“That’s very harsh,” says Dad, sounding shocked.

“It’s the truth. He’s just a loser. Always was. And now you all want to prop his life back up for him.” She sounds almost savage. “Why should Brent get his life propped up?”

We’re all exchanging shocked looks. I’m guessing that Rebecca and Brent’s relationship didn’t end too brilliantly.

“But he’s almost certainly homeless!” I point out. “And he’s your daughter’s father!”

“What does that mean to me?” Rebecca snaps. “If he’s homeless, it’s his own damn idiot fault.”

I’ve never seen someone change so fast. All the syrupy charm has slid away, and with it has gone her veneer of attractiveness. She looks older and bitter and kind of pinched around the mouth. All in ten seconds. I almost want to whisper in her ear: You know, being mean is really bad for your looks.

Dad is watching her appraisingly, and I wonder if she was like this all those years ago. Maybe she was worse.

At any rate, something tells me Mum doesn’t need to worry.

“Well,” he says at last, in pleasant tones. “We’ll do our thing. And you do your thing. It was nice to see you again, Rebecca.”

He gets to his feet and waits meaningfully. After a moment, Rebecca stands up too and picks up her tasseled leather bag.

“You’ll never succeed anyway,” she says scathingly. “Becca’s right. Not a chance.”

My blood is starting to boil. This woman is a total witch.

“Hey, wait a moment, Rebecca,” I say as she reaches the door. “You think I’m named after you, don’t you? Just like Becca is, and Corey’s daughter.”

Rebecca says nothing but turns to face us again and shakes back her long hair, all the time looking at Dad with this self-satisfied smile. She clearly believes every man gets so besotted by her that he names his child after her. Ugh. Ugh!

“I knew it!” I glare at her. “That’s what your daughter thought when I met her at the trailer park. You must have looked Dad up online and found out about me, and you simply assumed that he’d called me Rebecca after you.” I lift my chin firmly. “Well, guess what? He didn’t. I’m named after the book.”

“Hear, hear!” chimes in Mum wildly. “The book!”

“And you want to know something even more interesting?” I add, in my most lacerating tones. “Dad didn’t want to name me Rebecca. He wanted to name me anything but Rebecca. I wonder why?”

Rebecca says nothing, but I can see two small pink dots appear on her cheeks. Ha. That tells her. A moment later, the beads have fallen in a noisy clatter behind her, and we all look at one another.

“Well!” says Mum, breathing hard. “Well! Of all the…”

“Dear oh dear,” says Dad, shaking his head, in that understated way he has.

“She reminds me of that Angela who used to run the church raffle,” muses Janice. “Do you remember her, Jane? With the bracelets? Drove a blue Honda?”