock. First thing first, she had to get out of her room. If she sat in there all day she’d drive herself mad, end up texting him again and then feel dumb. Putting the magazine down, she pushed off from her bed and walked out of her room. The twins’ door was wide open but they weren’t in there. It was rare for her to have a chance to go in their room alone, so she did. For a moment she considered looking under their pillows. She remembered how she used to be in charge of putting her brothers to bed when they were still little. Andrew had shown her his new toy, a tiny little plastic robot he must have gotten out of a Kinder Surprise.

  “This one goes under my pillow. Like a tooth.”

  “Except the tooth fairy isn’t coming,” Paul had added.

  “Because it’s not a tooth?” she’d said.

  “No, because she’s not real. It’s Mommy.”

  “Is it?” she’d asked.

  “Yes! Don’t you know?” Andrew had said.

  Both of them were staring at her as if she was the biggest idiot in the world.

  “How do you know it’s Mom?” she had asked.

  “We saw her.”

  She hadn’t known what to say to that. Bec was only about twelve herself then, so she’d gotten up to turn off the light. She was afraid they might bring up Santa.

  “We hate Mom,” one of them had said while her back was turned; she hadn’t been sure which.

  “What? Why do you hate Mom?” she’d said, her own voice still young and childish.

  “Because she’s not real. Me and Paul are the only real ones.”

  She could still see their soft little faces, smell the clean child smell of their hair, as though it had happened just this week. But she wasn’t standing in a child’s room now, and if she looked under Andrew’s pillow she didn’t think she’d find a tiny little toy or a tooth.

  Going out into the front yard, she carefully propped the door open. Her hands were a little shaky; the alcohol was still pumping around her body. Their bikes were gone from where they usually lay, upturned and entangled, at the top of the driveway. They’d be in big trouble if they weren’t back soon.

  The sun was at full force, making her squint as she stared down the empty street. It was making the air shimmer. Looking up into the mountains, she noticed smoke billowing up and, if she looked very closely, a hair-thin line of red. She felt her hand come over her mouth; the fires were so close.

  “They’re under control.”

  Her neighbour was standing out the front, too, leaning against the gate looking at her. Max’s eyes looked more alert than usual. She wondered if this meant he was getting better. Or getting worse.

  “They look so close,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much. What you can’t see are all the firemen up there. There are helicopters and back burning. They’ve done it a hundred times before.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  She suddenly wanted to ask what it felt like to go mad. If part of you knew what was happening, or if you were oblivious until you were drugged up in pyjamas in some facility somewhere. Surely if you worried about it, it meant that it wasn’t happening. Max’s pale brown eyes were still set on her. For a moment she felt like she could see the madness there, glinting under the surface.

  “I’ve lived next to your family a long time, you know.” Max’s eyes didn’t leave hers for a second. As though he wasn’t even blinking.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s not just you. I see it, too.”

  The sweat was coming thickly now, squeezing through the pores on Bec’s back. Her whole body getting grimy and wet. He could see her madness.

  “I don’t want to be out of line,” Max continued, “but if you ever want someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  He wouldn’t stop staring at her, his eyes set on hers like magnets. Hot anger began boiling inside her. She was about to say something, anything, to make him stop, when she heard the glide of bikes coming up the drive.

  They clattered down loudly as her brothers threw them onto the concrete.

  “Where were you guys?”

  “At the shops.”

  “We’re allowed to go to the shops!”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not allowed to ride without helmets, are you?”

  She looked back over the fence, but Max was gone, the screen door swinging shut behind him.

  “Are you going to tell on us?” asked Paul.

  “Maybe!” she said, her voice coming out strange now. The neighbour’s words were still humming in her ears.

  “Fine!” said Andrew. “Then we’re going to tell Mom you’re having friends over tonight.”

  “What? How did you know?”

  “ESP!” screamed Andrew, and the boys ran back inside.

  Later that night, when the rest of her family had gone to bed, Bec was putting the final touches to her room. She was bluetacking photographs that made her look sexy and fun, and hiding teddy bears and pink things in the back of her closet. She’d blackmailed the twins to keep their mouths shut. The deal was that she wouldn’t tell her mom about the helmets and she would buy them as many hot chips and lolly snakes as they wanted at Big Splash tomorrow. They would probably end up vomiting, but that would be their own fault.

  It had taken her a long time to decide what to wear. The hard part was looking like she wasn’t trying. After all, she was in her own house. She’d chosen a simple smock dress that came to just above the knees and no shoes. She hoped it looked like this was what she always wore when she hung out at home, when really it was her ratty old kitten pyjama pants. She promised herself to never wear them again.

  Her phone lit up. He was here. Bec felt giddy all of a sudden. She sat down on the carpet and put her head between her knees. She wasn’t sure if she could do this. Rocking herself back and forth, she took a few deep breaths and then leapt to her feet and tiptoe
d down to the front door. She could see the shape of him through the mottled glass. His wide shoulders, the curve of his jaw. He was here just to see her. She threw the door open, her fingers to her lips and her heart beating fast. It was strange to see him there. The image of him was so familiar; she’d thought of him so often. But to have him in her own doorway, smiling at her and stepping from her doormat onto the floorboards of the entrance hall, felt wrong somehow. He existed in a different world to this one.

  Motioning for him to follow, she walked quietly up the stairs. His feet made the same squeaking sounds on her stairs as hers did. His hands were running up her banister.

  She closed her door behind him. There he was, standing in the middle of her bedroom. Her heart was beating so fast she was worried he might hear it. She’d just left her desk lamp on, so the light in her room was dim and golden.

  “So, this is my room,” she whispered. “Was it what you expected?”

  “I guess. Where’s Liz?”

  She realized then how uncomfortable he looked. His shoulders were set a little high and his hands were deep in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

  “Not here yet, I guess.”

  She sat down on the bed, but he stayed standing. She patted the mattress next to her. He sat, but still wouldn’t look at her. His profile shone. The slight bump in his nose, the bend of his chin; the little lump of his Adam’s apple. She could stare at him all day.

  “So how do you feel? Hangover gone?” she asked.

  She wished she could put music on, but she didn’t want to risk her parents’ waking.

  “No, I feel ratshit. Old men like me don’t bounce back so easily.”

  She wished he would take his jacket off. It seemed odd that he was wearing it at all, when it was still sticky and hot outside.

  “You can put your jacket on my chair if you want.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.”

  The hemline of her dress was riding up a bit now that she was sitting. She didn’t pull it back down. She willed him to lean over, put one warm palm on the exposed flesh of her thigh. Look at her closely. Kiss her. Hands sliding around her legs and gripping on to her butt, squeezing her and pulling her toward him. Forcing her legs apart with his stomach; hip bones against hip bones, her skin electric.