Free The Good Daughter by Honey Brown Page B

strands of her hair have escaped and now frame her features, softening her, making her prettier. He remembers yesterday, being scared to touch her, as though his hand might pass right through her … Days, nights, years of wanting to touch her.
    He’s now right in front of her.
    The top of her dressing-gown is open and showing the swell of her breast. Zach brings his hand up to pull it closed for her. She jerks her arm up and knocks his hand away. ‘Don’t,’ she says.
    There is that creeping female hysteria in her voice, the same as his mother’s. He sees now how similar she is to his mother – dark-haired, slim, high cheekbones, fair skin …
    ‘You’re overreacting,’ he says again.
    There is a faint tap on the lino floor behind him, a sound he recognises but can’t place. He doesn’t turn, but tries to categorise it.
    Again it comes – soft and delicate. Tick . The lowered line of Rebecca’s gaze gives it away, that and the rising of the fine hairs on Zach’s body. As though in confirmation, he hears the growl. Colour is returning to Rebecca’s face. She says, ‘The dogs are behind you.’
    Zach turns. He steps to one side.
    Two dogs stand in the doorway. A German shepherd and a German shepherd cross. When they move, their claws lightly tap on the lino floor. They don’t move now though. They stand still, their ears erect, their heads and shoulders out of proportion to their narrow backs and hips, their blacks eyes shining with a mixture of interest and aggression. Behind them, out in the kitchen, another two dogs stand watching – the blue heeler and the boxer.
    The animals’ combined presence is such that it bonds Zach and Rebecca; she says to him, ‘I’ll go out first, wait till I call them.’
    Even she must be afraid as she approaches them.
    ‘Come on,’ she says and slides in between them. She touches one on the back. ‘Come on, outside.’
    The tension has transferred to all the dogs. Rebecca has to chaperone Zach right to the gate. Only once he is safely on the other side on the fence does he feel able to return to the conflict inside the bedroom. ‘I didn’t mean to push you.’
    ‘You can’t come back here. Don’t come here any more.’
    ‘Why won’t you let me apologise?’
    ‘If you come back, I’ll call the police.’
    ‘You can’t call the police,’ he says suddenly. ‘It’s our property, Rebecca, and we’ll have them take away your dogs. And then where will you be?’

13
    It’s an hour before Rebecca feels any sense of normal returning, an hour before she can sit and drink a coffee. She taps her nails on the tabletop, chews her thumbnail and moves her chair so as to see both front and back doors.
    The phone rings.
    It’s the police. The constable’s voice is familiar, one from last night. He says, ‘Hi,’ as though ringing an old friend for a chat, ‘how you going?’
    ‘I’m okay.’
    His voice drops out, and she can tell he only half listens as she answers. There’s noise in the background, the hiss of radios and men talking.
    ‘Yep,’ he says to someone else. ‘Just ringing,’ he continues, coming back on loud and clear, ‘to let you know we’ll be sending a car out to pick you up and take you into the station for a statement.’
    Rebecca says, ‘I thought Aden Claas was coming to get me?’
    There’s a pause. Someone laughs in the background.
    She hears, ‘Is that her?’
    ‘He was only here five minutes ago,’ the constable says down the line, ‘and said nothing about it. He’s gone off with a group searching. I got the impression he was putting in a full day.’ After a stretch the constable says, ‘You still there?’
    She hears laughing.
    ‘Okay. That’s fine,’ she says.
    ‘You’ll be right then for someone to get you in about an hour?’
    She nods as though he can see it.

    Police do nothing to build a person’s confidence in them. They seem so civilian. What from a distance looks good, someone she might trust and confide in, up