The Good Daughter by Honey Brown Page B

with Mum. We pretty much always argue. I want her to move away. You probably know – Kincaid owns the restaurant. Mum’s been as good as working for him for twenty years. He wants to walk in now she’s built it up and sell it out from under her.’
    Rebecca takes her tea. It’s black, lukewarm and sugared, reminding her of recovering from bouts of gastro on the couch – the same drink her mother would serve up as a remedy.
    ‘Couldn’t your mum buy the restaurant?’ she asks.
    ‘He’s talking money way above what we could afford.’
    ‘Maybe after this he won’t sell it?’
    ‘It’s not the point. He’s always going to have it hanging over her.’
    ‘Is that why you hate him so much, for what he’s doing to your mum?’
    ‘What he’s doing, what he did.’
    ‘What will your mum do if she hasn’t got the restaurant?’
    ‘Start from scratch, I guess. I mean I can understand why she doesn’t want to make the break. Heaps of small businesses fail. She’s worried that if she sinks all her savings into a place on the coast, or in another town, it’ll go belly-up. Not many restaurants work like this one has. It’s her business, she’s made it what it is; it’s perfect for her. If he was selling the property, fair enough, we’d probably be able to afford that – but he’s selling her business, her reputation.’ Aden tosses the crust of his sandwich out into the grass. ‘He’s such an arsehole. It makes me sick how some people know what he’s like and still accept it.’
    ‘Do you think Mrs Kincaid has left him?’
    ‘Good luck to her if she has. You have to ask yourself why she can’t pack her bags like a normal person and walk out the door. That’s why Kincaid didn’t say right up front she might have left him. He’d let all those people go out searching for days rather than let anyone see the truth of what he’s like. It’s backfired on him anyway – now he’s got everyone all over it. It’s a good thing, if you ask me, that everyone can see him for what he is. He likes destroying reputations – well, he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.’
    There’s the rattle of corrugated iron over at the hayshed as a gust of wind comes through. Some of the alfoil from the picnic is picked up and blown into the grass. Rebecca gets up and rushes to grab it before it gets away. Out of their sheltered pocket she feels how strong the wind has become – it pushes like a wave against her. The long grass bends and rustles. It’s such a bracing hit of air and elements she has to smile. The foil tumbles away and she runs after it, lunges for it like you do, as though your life depends on catching it. She’s laughing and she knows why – it’s irrepressible, this feeling of relief, not even that Mrs Kincaid is safe, but her removal from it, no mention of her name in relation to it any more. And this lightness helped along by Aden turning up, giving her the jacket.
    He’s followed her, and now grabs her by the wrist. The foil cartwheels away. He has a serious expression as he pulls her into him. He puts so much into the kiss she finds it hard to stay lighthearted.
    This time he uses a condom. They keep the majority of their clothes on. It’s close and personal down in their flattened area of grass. Things said, things done, that she understands will be left outdoors.
    He says, ‘Tell me how much you like me,’ and she answers, ‘A lot.’
    He takes her hand and puts it to his chest, flattens it over his heart. He looks into her eyes. ‘I like you too, Rebecca.’
    The sex hurts in the beginning, and is harder and faster than the first time, but halfway through it the pain falls away and is replaced by the feeling that she wants it – not for the experience, but because it doesn’t feel bad any more. So much of the teasing she’s endured has been based on this – what a tart she must be, to widen her legs, open her mouth, invite and encourage more of him – that it rips her for a moment