Chapter 52 Samson
The bus windows are steamed up. We smell stale. The air is warm from the heater, the floor is wet.
I jump off and walk down through trees toward the water.
Most of the snow has disappeared now. A little whiteness remains in the shadows.
I stop by a gnarled oak tree for a pee.
Dad said five but I couldn’t hang around the bus station for the last bus, not in this weather. I’ll go visit Phoenix for a while. Maybe complete a crossword puzzle together. The care visitor said to drop in on him.
A boat makes its way slowly down the canal. It looks like it’s been converted. A camper bolted onto a barge.
Our boat is farther up the towpath. No smoke from the chimney. Mom’s probably cleaning with the radio on in the background. She listens to classic hits.
I was invited to Steve Chapman’s birthday party today.
He’s having people over to his house in the suburbs past the old vacuum factory.
There will be about thirty, he reckons, and the rumor is his dad’s letting him have beer.
One each. Light beer, nothing too strong.
Steve says the only reason his dad’s offering it to us is because it tastes godawful.
I suspect there will be no beer. Steve told me I could bring Jennifer if I wanted.
Maybe that’s the real reason I’m invited?
He says there’ll be a good number of girls there.
Cheerleaders, even. It’s my first real birthday party invite since I was ten.
I’m not sure. Jennifer might come but she might not. You never really know with her. If Mom and Dad carry on being friendly, I might be able to bring her home for supper one night later this year. Is that normal? Mom could cook her pasta. I think Jennifer would like that.
Still no smoke from our chimney.
She must be cleaning the glass doors, emptying the ashes.
I walk toward Phoenix’s boat. To think Mr. Turner bought it before I was even born.
He used to travel with it on vacation. Showed me the photos one time.
Rivers and canals. I think Mr. Turner and his wife had their best days on their boat.
Phoenix is not home, I don’t think. The drapes are still shut.
I look past the boat and there are little flowers on ours.
Blue and yellow ones. Mom must have picked them on her way home. I step onto Phoenix’s deck.
“All right? You home, Phoenix?”
No reply.
I try the door.
Unlocked.
I walk inside. “Phoenix? Can I come in, man? You OK?”
No answer.
Inside I switch on a light.
The boat doesn’t smell like it usually does.
There is a tang of decay in the air. I walk through, checking the bathroom and the bedroom and the engine room.
He’s not here. I walk back into the living room.
There are three envelopes on the sofa. One has my name on it.
One has Mom’s name on it. The other one is made out to someone called Mr. Soames Esq. of Harbottle and Schneider.
No idea who they are.
“Phoenix?” I shout out again.
Nothing.
The air is thick.
I do not take the envelope with my name on it because he hasn’t given it to me yet. It would be stealing. I close the door behind me and step onto the towpath.
Mom will be making supper, I expect.
She might even have a brand-new fridge to fill.