you.’
Rebecca thinks about this a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s already starting to haunt me – that image of her at the gate and walking into the yard. You start to doubt yourself, like maybe she said she was walking home, or even that you’ve remembered the whole afternoon wrong … Or maybe you’re a homicidal killer and have done away with her yourself.’ She smiles.
‘We all wonder that,’ he says, then goes on to say, ‘about ourselves, not you.’
Rebecca shifts to sit more comfortably in the chair. ‘Don’t worry, I know the blood-splattered wrench gave me away.’
‘Scary thing is – say that to the coppers and you’ll probably end up in hot water.’
Rebecca draws on her cigarette. She nods.
They fall quiet. He scratches his forehead with his thumb, holds the cigarette cupped in his palm. He draws in smoke with his teeth gently together, his eyes glazed with thought. He has his mother’s olive skin, her unruly hair and high forehead, but not her eyes. His eyes are his own, so light in colour they seem vulnerable – to the sun, to interrogation.
There’s a reverse situation as she looks at him and he avoids her gaze. He rubs the ash from his cigarette into his jeans, then gets an old Coke can from by the bed for her to use as an ashtray. While down near the floor he pushes what Rebecca suspects is a condom wrapper under the bed and out of sight.
‘I think I know why Mrs Kincaid was here,’ he says. ‘I wanted to tell you before Ben Hur turned up.’
Because of his apparent discomfort, the condom wrapper, the mentioning of Mr Kincaid, Rebecca has a cold moment thinking it’s him – he’s the one having an affair with Mrs Kincaid. It must be written on her face. He looks at her and smiles.
‘No,’ he says, ‘although Nigel’s informed me the nuttier the better – never discount the mental factor for a wild time, he reckons. But it could actually amount to some kind of step-incest if I was.’ He runs his hand down over his mouth and jaw.
The penny is slow to drop. It’s dawning on her what he might mean when he speaks again. ‘Ben Kincaid is my father.’ He follows this with a wrinkled nose and a bitter expression.
‘But Kara’s …’
‘My real mum,’ he says.
‘Were they a couple before he was married?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not really. Actually about as far from a couple as you can get.’
‘So you’re … Zach’s half-brother?’
‘On paper, I guess. I like Zach – what I know of him. I think he is … he seems … okay for Kincaid’s kid.’
This time Rebecca cottons on quick and tilts her head.
‘Yeah,’ he says with a flick of ash over the top of the Coke can, ‘but who says I’m okay?’
‘Was Mrs Kincaid coming to see you?’
‘More likely coming to see Mum, I reckon. She found out about me and rang Mum earlier, said she’d wanted to talk to her.’
‘Do the police know?’
‘Mum’s not said anything yet.’
‘Why have you kept it a secret?’
‘Mum and him.’ He shrugs. ‘When I say I don’t understand women, what I mean is I don’t understand my mother.’
‘Sorry,’ Rebecca says, ‘but I have absolute top billing when it comes to confusing mothers – my mother’s favourite saying was All women are whores, some have just got better gigs than others . How’s that for some motherly advice?’
Aden runs a hand through his hair – he hasn’t listened. He reminds her of Zach that morning – the same distraction, the same distance from her. The day feels strangely like it’s come full circle.
‘I don’t suppose I want to get it,’ he says. ‘I think that could be more disturbing.’ He stays lost in thought a moment longer and then takes a drag of his cigarette and snaps out of it. ‘Anyway, I wanted to tell you so you didn’t get a surprise when it came out. I didn’t want you to think we’d not bothered telling you the full story.’
‘Thanks.’
They’re quiet. He’s
Rebecca thinks about this a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s already starting to haunt me – that image of her at the gate and walking into the yard. You start to doubt yourself, like maybe she said she was walking home, or even that you’ve remembered the whole afternoon wrong … Or maybe you’re a homicidal killer and have done away with her yourself.’ She smiles.
‘We all wonder that,’ he says, then goes on to say, ‘about ourselves, not you.’
Rebecca shifts to sit more comfortably in the chair. ‘Don’t worry, I know the blood-splattered wrench gave me away.’
‘Scary thing is – say that to the coppers and you’ll probably end up in hot water.’
Rebecca draws on her cigarette. She nods.
They fall quiet. He scratches his forehead with his thumb, holds the cigarette cupped in his palm. He draws in smoke with his teeth gently together, his eyes glazed with thought. He has his mother’s olive skin, her unruly hair and high forehead, but not her eyes. His eyes are his own, so light in colour they seem vulnerable – to the sun, to interrogation.
There’s a reverse situation as she looks at him and he avoids her gaze. He rubs the ash from his cigarette into his jeans, then gets an old Coke can from by the bed for her to use as an ashtray. While down near the floor he pushes what Rebecca suspects is a condom wrapper under the bed and out of sight.
‘I think I know why Mrs Kincaid was here,’ he says. ‘I wanted to tell you before Ben Hur turned up.’
Because of his apparent discomfort, the condom wrapper, the mentioning of Mr Kincaid, Rebecca has a cold moment thinking it’s him – he’s the one having an affair with Mrs Kincaid. It must be written on her face. He looks at her and smiles.
‘No,’ he says, ‘although Nigel’s informed me the nuttier the better – never discount the mental factor for a wild time, he reckons. But it could actually amount to some kind of step-incest if I was.’ He runs his hand down over his mouth and jaw.
The penny is slow to drop. It’s dawning on her what he might mean when he speaks again. ‘Ben Kincaid is my father.’ He follows this with a wrinkled nose and a bitter expression.
‘But Kara’s …’
‘My real mum,’ he says.
‘Were they a couple before he was married?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not really. Actually about as far from a couple as you can get.’
‘So you’re … Zach’s half-brother?’
‘On paper, I guess. I like Zach – what I know of him. I think he is … he seems … okay for Kincaid’s kid.’
This time Rebecca cottons on quick and tilts her head.
‘Yeah,’ he says with a flick of ash over the top of the Coke can, ‘but who says I’m okay?’
‘Was Mrs Kincaid coming to see you?’
‘More likely coming to see Mum, I reckon. She found out about me and rang Mum earlier, said she’d wanted to talk to her.’
‘Do the police know?’
‘Mum’s not said anything yet.’
‘Why have you kept it a secret?’
‘Mum and him.’ He shrugs. ‘When I say I don’t understand women, what I mean is I don’t understand my mother.’
‘Sorry,’ Rebecca says, ‘but I have absolute top billing when it comes to confusing mothers – my mother’s favourite saying was All women are whores, some have just got better gigs than others . How’s that for some motherly advice?’
Aden runs a hand through his hair – he hasn’t listened. He reminds her of Zach that morning – the same distraction, the same distance from her. The day feels strangely like it’s come full circle.
‘I don’t suppose I want to get it,’ he says. ‘I think that could be more disturbing.’ He stays lost in thought a moment longer and then takes a drag of his cigarette and snaps out of it. ‘Anyway, I wanted to tell you so you didn’t get a surprise when it came out. I didn’t want you to think we’d not bothered telling you the full story.’
‘Thanks.’
They’re quiet. He’s
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