Chapter 7
Cynthia
Saturday 11.12am
I’m staring down at my second-hand phone and scowling at my bank balance as I try to work out how much I can afford to spend on groceries this week.
I glance up at the canned soups in front of me, and blow out a sigh I’ll have to skip luxuries until I get paid at the end of the month.
I grab a can of condensed chicken soup, the chain lock I want to install, and place it in my cart.
Trying to keep a rough tally of how much I’ve spent, I round the corner and head back to the produce aisle to locate a few heads of broccoli when I narrowly miss hitting someone.
I’m ready with an apology when I have to do a double-take. Becker is standing right in front of me.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out.
As I try to recover, he gives me a lazy smile as he looks inside my cart and picks up the chain lock in my cart. “That’s not going to do much. If someone has a pair of bolt cutters—"
“I know that,” I snap.
“So why buy it if you know it won’t work?”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “It was all they had.”
His brow knits. “Why do you need extra security measures?”
I look around and make sure no one is paying us attention. “Are you stalking me?” I hiss.
He looks decidedly amused as he shakes his head. “Not at all. I was in the neighborhood and they have great produce.”
He picks up a cantaloupe and gives me a salacious wink. “Really juicy melons,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Why are you really in the area?”
He looks me up and down as he holds the melon in one hand. “I’m about to go meet your dad and I needed to give you something.”
My spine stiffens and he gives me what he probably thinks is a reassuring smile. “Relax. Nothing to do with you and me.”
I grip the cart a little tighter. “Then what is it about?”
He smiles and reaches into his pocket and hands me a small gift bag. “I figured you might need these.”
With a wink, he walks away, holding the melon, leaving me to look inside the bag.
As I peer at the contents and see a pair of black silky panties with the price tag still on, my cheeks heat at his sheer audacity.
I clear my throat, shove the panties inside my purse, and hope that’s the last stunt Becker tries to pull.
***
Becker
From inside his office, Mathew rises and greets me warmly. “Thanks for giving up your weekend. I know you have other applications to process.”
I shake his outstretched hand and take a seat opposite him. “No problem.”
He nods, but he’s distracted. “How did you get on with Trudy?”
I pull out the mock questionnaire I had her fill out. “Are you aware of the animosity between your daughters?”
His eyebrows shoot skywards. “I wouldn’t label it animosity.”
I slide the form towards him. “Well, I would.”
He scans the paper before looking at me. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s a dummy test I like to use. Depending on how the interviewee responds it can highlight issues that might have gone unnoticed.”
His brow furrows. “You mean psychological issues?”
I nod as he reads through her answers. “I don’t understand. Trudy has always been stable. She’s never had any problems.”
“That you’re aware of.”
His face tightens. “Trudy has always been a good girl. Never put a foot wrong…”
“Unlike Cynthia,” I finish.
He looks at the picture of a young and slightly awkward-looking Cynthia and Trudy on his desk. “Cynthia always had a reckless side. She was always the one getting caught.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why did you phrase it like that?”
He frowns a little. “I’m sorry?”
“You said she was always the one getting caught. Not she was the one getting in trouble.”
He shakes his head. “I misspoke. I meant Cynthia seems to attract trouble. Trudy doesn’t.”
I shrug. “Or maybe Trudy is better at hiding it.”
At the angry look on his face, I know he’s not even prepared to accept what I’m saying and I’m about to challenge him on it until he sighs wearily.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I don’t know my daughters as well as I should. My wife was always the one who could read them.”
At the hesitance in his voice, I lean forward. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
He nods. “I spoke to a neighbor this morning after I saw Cynthia. She told me Cynthia didn’t come home last night.”
My stomach does a triple somersault as I keep my face impassive. “Did you ask her about it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid to. But if she’s been stealing…all the signs are there, the secrecy, the lies. I think she’s taking drugs again.”
“You think she’s stealing to support a drug habit?’
He looks so pained, I know I can’t let him dangle. “I’ve worked with a few addicts, and I’m not seeing any signs Cynthia is using. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Even as I say it, I know he already has. He’s already sided with Trudy based on the testimony of a nosy neighbor.
“I’m afraid I’m struggling with this level of scrutiny. The sooner you finish the sooner we move on and forget the past,” he says.
That gets my hackles up, warning me I’m too close to this. “You mean Cynthia’s past.”
He gives me a clipped nod. “Unfortunately, yes.”
I force a placating smile and look him dead in the eye. “To me, it sounds like you’re preaching one thing on the pulpit and practicing an entirely different one at home.”
When he doesn’t say anything in his defense, I gesture to the Bible in front of him. “The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice,” I quote.
I know I just crossed the line but I can’t seem to stop my mouth from running off at his hypocrisy.
“I’m here to make sure everything is kosher. I’m going to do that whether you like what I find or not.”
I don’t give him time to reply, just get to my feet, and walk out the door.
***
Cynthia
Saturday 1.12pm
I’m sitting down to a tuna sandwich and a Coke when my replacement phone starts to ring.
I abandon my lunch and am a little startled to see it’s my boss’s name on screen.
“Hi, Mary. Did you need me to come in?” I say.
“Hi, Cynthia. Um, no. This is well, slightly awkward. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”
I’m so stunned, I’m sure I misheard her. But when she speaks again, it’s apparent I didn’t. “I’m sorry to do this over the phone,” she says.
I slouch on the sofa and grip the phone tighter. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re a little concerned this job might put you in an awkward position.”
I frown at the sandwich on the coffee table. “Why? What’s changed? You just promoted me to floor manager?”
“We’re concerned that we made an error in asking you to step into the role. We’re a little worried about the issues you’ve had in the past—”
I cut her off. “What are you referring to? Me getting caught shoplifting when I was sixteen? I didn’t need to tell you that. But I thought it was important to be honest.”
Her voice sounds strained. “I understand that. But there have been, some complaints from staff members about your language and behavior.”
My jaw slackens as I try to process what she’s accusing me of. “But I get on well with everyone?”
At least I thought I did.
Her answer comes like the final nail in my coffin. “We do wish you well, and of course we’ll send your belongings to you unless you’d like your sister or father to collect them for you?”
I’m so devastated, I don’t even bother asking what my sister or father has to do with anything, I just dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from crying. “No, send them to me.”
I press the end button and toss my phone on the second-hand sofa that came with the apartment.
I slump into it, trying to hold on to my tears as I stare at Trudy’s immaculate old phone.
Even her hand-me-downs are perfect.
Unlike me. My entire life is a beaten-up second-hand mess.
Second hand and second best.
“Fuck, motherfucking shit balls!” I yell as loud as I can.
When that doesn’t make me feel better, I throw the sandwich across the room.
The plate smashes against the wall, splattering tuna and pickles all over the wall.
I’m so angry, I don’t even care, I just stare at it, and flop back on the sofa so I can glare at the ceiling as I plot my revenge in a decidedly unchristian way.
Not that anyone thinks I am a Christian anyway.
Which was precisely why I left in the first place. All those self-righteous people who knew the Bible backward and forward and thought they were members of a special club.
I hated them. And after this, I’m pretty sure I still do.
I place my hands over my face and growl at myself for ever thinking I could ever truly be accepted here again.
I only wanted to be close to my father, and to try to work out where I belonged in the damn world, but in the space of a weekend, I’m right back where I started from.
Alone.
I’m busy lamenting my joblessness and complete reliance on my father when someone knocks on the door.
I groan and pull myself to sitting. Thinking it’s one of my neighbors wondering what the shouting was about, I open the door with a smile ready and find myself staring at a small package on the step.
I stick my head out and catch sight of the back of a UPS man just as he disappears.
I frown as I pick it up and walk back inside my apartment. It’s addressed to me, so I tear it open and have to pick my jaw up off the floor when I see the contents is the latest iPhone.
After my shock, I read the note attached, and before I can even think about ignoring him, I’m grabbing my keys.
Your dad knows you didn’t go home last night.
Go to the park at the end of the street. Bring the phone your sister brought you.
I’ll call you on this phone in twenty minutes.
Becker
