“If you’re wanting to share about the birds and the bees, hate to break it to you, but someone beat you to it.”
“You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face if I have to drive her to an abortion clinic.”
“Another bit of shock news, Daddy dearest, but I can drive. Pretty lucky, considering you bought me a car.”
He scowls, and it’s like looking in a mirror. I bloody hate that. If I could excise his genes from my DNA by brute force, I would.
“Any other little titbits you want to pass onto me, or am I free to go?”
“A bit of respect wouldn’t go astray, you know. I’m the one financing your lifestyle, remember?”
We stare at each other for a long moment—about the only stab at closeness we get these days—then I raise my eyebrows and nod. “Sure thing. Thanks for paying my bills. I’ll return the favour when you’re old and grey.”
Waving the lunch bags at him, I walk past and glide upstairs as though my blood isn’t pounding with rage. The sooner I get out of here, the better. I make enough money to support myself already. The only reason I’m still here is that I enjoy making him pay.
If he wasn’t picking up the tab, my dad wouldn’t remember he had a son at all.
I throw Em’s lunch on the bed next to her and she opens it with one hand, the other still charging items on my phone. Returning her favour from earlier, I peek over her shoulder and wince.
Lilac wasn’t lying. That shit’s expensive.
Em catches my expression and pauses. “You didn’t say there was a limit.”
“There isn’t. Knock yourself out.”
She gets back to work without another thought, and I pick up another phone from under my pillow. This one is a clone of Lilac’s, showing everything she can see on her home screen.
Except, in the hours since I last checked, it’s completely changed. Instead of one social media app, there’s now over a dozen. Plus games. Plus a half dozen instant messaging services all connecting back to the social platforms.
I open the text window and see a bewildering variety of messages. They’re in such aggressive shorthand I feel a million years old as I try to work them out.
Finally, I get to one I understand. A text from Lilac’s number to an unknown user. A credit to top up the unknown number.
Going back to the social apps, I check out a few. All of them have a similar name, but it’s not one I’m used to. Taking a screenshot, I send it to my phone and nudge Em away from her busy work long enough to text it to Caylon with a query. “Sorry,” I say, handing it back.
“That’s okay,” she says, dropping it on the bed. “I’m done, anyway.” She pulls at the strings holding her halter top together and reaches for my crotch. “Have time for a bit of fun?”
But I’m so consumed with curiosity about the phone, her administrations don’t have any effect on me. I push her away gently, then more firmly when she tries again.
“What is wrong with you?” she demands, sitting up straight so her top falls to her waist, revealing her pert tits. A fortnight ago, that would have been enough to distract me from anything, but now I barely glance their way.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“You’ve got one skanky whore on your mind, you mean.”
I don’t deny it. When the phone buzzes with an incoming text, Em leaps for it but retreats when I glare at her—no longer playing. The message is from Caylon.
“Sierra Furnham. Nine years old. Lilac Tanner’s sister.”
“Foster sister or actual sister?”
“Actual. Same mother. Neither has a dad registered.”
I turn back to the cloned phone and check out the messages with a fresh eye. The sister had got around child filters and paywalls that I found impressive, but Caylon probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid at.
On my own phone I text:“Address?”
A half hour later, he comes through. Given he would usually be three or four times quicker, I guess she knows how to obfuscate her tracks even if she couldn’t completely erase them.
