Free Everything She Forgot by Lisa Ballantyne Page B

entered.
    â€œIt can’t be long now, my girl,” he said, a hand smoothing her swollen flank. “Only a few days at most and I’ll help you. I’ll be with you all the way, and you’ll be chasing that calf right across the paddock before you know it.”
    Maisie turned to him dolefully, black eyes so large that they could reflect Angus’s whole face. He scratched the space between her ears and watched her tail whip in appreciation.
    â€œYou’re my beautiful girl,” he said, running his hand from her head to her rear.
    He put extra feed and fresh water into Maisie’s trough, then returned to the house. It was freezing although it was only autumn, and Angus remembered the small Henderson child out alone at the mercy of the demon. It didn’t bear thinking about.
    Inside, he pulled off his Wellingtons and went into the kitchen in his socks, to find Hazel spooning potatoes onto his plate. The sight of her sickened him. She was so proud of herself for those fresh, boiled potatoes, he could tell, and he wanted to let her know that these paltry offerings of hers were nothing to be proud of. He sat, prayed, and then raised his cutlery, ready to pass judgment on her culinary efforts when he heardsomething . . . forbidden. It was so faint that Angus could not be sure, but it sounded distinctly like music. He threw down his knife and fork and headed for the stairs, but by the time he had reached the banister all he could hear was the somber tick of the grandmother clock that hung in the hall.
    Convinced that he had not misheard, Angus bounded upstairs, his short legs taking the steps two at a time. Rachael was the most obvious culprit. Angus threw open the door of her bedroom to find her standing strangely by her bed, her chin down and a flush on her cheek.
    Angus folded his arms as he walked into the room, checking for signs of disarray.
    â€œWhat are you doing in here, young lady?”
    â€œI was about to do some homework,” she said, avoiding his eyes, and her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.
    â€œSpeak up and look at me when I’m talking to you.”
    His daughter’s eyes flickered up toward him. She was as sly and weak-willed as her mother. Suddenly he noticed that the frill of the valance around the bed was protruding strangely. He got down on his knees and peered under the bed.
    â€œWell, well,” he said, a flush of vindication filling him. “What have we here?”
    It was the tape recorder, which was normally kept in the loft. In the past, the children had used it to help them recall Scripture. There was a tape inside, which Angus removed with forefinger and thumb. It was a self-recorded tape on which someone had written in ink: Madonna—Like a Virgin .
    â€œI knew it,” Angus bellowed. “You brought this filth into our house?”
    â€œI was only, I was only . . .” said Rachael, before her father took her firmly by the upper arm and led her out of the room.
    Hazel was fretting at the top of the stairs, whispering his name over and over again: “Angus, please . . . Angus, Angus?”
    â€œAch, take a tablet, woman,” he said as he dragged Rachael into the bathroom. The child was whimpering, but he paid no notice.
    He took a fistful of her hair and forced her down onto her knees so that she was kneeling by the bathroom sink, then took the wooden scrubbing brush that Hazel used to get the mildew off the tiles.
    Hazel stepped into the bathroom, her arms rigid at her side and her fists closed. “Please calm down, Angus, you mustn’t . . .” Her voice was vibrating in her throat.
    â€œMustn’t what?” said Angus, wide-eyed at Hazel, feeling his daughter’s cold fingers at his wrist, asking him to release her.
    â€œYou mustn’t hurt her.”
    â€œHurt her?” he shouted. “I’m educating her.”
    â€œDo you like listening to that filth?” said Angus, twisting