Every Seven Years Read Online Free PDF Page A

that
seem inevitable because they’ve been there
for a hundred and fifty years. It is big,
squat, and solid. The roofline is castellated;
the windows are big and plentiful. The
wind coming straight off the water is perpetual
and incessant on this headland. The
house is an act of defiance, an elegant onefingered
salute to the wind and the ocean.
    Very much like Paki himself, from what
I’ve heard.
    Before I knew he might be my father,
before the note, I listened to stories about
Paki without prejudice. I knew they hated
my mum and loved Paki but I didn’t see
him as anything to do with me. Paki was
a wild boy. Paki had bar fights and rode
ponies into the town on the Sabbath. Paki
pushed a minister into a bush. Paki
burned a barn down. I heard a lot of stories
about him. He was ugly but wild, and
wild is good here.
    As we draw up to the house the big
heavy car is buffeted by the wind. Tam
finds a wind-shaded spot by the side. He
drives straight into it and pulls on the
hand break. He wants to talk to me before
we go in. He gets the hip flask out again. I
don’t want anymore but he makes me take
it. And he tells me quietly what will happen:
he will knock on the front door. I will
go around behind the house to see if the
back door is open. If it is open, I will come
in and find the kitchen, first door on the
right. There is a knife block with carving
knives on it. Karen will come to the front
door and let Tam in. Tam will bring Karen
into the kitchen where I am hiding behind
the door with my knife. I will go for the
neck.
    He looks at me for confirmation and I
nod. I shouldn’t be scared, he tells me. He
will be right there. He smiles and makes
me drink more. He doesn’t drink anymore
because he is driving. He’s a cop. He can’t
afford to lose his license.
    We get out of opposite doors and I slip
around to the back of the house. Suddenly,
the wind pushes and shoves and
pulls at me and I have to crouch low and
run for the steps up to the door. It is open.
I’m in. I find myself breathless from the
pummeling wind and the short sharp run
up the worn stone steps.
    In the dark stone hallway the house is
silent. I don’t think Karen is in. This is an
eventuality that didn’t occur to either of
us, so deep were we into our consensus. I
flatten myself against the wall and listen
to the creaking windows and the hiss of
the wind outside. At the far end of the hall
I can see the cold white light from the
front door spilling into the hallway.
    Three knocks. Bam. Bam. Bam. Tam’s
shadow is on the carpet. Karen isn’t even
in.
    I draw a deep breath.
    A creak above. Not wind. A creak of
weight on floor above. Karen is standing
up somewhere. She takes a step, I feel her
wondering if she did hear someone
knocking. Then Tam knocks again. Bam.
Bam. Bam. She is sure now and comes out
to the upstairs hall. At the top of the stairs
she pauses, she must be able to see the
door from up there. She gives a little “oh”
and hurries down to Tam standing outside.
She seems a little annoyed by him as
she flings the door open.
    Why are you knocking? she asks.
    Tam keeps his eyes on the hall and slips
in, shutting the door behind him, taking
her by the elbow and pulling her into a
room.
    Thomas? She’s calling him his formal
name, his grown-up name. Why did you
wait out in that wind? Did the lawyer call
you? She’s jabbering like a housewife talking
over a garden fence but Tam’s saying
nothing back.
    Their voices move from the hall to
nowhere to suddenly coming from the
first door on the right. They are in the
kitchen. They have gone through a different
door into the kitchen and I am supposed
to be in there right now with a knife
from the knife block.
    For the first time in my life, I have
missed my cue.
    I throw myself at the door and fall into
the room. Look up. There is Tam, standing
behind Karen, holding her by the elbow,
sort of, pushing her forward, toward me.
    There, right in front