What did Andopolis mean when he talked about secrets? When he’d said it I had been too distracted, thinking he might be on to me. But now I think about it, he’d said he thought she was hiding something before he’d even met me. I didn’t understand—why did it matter if she had secrets if she’d been plucked from the street like he’d said? That was completely random. She was just a victim of chance. And why was he asking me about the summer before she went missing? Why did he seem to think I was protecting someone? It didn’t make sense. I look at the photo again, the one where she is smiling but her eyes are sad. Had she known somehow? Did she know she was marked for tragedy? I raise the bottle to her before I take another swig.
My mouth is parched when I wake up, my tongue like a dried-up sponge. The room is dark, but there’s an outline of white around the closed blinds: it’s morning. The room spins as I try to open my eyes, and I’m suddenly sure I am going to be sick. I shift to the edge of the bed, so that if I vomit it will go over the edge. When I move, the blanket stays in place; there’s something heavy holding it down. I roll onto my back and open my eyes. The mom is sitting on the bed staring at me.
“They told me I should pack your room up. Use it for storage or something. But I couldn’t. I knew you’d come back.”
She pats my ankle through the blanket. I don’t know what to say to her. It’s been so long since I’ve had a mother, I’m not sure if it’s normal for them to watch you sleep.
It feels weird, though.
“The boys are heading back to Melbourne on Sunday,” she says, smiling. “It’ll be just us after that.”
“Great,” I croak. Sunday is the day after tomorrow. It seems strange that she would be happy to have her sons leave. She looks at me carefully. I wish she’d go away.
“Vince called,” she says finally. “He wanted you to know he’s sorry for missing yesterday. There was some kind of an emergency. He said he’ll be here soon.”
The urge to vomit has subsided, but my head is throbbing.
“I’ll let you get ready.” She gets up and goes to the window, where she opens the blind halfway, letting some light in. “I might see if I can dig up that photo for you, the one of the fashion parade.”
“Can you open the window before you go?” Some fresh air would really help right now. But it seems like she doesn’t hear me, not responding as she walks out and closes my door behind her. The sun hurts my eyes for a second, but it helps me to feel more awake.
I force myself up and go straight to the shower. Standing under the lukewarm water, I need to hold both arms against the glass, I feel so dizzy. It was so stupid to drink all that vodka by myself. If the brothers or parents had come up to talk to me I could have so easily slipped. And now Andopolis was coming back. The investigation wasn’t over at all. I was so tired of him and his self-serving guilt. And I was done playing defenceless victim, too; he was just lapping it up.
As the hot water slips down my body, taking some of the nasty dizzy feeling with it, I try to think of a new plan. A new way to make Andopolis leave me alone for good. Men like him never saw young women as people, just as objects that played into their macho fantasies. Well, if the victim role wasn’t working I’d have to take the risk and go to the other extreme.
When I get out of the shower I take another look through Bec’s closet. Every sixteen-year-old owned something slutty, and I was sure she would be no different.
* * *
I peek through the window next to the front door. The street is empty. Right down the bottom, I can see some glowing yellow plastic traffic blockers set up. In the kitchen the mother has left two slices of peanut butter toast waiting for me on a plate on the table. She’s cut them into triangles, like you do for little kids. I wonder if she’ll start cutting the crusts off, too. I’m glad for the breakfast, though. I swallow quickly, barely tasting it, hoping the bread might soak up some of the alcohol. I hear the sound of tires pulling into the drive. Andopolis must be here already. I pick up the last triangle and go looking for the mom to say goodbye. There’s no response at her bedroom door, but I can hear movement coming from the laundry. Going in, I see the door to the garage is half-open. I realize I’ve never gone in there before.
Pushing the door open, I get a slight chill; it’s much colder in here. I step down the three narrow steps to the cement garage floor. It smells a bit, like mould and rot. The room is crammed with boxes and bookcases, old child-size bikes and a dirty white sheet scrunched up in the corner. It seems odd she’d let it get so bad. She seems to be constantly cleaning the rest of the house, even when it is already immaculate. The light is dim, but I hear rustling from behind one of the bookcases.
“Mom?”
There’s a bang and she pops out from behind the books, holding a photo album.
“Go back inside!” she says sharply. “There are spiders in here.”
She’s looking at me strangely, like she’s afraid of me somehow. Her eyes flick between me and the wall behind me. I turn to see what she’s looking at, but there’s nothing but boxes.
“Okay, just saying goodbye,” I say defensively.
“’Bye,” she says, disappearing back behind the shelf.
* * *
I get in the car next to Andopolis, enjoying the way his eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head when he sees what I’m wearing. It was the best I could find in Bec’s wardrobe—a tiny black leather skirt and a little black singlet. I’m freezing cold and I long to pull my jacket around me. But I leave it gaping open, letting Andopolis’s eyes feast on his little victim’s pale legs.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I say.
“Like what?” He turns away quickly, starting the ignition and pulling out of the drive. “You better cover your face when we pass,” he says, clearing his throat.
Bending forward, I put my arms round my knees and pull the jacket over my head. I don’t want them seeing any of me. Once the sounds of them have died down, I sit back up.
“When will they leave?” I ask him.
“They won’t stick around for too long. As long as you don’t give them anything to see.” His eyes flick to my legs again.
He drives the rest of the way in silence. I notice his hands on the steering wheel. His nails are bitten down to the quick now. Some of them even have little flecks of dried blood on the side. I’m definitely getting to him. We park out the front of McDonald’s and watch the poor staff flip burgers and mop floors. Bec must have hated this job. After a while, I realize one of the workers is a bit familiar. I squint, trying to remember where I’ve seen him. He’s older than the rest of them; he leans against the counter, laughing with one of the girls. Then it hits me. He was in one of the photos of the McDonald’s staff of 2003, Lucas.
“Aren’t we going to go inside?” I ask.
“Too likely you’ll get recognized,” he says, looking me up and down again. He probably just doesn’t want to walk in there with me, afraid people might mistake me for a hooker or something. I notice his hand instinctively coming to his mouth; he notices and manages to stop himself before he puts a fingernail between his teeth. But I know I’m close now. He’s almost at breaking point. I’ve nearly done it; I’ve nearly won.
“But you took me on the bus,” I say.
“Yes, but that was before you went to the press.”
“I didn’t go to the press.”
“Right.”
We sit in silence for a while.
“You’re really starting to tire me out.” There is a plea in his voice as he continues. “All I want to do is help you.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want your help. Maybe I’m just fine the way I am.”
Andopolis bangs his hand on the steering wheel, making me jump.
“God damn it, Bec! Who is it? Who are you protecting?”
“No one!”
He groans in frustration and turns the ignition, reversing out of the parking lot too quickly.
“How could you possi
bly think I’m protecting someone?” I say. “You think I don’t hate the person who stole my life?”
It was me who had stolen Bec’s life.
“No, I don’t think you hate them.”
“I do! I hate them more than anything! You’re acting like this is all my fault, like I knew that I was going to get snatched. How the hell would I know that was going to happen?”
I realize I’m really asking him.
“If that’s what happened,” he says under his breath, driving a little too fast.
“What do you mean?” I ask. He says nothing.
It’s like he is talking in riddles. How could he think Bec wouldn’t hate her captor? Why wouldn’t she hate them?
“You don’t think I hate them.” I’m thinking out loud. “You think I like them?”
He says nothing.
“You think I love them?” It comes out sounding like an accusation, but he doesn’t flinch. That is what he thinks.
And then, finally, it clicks; it all falls into place. The way he looked at me like I was lying when we were standing at the place Bec was grabbed. That was when he really started doubting me.
“You think it was someone who knew…me,” I say, almost saying the word her out loud. He says nothing, just keeps driving. That’s as good as admitting it.
“What about the phone?” I ask. “If your theory is right, how did it get there?”
“Planted,” he says. So final, like it was a fact.
“That’s crazy!”
“What’s crazy is to think that a girl could be accosted in such a quiet area without anyone, not even the insomniac across the street, hearing anything,” he barks.
There’s only silence as his words hang in the air between us. He’s right. How could I have not seen it sooner? After a while, I notice we are driving back the way we came.
“Are you taking me home?”
“Unless you can remember anywhere else you went that day, this is it.”
But there was somewhere else. Jack had said Bec went to see Lizzie but she’d been out. Somehow, Andopolis didn’t know about that.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask, as he pulls into my driveway.
“I have real victims, who need and want my help, to spend my time on.”
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it, Rebecca.”
I know I should feel happy. I finally have what I wanted; Andopolis is done with me. But I don’t. It’s not just that whoever had done it might still be lurking in my life now, although that did terrify me. No, it was what he’d said about victims. Bec was a real victim and because of me the truth would never be discovered. There would never be justice for what happened to her.
I don’t want to think about Bec anymore. I feel suddenly as though she’s taking me over. Like the line between us is getting fainter. That I really am Bec Winter, except I am a faded version, not as bright and loved as the original.
Inside, the television blares from the lounge room.
“…missing in 2003 on her way home from work. Police are yet to make a formal statement to whether Rebecca Winter has in fact been found after a decade-long disappearance.”
“Hey, Bec,” says Andrew as I walk into the lounge room, “how did it go with Vince?”
He and Paul sit on the couch, staring intently at the screen.
“Fine,” I say. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to tell them that whoever is responsible for their sister’s absence will never be caught. I don’t want to tell them that it’s all my fault. That I’ve botched up the investigation so badly that the person responsible for taking their sister away will never know justice. I desperately just want to run away from everything. I feel like I haven’t breathed fresh air in forever. But I can’t get out without a car. So instead I go up the stairs to my room, pull on a much more modest dress and call Jack. He’s the only one who can make me feel better right now.
We lie in his bed, the last of the day’s light making the room glow. We kiss passionately and softly. It feels like it could last forever.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, carefully touching my hair.
“I know,” I say. I’m so into him.
“If someone told me a week ago I would be making out with Bec Winter right now, I would think they were mad. Completely insane.”
I smile at him, but part of me is a little hurt. I hate hearing him call me by her name. I wish I could tell him the truth.
“You look sad,” he says. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I wish we could be completely honest with each other,” I say and for a moment I feel I could say it, I could tell him. But he moves away from me and rolls onto his back.
“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. Was it that obvious I was lying?”
I realize he must mean about the new mission with Kingsley, when I asked him if it was going to be dangerous.
“I’m just really good at seeing through people,” I say.
“I’m not. I’m terrible at it,” he says. I know, I almost say.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just want him to kiss me again. To let myself just enjoy him without having to think too hard about it.
“No, you’re right. I think you might be someone who can understand.” He turns back and looks at me closely. “You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met.”
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.
“The Red Cross are allowed in to the detention camps. I’ve been angling for the assignment for ages—that’s why I got a job with them. Finally they’ve given it to me. I’m going to Manus Island in two weeks and I’m going to bring a hidden camera.”
I stare at him, shocked. That’s not what I was expecting him to say.
“I’m going to live-stream it to the blog,” he continues. “I think people have a right to know what’s going on.”
“But if you get found out you’ll be in so much trouble! Shouldn’t he be the one doing it?”
“Who?”
“Kingsley!” I half yell. I don’t want Jack to do this.
He looks at me carefully, as though he is slightly confused. When he does speak, it’s slowly and evenly.
“You know, you might not be as good at reading people as you thought,” he says. “I’m Kingsley.”
“Fuck” is all I can say. He’s too far in; there’s no way I can convince him not to do this. He laughs at me.
“That’s a pretty good reaction.” He stares at me, running his thumb over my eyebrow softly. “You know, it was you that changed me. I used to be so interested in death and pain, I loved heavy metal and gory movies and all that. And then after you disappeared I saw things differently. I couldn’t take all the violence and horror. It was like it was taking over the world. I wanted to be part of something positive.”
I slide my hand around his neck and pull him toward me, kissing him, making him stop talking about Bec and what happened to her. I kiss him deeper and put my hand down to undo his fly. He jerks away from me.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
“I don’t know. Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Is it what you want?”
“I guess I’ve just thought about it too much,” he says.
“Stop thinking,” I say, pushing him lightly onto his back.
I pull myself on top and rock gently against him. I try kissing him again, and this time he kisses me back hard. I sit back on top of him and pull my dress over my head.
“Is this what you imagined?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
I take off my bra and slide off my underwear.
“Is this?” I ask. I’m sitting on top of him completely naked now, and he is fully dressed. He pulls me back toward him. His hands move everywhere, over my back, my breasts and finally to the place I want them. I groan then, relinquishing control. He turns me over so that he is on top
and quickly slides off his clothes and pulls on a condom from his drawer.
He looks at me for a second, naked on his bed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says and closes the space between us.
The feeling is amazing. He leans over and kisses me, moving faster and faster. Our sweaty stomachs pressing together. He slides his fingers into my hair; I grip his back and pull him deeper.
“I love you, Bec,” he whispers. “I always have.”
He groans and collapses on top of me.
After a while, Jack falls asleep, holding me tightly against him as though I am special and precious. I feel sick, disgusted, although I’m not sure if it’s with him or myself. I was so stupid to think this began when we met at Lizzie’s. Of course it was about Bec. It was all about Bec. I’m achingly jealous of her, which makes me hate myself. For the first time I wish I’d run into the dark that night. I wish I’d never come here and I could still be me.
I can’t stay here anymore. I push his arm off me and grab my phone from my bag next to the bed and dial for a taxi. I say the address to the operator and hear Jack stir behind me; I must have woken him. The operator tells me that a cab is on its way.
“Who was that?” asks Jack.
“My mom,” I lie. “She’s worried. I’ve got to go home.”
I get up and look around for my clothes.
“Right now?” he asks, and I can hear the hurt in his voice already.
“Yep. She wants me back for dinner.” I can’t bring myself to look at him. I find my underwear and quickly hike them back on. I can’t find my bra. I look all over the floor.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
“No,” I say, getting down on my hands and knees. It’s not under the bed.
“Are you sure?”
I find it under his shirt. I clip it back on quickly and pull my dress on, too. I force myself to look at him. He looks so vulnerable, sitting on the bed naked, the sheet pulled up to his waist, his skinny chest exposed. I felt like every asshole who’s jumped out of my bed the moment after the deed was done. Every asshole who called me pet names and said he would call but never did.
Only Daughter Page 16
