pages. I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the rain.
“I can’t hear you. Did you say questions?” I screamed.
“YES.”
I waved at Simon to come into the garden. He looked like he’d be eye level with my belt, so I didn’t think I had anything to worry about.
He shuffled in nervously. “A great honor,” he said, thrusting his wet hand toward mine.
I gestured toward the rubbish and my now filthy hands. He nodded like he understood and quickly produced a pen and scribbled something into his book.
“Did you say fan club?” I asked, hoping I’d misheard him.
He nodded. “We have some questions for you about the Seven Steps.”
“Who are you?”
“Simon Battersby.”
“Yes, but who are you?”
“Well, I’m thirty-four. I’m a chemical engineer. I live in Dublin, and I think that the Seven Steps are going to save us all.”
“Save us? From what?” I looked at him with a mixture of shock and sympathy. “Come on—the Red Hag, fairies, it’s a load of nonsense,” I said. “Have you ever heard anything like it before?” I laughed.
“Yes, yes. It’s written right here.” He flicked through his book and landed on a printout of the first Step. The page had been decorated with neon colors and pictures, just like on the Space Monkeys’ website. Rain was bouncing off it, and he tried to shield it with his hand. When that didn’t work, he dug around in his pocket and produced a clear plastic folder that he placed over it.
“But I wrote that. Well, Great-great-great-grand-aunt Kate did.”
I thought he must have been deaf, because he was nodding with such enthusiasm. “Well, the Red Hag also featured in the eighth quatrain of one of Nostradamus’s predictions, except, of course, he referred to ‘the great Red one.’ Oh, and earlier in the seventh quatrain, when he spoke of ‘a sect and the wise red-haired one.’” Simon flipped the pages in his scrapbook and showed me a double-page spread of diagrams and charts.
I nodded slowly. Was it just me or had everyone gone mad? “This is ridiculous,” I said.
He flipped his book again and scribbled in it.
“Ridiculous.”
He looked at me straight on. “I get it. Yes.”
Weirdo .
“Drake Chandler, his first song, his first hit, he referred to a duplicitous red-haired lover.” He smiled at me knowingly. “There’s a few too many coincidences, if you ask me.”
I didn’t ask you , I thought.
“How many people are in this fan club?”
“Just me at the moment.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my damp heel. “Good night, Simon Battersby. Try and stay in from the rain.”
“Kate, Kate. One more thing.”
The urgency in his voice made me spin around.
“The journalist, the one who’s writing the articles. She’s not on your side. Don’t trust her. I’ve come across her before on another project. She likes the darker side of the supernatural.”
I shook my head. As if I was going to take advice from the stalker in my garden.
“Good night.”
I ran all the way up the stairs, slipped out of my clothes, and took a long hot shower, letting any thoughts of the Seven Steps Fan Club’s one and only member slip down the drain.
9
I ’m always willing to try the latest fad. I was an early adopter of leggings, and I can put forward a balanced debate on the pros and cons of the Atkins diet.If people are talking about it, I’m going to try it. And so on Thursday morning before work I decided to “go forth alone to nature” and complete the second Step.
I found myself climbing onto a rock on Bray strand and looking out to sea. The Step’s instructions were to “cherish healing seas.” And so I sat. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have chosen Bray as a destination to commune with nature, because it’s a seaside town, and kids’ screams reach a whole new decibel of excitement, fueled by cotton candy and sticks of rock candy. The seagulls only accept chips dosed in curry sauce, and will squawk about it until
“I can’t hear you. Did you say questions?” I screamed.
“YES.”
I waved at Simon to come into the garden. He looked like he’d be eye level with my belt, so I didn’t think I had anything to worry about.
He shuffled in nervously. “A great honor,” he said, thrusting his wet hand toward mine.
I gestured toward the rubbish and my now filthy hands. He nodded like he understood and quickly produced a pen and scribbled something into his book.
“Did you say fan club?” I asked, hoping I’d misheard him.
He nodded. “We have some questions for you about the Seven Steps.”
“Who are you?”
“Simon Battersby.”
“Yes, but who are you?”
“Well, I’m thirty-four. I’m a chemical engineer. I live in Dublin, and I think that the Seven Steps are going to save us all.”
“Save us? From what?” I looked at him with a mixture of shock and sympathy. “Come on—the Red Hag, fairies, it’s a load of nonsense,” I said. “Have you ever heard anything like it before?” I laughed.
“Yes, yes. It’s written right here.” He flicked through his book and landed on a printout of the first Step. The page had been decorated with neon colors and pictures, just like on the Space Monkeys’ website. Rain was bouncing off it, and he tried to shield it with his hand. When that didn’t work, he dug around in his pocket and produced a clear plastic folder that he placed over it.
“But I wrote that. Well, Great-great-great-grand-aunt Kate did.”
I thought he must have been deaf, because he was nodding with such enthusiasm. “Well, the Red Hag also featured in the eighth quatrain of one of Nostradamus’s predictions, except, of course, he referred to ‘the great Red one.’ Oh, and earlier in the seventh quatrain, when he spoke of ‘a sect and the wise red-haired one.’” Simon flipped the pages in his scrapbook and showed me a double-page spread of diagrams and charts.
I nodded slowly. Was it just me or had everyone gone mad? “This is ridiculous,” I said.
He flipped his book again and scribbled in it.
“Ridiculous.”
He looked at me straight on. “I get it. Yes.”
Weirdo .
“Drake Chandler, his first song, his first hit, he referred to a duplicitous red-haired lover.” He smiled at me knowingly. “There’s a few too many coincidences, if you ask me.”
I didn’t ask you , I thought.
“How many people are in this fan club?”
“Just me at the moment.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my damp heel. “Good night, Simon Battersby. Try and stay in from the rain.”
“Kate, Kate. One more thing.”
The urgency in his voice made me spin around.
“The journalist, the one who’s writing the articles. She’s not on your side. Don’t trust her. I’ve come across her before on another project. She likes the darker side of the supernatural.”
I shook my head. As if I was going to take advice from the stalker in my garden.
“Good night.”
I ran all the way up the stairs, slipped out of my clothes, and took a long hot shower, letting any thoughts of the Seven Steps Fan Club’s one and only member slip down the drain.
9
I ’m always willing to try the latest fad. I was an early adopter of leggings, and I can put forward a balanced debate on the pros and cons of the Atkins diet.If people are talking about it, I’m going to try it. And so on Thursday morning before work I decided to “go forth alone to nature” and complete the second Step.
I found myself climbing onto a rock on Bray strand and looking out to sea. The Step’s instructions were to “cherish healing seas.” And so I sat. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have chosen Bray as a destination to commune with nature, because it’s a seaside town, and kids’ screams reach a whole new decibel of excitement, fueled by cotton candy and sticks of rock candy. The seagulls only accept chips dosed in curry sauce, and will squawk about it until
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