Every Seven Years Read Free Page B

boyfriend and,
honestly, I have never stopped loving that
man. We were inseparable before I left so
abruptly. He knew why. I never wrote to
him or called. I never asked him to visit.
But Tam isn’t bitter. He’s winning his race.
    Tam’s telling me that he’s gay and he
has a man and he’s happy. It makes me feel
so pleased, as if a part of me is now gay
and has a man and is happy, too.
    Now he’s telling me very carefully that
it wasn’t me that turned him gay, you
know. Tam? The hell are you on about?
He sees that I’m laughing at him. I’m
laughing in a loving way because, Tam,
you don’t need to explain that to me! For
godsake! Well, anyway he’s laughing too,
now, but his laughter is more from relief
really.
    He explains that he went out with another
girl from the other side of the island.
Well, she’s kind of angry with Tam
for being gay. She thinks either she turned
him gay by being unattractive or that he
tricked her into covering for him. She
hasn’t settled on one reading of events
just yet, but even though it was five years
ago, she’s still very annoyed about it.
    I think about asking how unattractive
can she possibly be, but that’s a quip and
my lips aren’t very agile. Nor is my brain.
And then the moment for a joke is past.
So I just smile and say, Auch, well. People
are nuts.
    Tam says, Yeah, people are nuts and
gives a sad half shrug. Still, he says, not
nice to be the cause of hurt, you know?
    He means it. However nasty she was to
him, he still doesn’t want to be the cause
of hurt to her. That’s what Tam’s like. Like
my mum. Better people than me. Good
people.
    I put my hand on Tam’s to say that he’s
a lovely person, that he always was a lovely
person, just like my mum. But he looks at
my hand on his and he’s a bit alarmed, like
he’s worried I might be coming on to him
and he’ll have to explain something else
about being gay and how gay isn’t just a
sometimes type of thing. He’s afraid of
causing me hurt maybe. So I get out of my
seat, sticking my tongue right out and sort
of jab it at his face while making a hungry
sound. Tam gives a girlish scream and pulls
away from me and we’re both laughing as
if it’s seven years ago and we’re that whole
bunch of different atoms again.
    But then, as I’m laughing, I catch a
fleeting glimpse of him looking at me. He
is smiling wide, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his tie loose. His hand
is resting on the table and he’s looking
straight at me through laughing, appreciative
eyes. I know that look and I feel for
the jilted girl from the other side of the island.
Tam would be easy to misread.
When I’m not drunk I might tell him: you
come over as straight, Tam. It’s an acting
job, being who you are. I am good at acting
and Tam isn’t. He’s sending out all the
wrong signals.
    I’ll tell him later. When my lips are
working.
    We’re different people, I slur, every
seven years, d’you know that?
    He says no and I try to explain, but it’s
not going very well. Words elude me.
When I look up he’s very serious.
    He says, Else, you’re drunk. It’s a change
of topic from the seven years and he’s not
pleased I’m drunk.
    I can get drunk if I want. You’re not the
goddam boss, Tam.
    Yes, he says, seriously. I am the boss.
I’m a police officer. You’re drunk and
you’re driving a car. It’s all banged up at
the back. I am the boss. Where were you
going?
    I look at him and I think he knows
where I was going but I just say nowhere.
    I knew when she died you would do
something, he says, as if I’m a loose cannon,
a crazy person who can’t be trusted
not to mess everything up unless my
mum is there to tick me off. I look up
and see the Smirnoff bottle and know
that I wouldn’t be drinking if she were
still alive. The world has been without
her for less