Good Girl Bad (34)

Not Rebecca. It was all his fault, every time. Couldn’t he see how he drove her to it? And she was so convincing, for a long time he did think it was all his fault. If only he didn’t wind her up. If only he remembered to be more respectful. The final straw was when he went out for dinner with his brother, and when he got home Rebecca was nearly frothing at the mouth she was so enraged.

She said he never told her he was going out, but he was sure he had.

She said the kids were distressed and worried about where he was, and she’d had to manage their fears.

She’s said if other people were more important than his family, perhaps he should just “fuck off and live with his brother,” because she wouldn’t put up with being disrespected like this.

And maybe it was because he’d just been outside their little bubble, spending time with his brother, that he could actually see for the first time that she was completely insane, and trying to make him feel bad, when he hadn’t actually done anything that he ought to feel bad about. Maybe she was trying to make him feel bad about what she was about to do. Her attack, her violence. It made no sense, and he’d had the overwhelming sense that he needed to leave immediately, or he’d be sucked into Rebecca’s reality forever and lose himself completely.

And now. Well. Maybe it was nothing, but Tabby asking to move in with him, the way she asked, the vulnerability of it. Any other teenager fighting with their mom would be angry, state the reasons why they wanted to leave. Unreasonable bedtimes. Conflict over screen time. But not Tabby. Just a fearful little question, then the pretense that it didn’t matter.

But it did.

He didn’t want to talk to Rebecca. He really, really didn’t. He knew exactly how the conversation would go. The reasonableness of it. How he’d end up doubting himself. How smug and superior and kind she would be. Helping him to get a better perspective. Listing all the evidence that she’s Mom Extraordinaire.

His stomach churns, and he knows he’s sweating, dark patches probably visible under his arms.

He doesn’t want to get out of the car.

Maybe he’ll wait till Tuesday, ask Tabby a bit more about it. Try to get some more information, some concrete facts to arm himself with.

He hesitates for a moment, then convinces himself that this is really the only sensible option, the safest option for both Tabby and him.

Then he puts the car into gear and drives away.





27





The little girl is exhausted.

She doesn’t really understand what the fights are about. Her mother is furious with her father, or is her father furious with her mother? It swings like a pendulum, one way then another, over and over again.

Anger. Shouting. Cruelty to everyone.

Do other families fight like this?

She has a plan though. And even though she didn’t get much sleep last night—she knows she shouldn’t listen, she knows that, but she’s just trying to understand, just trying to find some way she can help them, help herself—she’s still going to follow through with it. She’s buoyed by excitement, of the potential of her plan to make a difference.

They weren’t always like this, and she knows if she tries hard enough, she can make things go back to the way they were.

She’s ten years old, and she has no idea how little difference her intended plan will make.

The actual outcome though? That will make a difference.

Not the difference she had hoped for. But a difference that will reverberate around her forever.

Her parents seem so fed up. Like they don’t even want to see their children, let alone have to look after them. Perhaps if they have a bit of space, they might find something nice to talk about? Without her and her sister here, mucking things up, getting in the way, making them angry. Maybe they’ll smile at each other, with crinkly eyes, and maybe even hold hands or kiss a little bit?

The little girl has seen that, she remembers it. She remembers more love in their house, once. She is sure she remembers it.

So when her mother comes in and opens the blinds—not saying anything, no “good morning,” nothing—she jumps out of bed with unusual enthusiasm.

She tugs on her sister’s doona, smiling at her, kissing her forehead.

“Bubba, bubba,” she whispers, smoothing her hair, kissing each eyelid. “Get up! I have a surprise for you today. It’s going to be wonderful.”

And it is wonderful, for a little while.

And then the plan goes pear-shaped and nothing is wonderful, ever again.





28





Thursday

Nate opens the door to a crying Genevieve. Cheryl looks apologetic.

“She wanted to come back. She can’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Nate picks Genevieve up, her small body limp against him, and beckons Cheryl inside. Rob is nowhere to be seen, and Nate doesn’t ask.

“Is there any news? Rebecca hasn’t returned my calls.”

Nate glances at Cheryl. It seems to be a statement of fact, rather than said with any resentment, but he wonders about it. Rebecca had told him that she’d check in with Gen, who doesn’t have a personal phone yet.

How would she check in, without calling Cheryl or Rob?

“Yes. They’ve ruled Leroy’s cause of death as drowning. There was some blunt force trauma to his head, but they think it’s consistent with falling off the bridge onto the rocks below. They think it knocked him out and so he drowned.” Nate wonders whether he should be conveying this in front of Genevieve, but he supposes she’ll find out anyway. It’s better to hear it in his arms than elsewhere. She doesn’t actually seem to have heard though, and is a dead weight around his neck.