Eleven
Next morning, I parked my car at the top of the drive leading down to Tregonna and walked to the house through the woods that shelter it from the road. Bruises were still appearing all over my body although my brain felt clearer today. Thoughts stayed in my head longer, letting me follow them through. Cocaine was their principal subject. The cocaine I’d taken from Nick Crawford’s workshop, the little white package still locked in the glove compartment. Still intact. It was a small victory. Whereas the other cocaine that dominated my thoughts, the cocaine I must have taken on Friday night, marked a big defeat.
Where had I got it? Had I come across someone in one of the houses along the headland? Most of the people I knew from school had stayed here, as tied to the place as Ma was.
