Only Daughter

by Anna Snoekstra

  “Hi, Bec.”

  “Hi. Is Lizzie here?”

  “Aren’t I enough?” he said, smiling.

  She forced a laugh, not really knowing what to say.

  “She’s out with Jack. Do you want to come in and wait?”

  “Okay.”

  He took a step back and Bec walked through the doorway, brushing past him. She could smell his aftershave. She hesitated for a moment at the foot of the stairs, not sure whether to go and wait in the lounge room or go up to Lizzie’s room. It felt weird to hang out with Lizzie’s dad by herself, but then again, if she went and sat alone in Lizzie’s room when she wasn’t there, she would feel like a stalker. She sat down on their couch. Lizzie’s dad sat across from her. The sliding doors were open and the sun was reflecting off the wobbling surface of the swimming pool. The chemical smell of the chlorine wafted into the room. Closing her eyes for a second, she remembered the weightless feeling of floating.

  “Did you have a fight?”

  “What?”

  “You and Lizzie. She’s been a little quiet these last couple of days.”

  “Quiet? I can’t imagine her shutting up for even a second.”

  He laughed, but his eyes were serious. They didn’t leave her face. Had Lizzie told him what she’d said?

  He sighed. “To be young again. Those arguments that feel like the end of the world and then a week later you can’t even remember what they were about.”

  She forced a laugh again, although this annoyed her. She hated it when adults trivialized her life like this, but she didn’t have enough fight in her today to argue.

  “How long do you think she’ll be?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the hurry?”

  “I’ve got work,” she said, pulling her McDonald’s cap out from her bag and showing it to him.

  “Oh, yes, working for the man. You know, I used to work for Hungry Jack’s.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t care less.

  “Yes. It was the 1970s and I spent a summer flipping burgers. I had long hair, too, past my shoulders.”

  “Yuck! You would have looked gross.”

  “The girls back then didn’t think so. I used to have this girlfriend, before Lizzie’s mom. She was a real flower child. Beautiful.”

  She’d never heard anyone mention Lizzie’s mom in the house before. Ever.

  “She had these long fingernails. That whole summer I always had scratches all over my back. She used to slice me up every time we had sex.”

  Bec had no idea what to say to that. Why was he telling her this? The image of him having sex made her feel sick.

  “Remember last summer, when you came over when Lizzie wasn’t here?”

  No. She wasn’t going there. For a moment she could have puked, right there on his cream carpet. Looking at her watch, she pretended to be shocked.

  “Oh, no, I’m going to be late!”

  She usually felt so comfortable at Lizzie’s house but now she couldn’t help but jump out of her seat and half run to the door.

  “Do you want me to tell Lizzie you’ve come by? Or should it be our little secret?” He winked at her.

  “Whatever,” she said, not really understanding what the hell he was talking about.

  He took a step in front of her and for a moment she felt like he was going to stand between her and the door. But he leaned forward and opened it for her. She squeezed past him, hating the feeling of warmth as her arm slid past his stomach. It wasn’t until she heard him close the front door behind her that she realized how fast her heart was beating.

  17

  2014

  The sound of the front door clanging shut carries up to my room. The twins must be loading the car. They’ll be leaving soon. So will I. I’m sure I can make this work. I’ll go to Lizzie and Jack’s dad’s house. Just to talk, just to make sure. Then I can leave, call Andopolis once I get out of here. Tell him what I’ve found out. A part of me feels awful; I’ve already done so much damage to Jack’s family. This isn’t for me, though. It’s for Bec.

  It’s still raining outside. I can hear the pitter-patter on the roof. This is my last day in this bedroom. I was lucky that Liz hadn’t called the house yet, but I was working on borrowed time. There was no doubt in my mind that she would call eventually.

  When I go downstairs the parents are bustling around, getting ready to drive the boys to the airport. After I see Jack’s father I’ll be leaving. I’ll never be able to come back. Maybe I’ll go to Melbourne this time.

  “I thought your flight wasn’t until midday?” I ask. It’s only 9:00 a.m. I’d thought I’d have just a few more hours.

  “It is,” Paul says, “and now they’ve put that new freeway in it’s only fifteen minutes’ drive.”

  “Mom pretends she likes being early, but I think she just wants to get rid of us,” adds Andrew.

  “You want Bec all to yourself now, don’t you?” Paul asks the mom playfully as she walks out to the car. She doesn’t say anything in response; she looks a little strange, actually. I guess she’s sad to say goodbye to her sons.

  “You look a bit pale,” Andrew says, looking at me carefully. “You don’t have to come see us off if you don’t want.”

  I was almost hoping they’d insist on me coming, anything for a bit more time.

  “I’ve got a really bad headache,” I say.

  “That’s okay,” says Andrew, pulling me into a bear hug.

  “We’ll call tonight, okay?” says Paul, ruffling my hair.

  “Okay,” I say. I won’t be here tonight.

  “Do you need some ibuprofen?” asks the mom, coming back in. I hug her, breathing in her sweet smell for the last time. For the briefest time, she really was my mother. It’s so hard to say goodbye.

  “I’m fine,” I say, not looking at her.

  I stand in the shadow of the doorway as they pull out of the drive, holding my dressing gown tightly around me. I wave and smile until they turn the corner and then go back into the house and lock the door. I have half an hour, if that, to pack.

  Going back upstairs, I put my phone on the charger. I’d intentionally left it off when it died, knowing Jack would probably call and having no idea how I was going to explain all this to him. I have a quick shower, trying to decide whether to leave a note. I’d have to, I can’t just leave, but I have no idea what I’d write. I try to remind myself that they were never my family to begin with. Still, the sadness is overwhelming.

  When I come back to my phone, I expect to see at least one missed call from Jack. But there are none. Just one text, from Lizzie. I open it quickly.

  I’m sorry. I had to tell them.

  The text is dated yesterday at five fifteen.

  18

  Bec, 17 January 2003

  Bec was fifteen minutes early to work. She’d walked slowly and tried calling Lizzie again. No answer. It was beginning to get frustrating. They hadn’t had a screaming argument or anything like that. Lizzie was overreacting.

  There was a huge line inside McDonald’s, but she sat at the back of the car park, deciding to wait until the very last moment before she went inside. It was stinking hot, and digging into her bag, she realized she must have left her cap at Lizzie’s house. Great—a sunburn on top of everything else. But she still didn’t go inside. Luke finished his shift as hers started and she didn’t want to see him today. She never wanted to see him again.

  By the time the fifteen minutes were over and she opened the doors, she was covered in sweat, and the freezing cold of the air conditioning sent a shiver down her spine. Ellen looked harassed as usual, her hair all fuzzed up around her part and the crease between her eyebrows deeper than ever. Normally she had nothing but respect for Ellen but now she seemed so pathetic. She almost rolled her eyes as Ellen acknowledged her with a curt nod. Obviously, she was still mad at Bec, still thought of her as some dramatic little kid. But she realized suddenly that she really couldn’t care less what Ellen thought of her. This woman wa
s in her twenties and she was working at McDonald’s and hanging out with teenagers. What had always felt like a second, and more real, family now just felt like she was filling some gaping hole with disappointments and lies. With pathetic people who had given up on their lives.

  She started serving her first customer straightaway. She could see Luke coming out of the bathroom with his backpack on and she needed an excuse not to talk to him. There was no way she was going to be able to act normal. As she filled up a large cup with lemonade for the customer, she watched Luke say goodbye to Ellen in the kitchen; smiling his easy smile that she thought was just for her and throwing an arm around Ellen so effortlessly. The anger pounded inside her again, but now she wasn’t sure if it was at him or at herself for being so stupid, for falling for it so easily. A cold trickle of lemonade snaked down her sleeve as it overflowed from the cup. She banged it off quickly and shook the liquid from her arm, knowing it would be sticky for the rest of the night.

  Gradually the glaring sun declined. The moon shifted from a soft thumbprint in the sky to a perfect silver circle. Luckily, the steady flow of customers kept up, so she didn’t have to talk to Ellen or Matty except for barked orders.

  She knew Ellen’s shift would end soon and then it would be just her and Matty cleaning together. That wouldn’t be so bad. She could get through that. The customers were turning from sweaty sunburnt families to drunken squealing groups of young people. No one she knew, thank God. She didn’t think she could even force a smile right now. But something about the repetition was soothing. It was helping to stop her thinking. It was just words and movement without room for worries and the consuming sadness and anger that had been beginning to scare her. It was just “Can I help you?” again and again and again.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, after a group of guys in polo shirts scuffled away, uncovering the girth of the huge, sweaty man behind them.

  Looking up at the fat man’s face, she waited for the inevitable huge order of fries and burgers. She always tried her best to stop the judgement from showing when obese people came in, but this time she didn’t bother. She looked the man up and down slowly.

  “Can I help you?” she said again, louder now, like the man was deaf, but he stared at her, still three steps away from the counter. His eyes looked murky and unfocused and she realized something was wrong only a second before he slumped to the floor.

  “Ellen!” she yelled.

  She looked over and Ellen already had the phone in her hand. Bec listened as she read off the address to the operator, then watched as she went over to the man and knelt down.

  “Are you all right? Can you hear me, sir?” she asked. The fat man’s face was turning blue. Ellen looked up at her sharply.

  “Bec!” she said, like she was angry.

  “What? What can I do?”

  “Keep serving,” she said.

  It didn’t take long for the paramedics to come. Bec had thought the ambulance outside would deter people, but it didn’t. People just stepped over the man’s bulging body and came up and ordered from her, then took their burger to a table to watch the scene, like it was happening on a television on the wall.

  Later on, it was her job to mop up the man’s urine. He’d pissed himself at some point and the puddle gleamed in the centre of the store. This is the worst thing ever, she thought. Worse than when she had to clean behind the deep fryer, and the oil had solidified into greasy mountains speckled with dead flies. Worse than anything.

  When everyone left, she and Matty cleaned up in silence. He didn’t even try to talk to her. Normally she would worry whether he was angry with her, but right now she didn’t care. She hated it here now. It felt like her real home. A cold place.

  19

  2014

  Who did you talk to? No one has said anything!

  Lizzie doesn’t answer. While I’m waiting, it clicks into full focus in my brain. The thing that had been niggling at me at Lizzie’s house, the half-formed memory that my mind knew was important. Something that hadn’t ever quite fitted.

  The parents had never asked. In some way or other, everyone else had hinted at the question or asked it outright. But neither of the parents had. Not from when I first spoke to the mother from the police station until now: they’d never asked where I’d been. Coldness takes over my body. I pull the dressing gown back on top of the towel and over my wet skin and put the phone in my pocket.

  The door to the garage creaks when it opens. I stand in the position I’d been in the night before last, then look over my shoulder. The mother had been looking at the two large cardboard boxes, carefully closed up with masking tape.

  I unpeel the masking tape from the first box. It makes a dull tearing noise. I hesitate for a second, my hands shaking, then pull the flaps open. The inside is full of books. I pull the books out, waiting, expecting to find human hair or bones. But there’s nothing. The dust gets up my nose and I sneeze, scaring myself as the loud noise fills the room.

  I unpeel the masking tape from the second box. But I can’t look. I know what I might find. I don’t want to see her face. But I have to open it. Slowly I pull open the flaps. More books. I pull these out recklessly, but it’s obvious they’re all that’s in here. I put them back, my heartbeat slowing.

  I was wrong.

  Thank God, I was wrong.

  I could almost laugh. My head is swirling. This is all so crazy. Nothing makes any sense. I need to get out of here. The stair squeaks under my bare foot as I step up toward the laundry door. I stop dead, looking down at my dirty toes. There are two stairs left before the laundry.

  Pushing the cardboard boxes aside, I stare at the small door that goes under the house. I won’t let myself hesitate this time. I lean down and pull it open. Instantly I have to cover my mouth. The smell is horrendous. I start to gag. But I can’t stop. I force myself to look into the stinking blackness. There she is. Rebecca Winter. Curled up in a ball like a sleeping child. Brown bones, some remnants of flesh still attached, the back of her skull caved in.

  20

  Bec, 17 January 2003

  Bec slowly walked up the hill after getting off the bus. She wasn’t in a hurry; she already knew there wouldn’t be any comfort waiting for her. Sweat slipped down her neck. She wiped it away, her skin feeling greasy. The fat and oil from the kitchen would always cling to the crevices of her face after work, the cranny between her nose and cheek, behind her ear, under the cleft of her jawline. She stopped wiping. Instead she let it flow out of her pores and push out the thick grease of the dead cows with her own living oil. The heat felt suffocating. The air itself smelt burnt and it stung her throat.

  When Bec finished work she’d looked at her phone, hoping for a moment that there would be missed calls from Liz. But her screen was blank. She didn’t want to think forward, to imagine going through the summer without Liz; to go back to school and not be friends anymore. More than anything, she wished she could take back the last week of her life. She wished she’d never said such mean things to Lizzie; she wished they’d never planned to do the stupid exorcism at all. If she had only done what she usually did, and forgot all about the presence in her room, the strange things that happened at her house, everything would be normal now. No one would be annoyed with her and she wouldn’t be angry at everyone and everything.

  Turning the corner, she could see her house at the top of the hill. For a moment she felt like her throat might close up. Stopping for a moment, she turned away from the house and breathed slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth, until her throat loosened again. Her phone buzzed and a stream of joy and relief went through her. She pulled it out of her pocket, her hands shaking slightly in their hastiness. But it was Luke.

  Hope you are doing okay, been thinking of you still.

  Before she could even process it she had thrown her phone away from her, not being able to repress the burning anger this time. She wanted to hit something, to break something. She ran up the hill. She didn’
t want to have this violence and hatred inside her. She wished she could purge it out somehow. Unlocking her front door as quietly as she could, she ran up the stairs, pulled her clothes off in the dark and got into bed. Closing her eyes tight and hoping, somehow, that the feeling of nothingness she’d felt this morning could come back and replace the hate that was taking over her body.

  21

  2014

  I stand over the bones, knowing I need to turn away, knowing I need to run. But I can’t bring myself to close the little door, to lock her back into the stinking dark. My head is spinning and my vision is pulsing. I can smell her, smell the last of her decaying hair and flesh. I bend over, sure I am going to be sick. Nothing comes.

  The garage door vibrates slightly, the noise amplified in the silence as the car comes up the street. The squeak of rubber as its wheels turn and it pulls into the driveway. For one sickening second I think the door might open, that they’ll see me standing there, half-dressed, over the skeleton of their daughter. But the car stops and the engine cuts and I hear the car doors open. I have a few seconds.

  The door to the crawl space fits into place with a click and I slide the cardboard boxes back in front of it. They’ll be walking down the path now. The scrape of metal on metal as their key turns in the lock. I run back into the laundry, shutting the garage door the instant before the front door opens. Oh, God. They’ll see me coming out of here. They’ll know I saw it. I stand motionless in the laundry, trying not to make a sound.

  “Bec?”

  The tiles are cold under my bare feet. The dryer whirls around quietly. As long as they don’t think I saw it I still have some time, if I can just get out of the house.

  “Becky?”

  I can hear the mother’s feet shuffling on the carpet. She’s almost at the laundry, about to go up the stairs to my room, but she’ll see me as she passes.