Page 39 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

Linc glared at him and said, “Fuck off.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Linc’s eyes blazed. He looked at Dad, challenging him to berate him. Wanting it, almost, I think, as proof of the degenerate everyone said he was.

I ate my half of the Twix quietly, waiting to see what Dad’s reaction was going to be.

“That’s one of the seven,” Dad said. “Do you know the other six?”

Linc frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The seven words you couldn’t say on American TV in the old days. Close your ears, Elora.”

I put my hands over my ears but made sure I could still hear them.

“Go on,” Dad said to Linc. “How many do you know?”

Linc lifted his chin as if thinking that if Dad thought he didn’t have the courage to say them in front of him, he was going to prove him wrong. “Shit. Piss. Cunt. Motherfucker.”

Dad just nodded. “What else?”

Linc frowned. “Bollocks?”

“That’s British—we’re talking American. One of them begins with T.”

“Tits?”

“Yep. The last one begins with C.”

“Ah… Cunt?”

“You said that.”

“Cock!” Linc looked pleased with himself.

Dad tried not to laugh. “Actually it was cocksucker, but yeah.” He gestured at me to lower my hands. “The more swear words you know, the greater your whole vocabulary is likely to be,” he said to Linc, “so in a way, it’s a sign of intelligence. You know what’s also a sign of intelligence?”

Linc shook his head.

“Knowing when to use them,” Dad said. “In the locker room after you’ve lost a football match five-nil, is appropriate, or at least it’s understandable. In front of a ten-year-old girl who’s just been kind to you isn’t.”

Linc stared at him. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor. Dad waited. Eventually, Linc looked at me. “Sorry,” he said. “And thanks for the Twix.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

Dad smiled. “You wanna come in now?” he asked Linc. “I picked up some muffins from the Tuck Shop on the way over, and Mrs. Ellis has just made us hot chocolate.”

Linc thought about it, then nodded. “All right.”

Dad got up and let Linc walk past him into his office. Then he winked at me. “See you later,” he said, and followed him in.

I’ve always loved him for that. For seeing that Linc was scared and angry at being sent away from his home, even though he was also relieved not to have to go back. For understanding that Linc felt out of control and resentful for being treated like a kid, but that, as a fourteen-year-old boy, he still needed structure and guidance and positive role models. If Dad had yelled at him for swearing at him, Linc would have retreated further into his shell and refused to open up. Dad always led by example—he never swore, or not in front of me, anyway, and he was respectful to others, especially women. The young men at Greenfield learned how to behave by watching him and became better people for it.

And that’s why I think it’s shocked me so much that he lied to me. And the worst thing is that, in his mind, my assault confirmed that he was right. If anything, it deepened his resentment toward Linc.

Well, I intend to do my best to correct that. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have to try.

I pick up the phone and dial his number, my pulse beginning to speed up.

He answers, as I knew he would, within three rings. “Hello?” he says. “Elora? Everything okay?”

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