‘Yes Daddy,’ she said in her best “professional” voice, causing her father to smile, and set to finishing preparing supper with quiet efficiency.
Going to the sitting-room, Lorne found his wife at work on the girl while his son looked on, his mien uncharacteristically sullen.
‘Who did this?’
‘Some of Monica’s stepfather’s friends,’ David replied, his tone belying repressed anger. ‘You’ll be happy to know they got the worst of it.’
‘And who’s the girl’s stepfather?’
‘Fellow by the name of Gedde-’
‘His name’s Tarkenton,’ the girl blurted defensively. ‘Gedde was my real father’s name.’
Lorne took a deep breath, let it out slowly, causing his son to look up at him apprehensively.
‘Harold Tarkenton?’ David flinched, as his father now spoke in his copper’s voice.
‘Yes.’ The girl averted her eyes, writhing in shame.
David watched his father in silence, guts churning with anxiety. Lorne had sat down, lost in thought; by all accounts a bad sign. But when his father addressed the girl again, he found himself listening with frank astonishment.
‘Is that your belongings David brought in?’
‘I’m sorry! I’ll go back if you like-’