Every Seven Years Read Free Page A

the
book. It might be true and she might tell
me so. Why didn’t I just throw the note
away? It seemed inseparable from the
book. I wrapped the book in a plastic bag
and tucked it under a thick gorse bush. I
left it there all night and picked it up in the
morning and took it back to the library. I
should have taken the note out but I didn’t
dare look at it again or touch it.
    I wondered about the writing at the
time. Did Karen disguise her writing because
I knew her? Why stand there, watching
me find it at the bus stop? Or did she
disguise it in case the police became involved?
    I never told Totty about the note. Ever.
And I’m glad. And I know I’ll be glad
about that forever.
    I remember that she’s gone for the fifteenth
time in an hour. My thoughts are
flying, racing somewhere and then BANG.
Shock. Disbelief.
    Totty’s gone. The world feels poorer. It
feels pointless. The next breath feels pointless.
    I sit on the couch and watch the waves
break on each other as they struggle inland,
then are dragged back out by their
heels. Striving pointlessly. Then I make an
effort. Studiously, I drink the crazy drink
and get crazy drunk.
    It’s the middle of the night and I wake up
on the couch. I’m sweaty and I smell unfamiliar
to myself, strange and sour. The
sea is howling outside, fierce gray. A self-harming
sea. I’m going kill Karen Little.
I’m so angry I can hardly breathe in.
    The first problem is the car. I get into
the car and start the engine and back it
into a wall. It sounds as if it was probably
a bad crash, from the crumple of metal,
but I can’t be bothered getting out to look
at it. It’s windy. The sea spray is as thick as
a fog over the windscreen.
    It’s in reverse . That’s the problem there.
I’ve solved a problem and feel buoyed.
    I change gear. I go for a front-ways one
this time and move off. I pass the gorse
bush where I hid the Lik-Tin-Stein all
those years ago. The engine is groaning
and growling, doesn’t sound happy, so
maybe it’s third gear. First gear. That’s the
one. So I put it in first and it sounds happy
now. Am I wearing a coat? Where does
Karen even live now? I’ll find her. Wherever
she lives.
    I get all the way up the hill, looking
down on the lights of the town and the
harbor. Its inky dark up here and the road
is disappearing in front of me, swallowed
in the blackness. Lights! Of course! My
lights are off.
    I stop on the top of the hill, over the
town. She’s down there somewhere. I
crank on the hand break and look for the
lights. I don’t know this car. The switch
should be on the wheel but it’s not. Not
on the dashboard. Why would they hide a
thing like that? It’s ridiculous, it’s not safe.
I’m going to write to the company.
    A glass-tap and a shout through the
sheeting rain—HELLO?
    A face. Man-face at the window. Smiling.
    I wind the window down. I’m already
indignant about the safety flaws in the car
and the rain comes in making my leg cold.
Now I’m furious.
    The hell’re you doing out here?
    Else? He smiles, sweet, as round faced
as he ever was. Tam. God, he’s handsome.
    I heard she died, Else. I was coming to
see you.
    So there’s a dissonant thing going on
now: inside my head I’m saying “Tam”
over and over in different ways, friendly
way, surprised, delighted, howthehellareye! ways. But outside my head, I’m
making a noise, a squeal like a hurt
piglet, very high noise. My face is tight so
I can’t will it to move and I’m holding the
steering wheel tight with both hands.
And my face is wet.
    Auch, darlin’, says Tam.
    He opens the door and all the rain’s getting
on me and he’s carrying me to his car
and then I’m in the kitchen.
    Tam.
    Tam’s pouring coffee. I hope it’s for me because
it looks really nice. He’s telling me a
lot of things that are surprising but also
nice. Tam was my first