waiting for a reaction to what he’s told her – for him the admission is big – but Rebecca can’t think of anything intelligent to say, other than some inane comment about him not looking like Mr Kincaid. She leans forward and rubs at the itchy bites on her ankles, licks her thumb and dabs one of them.
‘I heard the police say Neil Toyer isn’t your father,’ Aden says.
‘That’s right – he’s my stepdad.’ Rebecca straightens. ‘I know why they said that, though. I bet they had that look in their eye when they did – that look like something funny is going on . It’s like you can’t have a truck driver and a teenage girl in the same house without some kind of abuse. If that’s what they think, funny they don’t do anything about it.’ Rebecca brings up her shoulder. ‘But I’m used to it. The whole town thinks it.’
‘You don’t sound used to it.’
‘I am.’
‘Do you know who your real father is?’
‘Mum wouldn’t tell me his name. She ranged between calling him spoilt little rich kid and …’ Rebecca bites the inside of her cheek, ‘ Bigus Dickus .’
Aden smiles.
Rebecca brings her fingers up to either side of her face. ‘This big, she’d tell me, as if I’d want to know, and other things I’m sure a child isn’t meant to know about their father. A few of the more respectable things she told me were that he drove a red sports car and fancied himself an actor.’
‘Why wouldn’t she tell you his name?’
‘I think she was worried I’d go off searching for him. Which I wouldn’t have. He’s in America, anyway, so …’ Rebecca blows her smoke off to the side, ‘that’s that.’
‘You might be better off not knowing him. You might find out he’s like my father – a complete and utter prick.’
‘Do you think Mr Kincaid is that? He’s just blue blood, isn’t he?’
‘There’s something in his blood, I guess you could call it blue.’ Aden shuts one eye, grimaces at a thought. ‘That’s a really off joke.’
He asks after a moment, ‘Are you only sixteen?’
‘You think I’m going to lie to the cops about it?’
‘I wish you had.’
‘What’s that mean?’
But she knows what he means.
He puts his cigarette into the Coke can and gives it a shake. ‘We better go back in before they send out a search party for you.’
‘What age would you have liked me to say?’ she asks.
‘Any age above sixteen,’ he answers.
10
One table back Zach sits and watches her. Watches her hands clasp and separate, watches her fingers rope and intertwine. She pulls the black jumper she’s wearing down past her hands, as though to stop her fingers fidgeting. Under the table she crosses and re-crosses her legs, twists her feet together when his father asks what they’d bought together at the shop, why she’d sat for an hour out the front, how she drove around unlicensed. ‘I take the back roads and park out of town,’ she says.
‘So you don’t get caught.’
Against the wall, with his arms crossed and his face angled away, is Aden Claas. Zach can now see the family resemblance. Aden’s hair is lighter than his father’s, but they have the same eyes, the same-shaped face, the same height, the same athletic way about them. Zach catches Aden looking at Rebecca, and when the questions become personal, when Zach’s father’s tone becomes harsh, his body language imposing, Aden glances at the police as if to prompt them to intervene. When they don’t, his jaw tightens and his gaze swings across to the door, where his mother is standing, leaning against the doorframe.
‘Is this protocol?’ Aden interrupts, and the police look at him as if not fully aware of what the word means. ‘Should he be allowed to question her? Isn’t this your job?’
‘My wife is missing,’ Zach’s father says. ‘I’ll talk to whoever I have to.’
‘Shouldn’t you be out looking?’ Aden says.
‘Get him out of here,’ Zach’s father says.
‘Ah … we can’t, Mr
‘I heard the police say Neil Toyer isn’t your father,’ Aden says.
‘That’s right – he’s my stepdad.’ Rebecca straightens. ‘I know why they said that, though. I bet they had that look in their eye when they did – that look like something funny is going on . It’s like you can’t have a truck driver and a teenage girl in the same house without some kind of abuse. If that’s what they think, funny they don’t do anything about it.’ Rebecca brings up her shoulder. ‘But I’m used to it. The whole town thinks it.’
‘You don’t sound used to it.’
‘I am.’
‘Do you know who your real father is?’
‘Mum wouldn’t tell me his name. She ranged between calling him spoilt little rich kid and …’ Rebecca bites the inside of her cheek, ‘ Bigus Dickus .’
Aden smiles.
Rebecca brings her fingers up to either side of her face. ‘This big, she’d tell me, as if I’d want to know, and other things I’m sure a child isn’t meant to know about their father. A few of the more respectable things she told me were that he drove a red sports car and fancied himself an actor.’
‘Why wouldn’t she tell you his name?’
‘I think she was worried I’d go off searching for him. Which I wouldn’t have. He’s in America, anyway, so …’ Rebecca blows her smoke off to the side, ‘that’s that.’
‘You might be better off not knowing him. You might find out he’s like my father – a complete and utter prick.’
‘Do you think Mr Kincaid is that? He’s just blue blood, isn’t he?’
‘There’s something in his blood, I guess you could call it blue.’ Aden shuts one eye, grimaces at a thought. ‘That’s a really off joke.’
He asks after a moment, ‘Are you only sixteen?’
‘You think I’m going to lie to the cops about it?’
‘I wish you had.’
‘What’s that mean?’
But she knows what he means.
He puts his cigarette into the Coke can and gives it a shake. ‘We better go back in before they send out a search party for you.’
‘What age would you have liked me to say?’ she asks.
‘Any age above sixteen,’ he answers.
10
One table back Zach sits and watches her. Watches her hands clasp and separate, watches her fingers rope and intertwine. She pulls the black jumper she’s wearing down past her hands, as though to stop her fingers fidgeting. Under the table she crosses and re-crosses her legs, twists her feet together when his father asks what they’d bought together at the shop, why she’d sat for an hour out the front, how she drove around unlicensed. ‘I take the back roads and park out of town,’ she says.
‘So you don’t get caught.’
Against the wall, with his arms crossed and his face angled away, is Aden Claas. Zach can now see the family resemblance. Aden’s hair is lighter than his father’s, but they have the same eyes, the same-shaped face, the same height, the same athletic way about them. Zach catches Aden looking at Rebecca, and when the questions become personal, when Zach’s father’s tone becomes harsh, his body language imposing, Aden glances at the police as if to prompt them to intervene. When they don’t, his jaw tightens and his gaze swings across to the door, where his mother is standing, leaning against the doorframe.
‘Is this protocol?’ Aden interrupts, and the police look at him as if not fully aware of what the word means. ‘Should he be allowed to question her? Isn’t this your job?’
‘My wife is missing,’ Zach’s father says. ‘I’ll talk to whoever I have to.’
‘Shouldn’t you be out looking?’ Aden says.
‘Get him out of here,’ Zach’s father says.
‘Ah … we can’t, Mr
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