True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    I found the house easily. It was almost spooky. I seemed to know exactly where it was. I parked the car opposite andturned off the engine. I was still drunk, but I felt in control. Some windows in the street were alight. There was a downstairs light on in his house. I sat and looked at the yellow rectangle it cast. Then I got out of the car and walked across the road, through a broken gate and up the path. The garden was overgrown. The front door had scratches on it. A small fanlight window above it was smashed. I knocked on the door. A dog barked inside and someone shouted. I felt calm.
    There was a long wait, but I didn’t knock again. A pale woman with a sunken chest appeared. I asked for him by name. She said she’d never heard of him. I got my notebook from my bag and ripped out a page. She stood holding a cigarette. She didn’t seem in the least bit interested in me. Could you give him this? I said. It’s important. I handed her the note I’d written. The dog padded towards me and licked my leg. She took the piece of paper without looking at it, and said she couldn’t promise anything. As I walked back to my car she leaned against the doorpost and watched. I heard her coughing. As I drove off she was still leaning there with the dog beside her. I started to tremble. I stopped the car when I got out of sight, and opened the door just in time to be sick onto the road. Then I drove home.

I keep in touch
    ALISON AND I had lunch in a café near the office. Why can’t I just have a good old British sandwich? she asked. Why must it be ciabatta and wraps and stuff like that? Who’s Panini anyway? He sounds like a composer. I blame all this foreign travel. Everyone should be made to go to Skegness and Bognor. Then we’d all be eating limp ham sarnies and drinking tea in buckets. I have nothing against a wrap occasionally, I said. And it’s a well-known factoid that the poor unfortunate souls who end up in Skegness need more than a wrap to survive. They need SAS-type clothing. Alison looked around. I’m not sure about this place, she said; it’s suspiciously empty for a lunchtime.
    I was happy for Alison to go off on a food rant. It postponed talking about the bread-hitting incident, so I made a decided effort to keep it going. Anyway, I said, nobody in living memory has been to Bognor. Isn’t Bognor a tropical free-love island now? Towed out to the Maldives? I thoughtI read about it in Hello! Alison was studying the menu. When the waitress came I recognised her, she was a girl I’d known slightly in school. Hi, she said. Long time no see. You could say that, I said. Like aeons and aeons. True, she said, holding up her little pad and pen. I s’pose I’ll have one of these tortilla things, Alison said, and a cup of tea. I asked the waitress if she did ham sandwiches. We do, she said. Can you make mine a limp one? I asked. You always were a funny person, she said. When our food came Alison gazed longingly at my plate. I told her she could have mine if she would forgive me about hitting her kids with bread.
    Listen, my lovely young friend, she said. I don’t blame you. I once smacked their legs with an Easter egg. They can wind one up, believe me, I know. I told her I was feeling a bit tense at the time, what with my filling. If anything, it’s my fault, she said. I know how you feel about the dentist. But are you all right, you know, generally? I replied that I was great. That I had just needed some time off. I told her she was very sweet to be so understanding. Well, it’s not as if you repeatedly bashed their heads in with a mallet, is it? she said. But here’s a thought for today. Are we both a bit nuts, chastising children with food items? All the same, I apologise, I said. It was horrible of me. I accept your apology, she said, and ate my sandwich.
    On the way home from work I drove past his house. There were some small children messing about in the grotty front garden. The dog that had licked my