Phoenix (4 page)

My eyelids flutter and I let out a small surprised gasp at his question,
breath gushing from my lips. I’m not
exactly
a virgin, not too far off
though, and I can safely say that I have never been fucked in the way that Phoenix
is insinuating. Most of the sex I’ve had has been the fantasy kind. Our eyes
lock and he moves his hand from the heel of my foot up along the back of my
leg, massaging my shin.

I actually moan when his fingers press in, releasing the tension from a
knotted muscle. His mouth opens as he watches me.

“I don’t think that’s a very appropriate question to ask of a friend,” I
finally manage to croak out.

He smiles darkly. “I told you I was bad news.”

Moving closer, he brings his hand to the back of my thigh. His touch
lingers over the crest of my bottom. With his lips hovering a millimetre from
my ear, he whispers, “Answer the question, Eve.”

“No, I’m not answering that,” I whisper back.

“Okay, I’ll ask a different one, then. Would you like me to fuck you?”

The way he says “fuck” is so guttural that it actually makes me think he
really might be bad news. Dangerous. I can already feel my underwear growing
damp, because the answer to his question is yes, I would like him to fuck me. I
don’t have the courage to be honest though.

“No, I wouldn’t,” I lie, moving to put a little distance between us.
“Now, we should probably have that cheesecake.”

He doesn’t seem annoyed by my blatant lie. He pulls himself up so that he’s
standing, his hands no longer touching me. He bites his lip as his eyes soak up
their fill of my body. Then he seems to gather himself and his expression
sobers.

“Go sit down in the living room,” he tells me. “You made dinner, so I
will take care of dessert.”

The way he says it seems to leave no room for argument. I nod and get up,
walking silently into the next room. I sit on the sofa and listen to him
rummage in the cupboard for bowls.

A minute or two later he comes in with the cheesecake, and sits down beside
me on the sofa.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says as he hands me a small bowl. “I enjoyed
myself.”

“It was nothing. I hope you’ll come again.”

He doesn’t respond, only gives me a hot expression.

The living room windows are open and a gentle spring breeze flows in,
cooling my warm cheeks, the leftover embarrassment from Phoenix’s earlier
proposition. I feel calmer now. A few minutes later Phoenix turns and gets up,
setting his empty bowl down on the coffee table.

He takes me by the hand and pulls me up to him. Then he turns my wrist outward,
leans down and places a tender kiss to the sensitive flesh.

“I must go now,” he whispers, lips still on my wrist.

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

He drops my wrist and I walk him to the front door. With one final look
he leaves and makes his way over to his own house. I give his back a small
wave, but he never turns around to see.

My most favourite
thing about living here in the countryside is the air, so light and fresh. You’re
never afraid to breathe in big deep gulps of it. I get up early so I can visit
the farmer’s market I saw advertised on a lamp post in the village yesterday.

As I pass by Phoenix’s house, I notice there are two middle-aged women
standing at his door speaking to him, one holding a pen and a clip-board. Their
attire puts me in mind of the Stepford Wives. I keep my head down, hoping he
doesn’t notice me. I’m still reeling from the words he spoke to me last night,
so crude yet so erotic.

 “Eve.” I hear Phoenix’s voice say my name from his doorstep.

I think I would recognise his completely unique cadence anywhere. He
walks past the Stepford Wives and comes to stand in my path. So much for
hurrying by unnoticed.

“Good Morning,” I say, glancing over warily at the two women and then
focusing back on Phoenix.

“Morning,” he replies, voice low as he moves in closer and runs a hand
down the length of my ponytail. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. And you?”

“Good sleep comes only to those with a clear conscience,” he says
evasively. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, just to the farmer’s market. I’m right that there’s a market in the
town centre on Sundays, aren’t I?”

“Yes, that’s right.” He shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking to the women
for a second. “Would you like some company?”

The two women watch us from Phoenix’s doorstep. One of them is openly
scowling.

Hmm, is he trying to get away from them? I smile. “I’d love some company,
but don’t you have guests?”

He sighs in annoyance and his jaw tightens. “Don’t worry about them. They
knock at least every fortnight trying to get me to sign up to volunteer down at
the town council.”

“That’s very persistent of them,” I grin.

Running a hand through his hair, he mutters, “You don’t know the half of
it.”

“Why don’t you just give in and sign up?”

He gestures for me to come closer and then whispers in my ear, “I would
rather put my balls in a blender to be perfectly honest with you, Eve.”

I let out an involuntary spurt of laugher.

A moment later the two women have come down to join us.

“Hello,” says the tall one with honey blonde hair. “My name’s Deborah. I
don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” She holds her hand out to me, but by the
look on her face I’d say meeting me is far from a pleasure for her.

“I’m Eve. I just moved in. I teach history at St. Paul’s.”

“Oh yes, the new school teacher. My son is in one of your classes,” says
the other one, who’s shorter with dark brown curls. “I’m Cathy.”

“Hi Cathy. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“I see you two new neighbours seem to be getting on,” says Deborah, with
a hint of distaste of which I cannot account for, other than she might have a
fondness for Phoenix.

“That’s right,” Phoenix cuts in, and continues, “I’m going to the market
with Eve now. So if you’d excuse us, we’d best be on our way.”

“That’s quite alright. Let us know if you change your mind about the
council,” says Cathy.

Deborah looks between me and Phoenix suspiciously. She knows perfectly
well that he’s simply trying to get away and using the market as an excuse.

“I’ll do that, Cathy,” he says, before stepping close to me and taking me
by the hand. My fingers slide perfectly between his, almost like his hand was
made for mine.

These are the kind of romantic thoughts I would do well to avoid.

Deborah’s eyes practically explode out of her head. Seconds later Phoenix
is guiding me down the path away from them. I give the women a half-hearted
wave goodbye, too busy staring down at our intertwined hands. Suddenly, I’m
aware of the fact that I have never actually held hands with a man before, not
like this anyway.

“I wonder why they didn’t ask me to help out with the council, too,” I
ponder with amusement to distract myself from the current hand holding taking
place.

“You’re new. Deborah isn’t fond of strangers. Or pretty young women for
that matter.” He glances at me sideways and winks.

Pretty! I have to hold my mouth tight to keep from grinning like a fool.

“Oh.”

Phoenix breaths in and out audibly. “It’s a fresh morning,” he says.

“It is. So, did you really want to come to the market with me, or were
you only trying to get away from Deborah and Cathy?”

He purses his lips. “A bit of both.”

We continue our walk in silence until we get to the market. The place is
bustling with people. We slowly walk from stall to stall. I buy some things
while Phoenix watches silently by my side.

“Are you going to buy anything?” I ask.

“There’s nothing I need at the moment,” he replies. “Nothing I can get here,
anyway.” There’s an intensity to his words that makes butterflies flit through
my belly.

“Well, I think I’ve got everything I was looking for. I should head back.”

“Alright.”

It seems he’s not in much of a mood for conversation today, despite his
animated greetings earlier on. As we turn to leave I notice Margaret approaching
us, grinning widely. An elderly man I presume to be her husband follows behind
her.

“Well hello, Eve,” she says warmly, a twinkle of excitement in her eyes
as she looks to Phoenix. I imagine she finds it intriguing that we’re here
together.

She looks to Phoenix again. “And hello to you, too, Phoenix. I didn’t
know you shopped at this market.”

He stares at her humourlessly. Clearly, she’s fishing for information.

“I don’t. I came with Eve,” he replies.

Margaret’s smile falters slightly at his no nonsense response. She
focuses her attention back on me. “Will I still see you for lunch?”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Very good. I’m cooking a roast. And indeed, Phoenix is welcome to come
too if he’d like.”

“I have prior arrangements,” says Phoenix without hesitation.

Now Margaret’s expression has no smile in it at all. “Oh well, that’s a
pity,” she clears her throat. “Good day to you both. Happy marketing.” And with
that she saunters away, her seemingly mute husband in tow.

As we walk in the direction of home, I ask Phoenix if he is sure he would
not like to come to Margaret’s with me. “It could be fun.” I say, although I
know very well that there’s nothing Margaret could ever do that a man like
Phoenix would find fun.

“As I said, I have somewhere I have to be. And anyway, I believe I’d
rather spend the evening tearing out my own eyelashes than go to Margaret’s for
lunch. Thank you.”

My mouth forms a round “O” of surprise before I look to see the laughter
in his eyes.

“You’re terrible. Is she really that bad?”

“She’s nosy. I don’t like people trying to pry into my business.”

“Oh, it’s harmless. You know what old ladies are like.”

He sobers now. “Old lady or not. If she succeeded in discovering who I
really am, it would be far from harmless, Eve.”

“Who are you really?” I ask softly.

He stops walking and stands in front of me. “I came to this place because
it’s quiet and there are few people. I imagine the very same reason why you
chose it. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“We both have pasts we wanted to escape. Mine was ridden with violence and
death. I live a peaceful life now. All I ask is that people stay out of my
business and I will stay out of theirs.”

I swallow. “I suppose that’s reasonable.”

He brings his hand up to briefly caress my cheek and smiles sadly. “Aren’t
you going to ask me about the violence and death?”

“If and when you want to tell me, you’ll tell me.”

He sucks in a long breath. “You are too good.” Pausing, he looks up into
the clear sky for a moment. “Too good for the likes of me.”

He turns to walk away then, but I grab his arm to stop him. His eyes are
trained on my hand that’s touching him. “Look at me, Phoenix.” He does. “I’ve
known bad people, and you’re not one of them. Whatever went on in your past, I
know it wasn’t your fault. I
see
you. I can feel your light.” I reach up
on my tippy toes and place one very soft kiss to his chin. As I pull away he
takes hold of the side of my face. His warm hand feels good there.

“Are you forgiving me for my sins, darling?”

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.”

His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. In this moment I feel like
he might kiss me, but then his hand trails down my face, along my neck,
shoulder and arm to reach my hand. Just like before, he twines our fingers together.
Then, hand in hand, we walk back home.

When I arrive at
Margaret’s house later on, her husband Thomas answers the door. As I enter, the
scrumptious smell of roast beef hits my nose. Thomas is quiet, a bit grumpy,
and seems a small bit under the thumb of his wife’s authority.

The décor is country cottage at its finest; rustic wooden furnishings
accompanied by flower print fabrics and lots of quaint ornaments.

“Eve!” exclaims Margaret. “I’m so glad you made it. I see you didn’t manage
to convince Phoenix to join you.”

“No,” I reply. “Afraid not.”

“Well, not to worry. Take a seat. Dinner’s just about ready to serve.”

I sit down at the table that is set with fancy silverware and china.
Thomas sits down opposite me, while Margaret serves us roast beef, sautéed
vegetables, roast potatoes and herb stuffing.

I pour some gravy over my plate, and exclaim, “This looks delicious, Margaret.”

She smiles at me, delighted with the compliment.

We eat quietly for a few minutes before Margaret asks, “So, Eve, you must
let us in on your secret. How on earth did you manage to get Phoenix to come to
the market with you? People in this town have been trying for years to get to
know him, but never to any avail.”

I pause eating, trying to figure out what to tell her. For some reason, I
feel protective of whatever it is Phoenix and I have. I’m wary of sharing too
much with another person.

“He asked if he could come with me when he saw me passing by his house on
my way, that’s all. No big secret,” I answer finally, chewing on a mouthful of
potatoes.

“Oh my. This is a turn up for the books,” she says, eyes wide in
astonishment.

I purposely don’t tell her about him coming to my house for dinner
earlier in the week. I think she might have a heart attack with that explosive
piece of information.

All of a sudden, Margaret’s expression turns more serious. “Has he mentioned
anything of his history to you, Eve?” she asks.

“Um, no,” I answer. “He did say that he’s lived here for about ten years.
Nothing much else. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” she begins, looking to Thomas whose face seems to communicate
that he doesn’t think his wife should be gossiping about people. Nonetheless,
she continues, “I’ve been told a bit about him. But you must promise not to
divulge this information to anyone. It is quite a sad story, the poor man. It
wouldn’t be fair to have the whole town talking about him. That’s why I’ve
never told anyone other than my Thomas here.”

I’m intrigued and want to know what she has to tell. “I promise I won’t breathe
a word,” I say.

“Oh, I know you’re not the kind of girl to go spreading gossip,” she says
with a trusting smile. “Well, this is what I know. A few years back a niece of
mine was admitted to the psychiatric ward at the hospital in the next town over.
Went a bit off the rails after miscarrying her baby. Myself and Thomas used to
visit every other week or so, and one day I got talking to a nurse there.

“Well, she says to me, “
You live over in Grahamstown, don’t you
?” “
Yes,
lived there all my life
,” I said to her. “
Thomas and I have a nice cottage
down Hammond lane. We like it there. Very peaceful.”

“When I mentioned where we lived I saw her eyes light up in recognition
for a moment. And then she asked, “
Hammond lane, you say? You wouldn’t
happen to have a neighbour by the name of Phoenix Smith, would you?” “Why yes
,”
I said. “
Phoenix lives only down the road from us. A quiet man, doesn’t
socialise much.
” She didn’t venture further, so I asked, “
How do you
know him?”
She answers, “
Well, I can’t really say. Patient
confidentiality and all that
.”

“Do you mean he used to be a patient here?”
I asked. She didn’t
respond, but I could tell she really wanted to. Some women just can’t keep it
to themselves when they know secrets about a person.”

“Yes, you should know all about that,” interrupts Thomas sarcastically.

“Oh, be quiet,” Margaret scolds him. I try to hold in my laughter.

“Anyway, as I was saying, the nurse couldn’t keep it to herself and
eventually I managed to get her to spill the beans.”

“What did she say?” I ask.

“Apparently, just over ten years ago Phoenix was found lying unconscious in
the forests just south of town. He was sporting a bullet wound to the shoulder.
I presume he must have only been in his early twenties at the time. He also had
a very bad concussion to the head. Nobody knows what happened to him before he
was found, but it’s speculated that for some reason he was kidnapped,
assaulted, and then left for dead in that forest. After his injuries were
treated he was unresponsive mentally, so it was decided he would be transferred
to the psychiatric ward.

“The nurse said it was like he was speaking in tongues. Nobody at the hospital
could understand him. It seems he suffered memory loss from whatever kind of
attack he endured. He was extremely aggressive, even beat up one of the
orderlies, and they had to keep him in a padded cell for a good few days before
he calmed down.”

I don’t exactly know how to take the information Margaret is telling me.
A huge sorrow swells in my chest for Phoenix.

“Did he ever remember what happened to him?” I ask.

“Apparently not. When he finally began to speak the only thing he could
remember was that his name was Phoenix. I assume he took on the surname “Smith”
just so as to have one. He could remember nothing else. He had no form of
identification, so the hospital hadn’t a clue as to his history or where he
came from. Advertisements were put in the local and national newspapers about a
young man having been found. A few people with missing relatives came to
identify him, but unfortunately nobody could.”

“So he has no idea of who he really is?” I say, though I have my
suspicions that Phoenix does remember where he came from. If he was trying to
escape his old life like he said he was, then faking memory loss would be the
perfect solution.

“None at all,” replies Margaret. “Although I would venture to say he isn’t
British. There’s a certain foreign touch to his accent. Wouldn’t you say so,
Eve?”

“There’s definitely something different about it,” I agree.

 “Now,” says Margaret, nodding from me to her husband. “I told you I was
right, Thomas. It’s certain he wasn’t born here, anyway.”

“Oh, would you ever keep your nose out of the man’s affairs, Maggie,” complains
Thomas while shovelling down his dinner.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport. Eve and I have a little mystery to unravel.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to figure out exactly what did happen to
him?”

“The man was shot, beaten and left for dead. I can’t imagine what would
be so wonderful about that,” Thomas interrupts.

Margaret narrows her eyes at her husband.

“Perhaps Thomas is right,” I venture. “Maybe it’d best not to delve into
Phoenix’s past. I mean, if it was me I’d be very sensitive about the whole
thing. And Phoenix doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d like people
trying to help him in that way. He seems like he just wants to be left alone,
really.”

“Yes, maybe you’re right,” agrees Margaret, the excitement in her eyes
dying down. I can tell she’s disappointed that I don’t want to team up to
investigate the truth of what happened to Phoenix with her.

“Yes, she is right,” says Thomas. “Now can we change the subject, please?
The poor man suffers enough what with all those busy-body women from the
council trying to get their hands on him. Young Phoenix is a hard worker. He
even built the table we’re currently eating at. So, if he wants privacy then I
say leave him be.”

“Some of the women do seem pretty determined to get him involved in the
council,” I say. “This morning there were two at his door looking to get him to
help out.”

“Really?” says Margaret inquiringly. “Who were the two?”

“Their names were Deborah and Cathy, I think. One blonde, the other a
brunette.”

“Oh yes, I know them well. That Deborah Stevens is a right snooty so and
so.”

“She did seem a bit snobbish,” I agree.

“That’d be her through and through. She won a place on the town council
in last year’s local elections and now she swans around thinking she’s the
Queen of Sheba. Her husband works as a Project Manager over in Japan. He’s only
ever home five months out of the year. Rumour has it Deborah has been having affairs
behind his back for a long time now.”

Thomas lets out a heavy sigh, signalling he has given up making an effort
to get his wife to stop gossiping.

“Well, she doesn’t sound like a very nice person at all,” I say.

“And you’d be right to think that, Eve. Oh yes. I wouldn’t be surprised
if she’s set her sights on young Phoenix for her next conquest. He is quite
handsome when he takes the time to comb that unruly hair of his.”

My lips quirk in a small smile. He’d be handsome even if he was sporting
a caveman’s bushy do, in my opinion.

 “Oh, indeed,” says Margaret, nodding to herself and continuing speaking
without any encouragement from me. “You should have seen the effort she put
into her election campaign. Cost her husband a fair sum of money, I’d venture.
She doesn’t have any children either, which doesn’t seem right to me. A married
woman of her age, and still not a child to speak of.”

Margaret tuts and scoops up a spoonful of potatoes and gravy.

“She might very well be barren,” Thomas interjects, “and there’s you,
setting her to rights over your Sunday lunch. You should be ashamed of
yourself.”

“Oh hush,” says Margaret, before turning to me. “My husband has far too much
of a sense of chivalry. He doesn’t like anybody to be spoken ill of. I suppose
I should admire him for that.”

“Perhaps you should,” I reply smiling. “Do you have any children,
Margaret?” I ask.

“I have three; two boys and a girl. They’re long grown up and moved out
now though,” she says with a hint of regret. “It doesn’t matter how many years
go by, you never do get used to the empty nest.”

“Where are they now?”

“Well, my youngest Alice lives in London with her fiancée, Michael. Jonathan
is just two towns away working as a Vet, and James still lives here. He owns
the local hardware shop, would you believe?” She tells me this with a great
sense of pride.

“Really? I might have met him then. I was in there on Friday. Is he tall
with fair hair?”

“Strawberry blonde,” says Margaret smiling. “Just like mine before I went
grey.”

“You must be very proud of him owning his own business.”

“Oh, I am. He loves that shop, does James.”

I’m just about finished with my dinner at this stage, and Margaret gets
up to clear our plates from the table.

After that she serves me up the most delicious apple crumble that I have
ever tasted, complete with fresh cream. For the next hour I listen to her as
she rambles on with more gossip. Thomas picks up his newspaper and retreats into
the living room with a shake of his head.

At home later on,
I spend some time wondering if Margaret’s story about Phoenix is accurate. It
would certainly explain a lot about his personality. It gives me a shiver down
my spine thinking of what might have happened to him before he was found. I
mean, what were the actual circumstances? In a worst case scenario he could
have been tortured...or even raped before being left for dead.

 How could nobody have come to find him? He must have had someone who
would be looking for him. A brother, a mother, a friend?

I sit down by the piano in the living and play a section of “Fly Me to
the Moon.” When she was alive, Harriet loved Sinatra. Dean Martin, too. But I
think she had a particular soft spot for old blue eyes. He may have had a less
than savoury side to him, but his songs are and always will be timeless.

We would sing along while Harriet’s old records spun around and around to
“Young at Heart,” “I’ve Got You Under my Skin,” “Something Stupid” and “Strangers
in the Night.” All of those old songs were about love. Something I’d had no
experience of, yet I felt as if I could somehow relate.

That feeling of first love and heartbreak is something inherent in us
all, even if we have not yet known it fully. For everyone has watched a film or
read a book about love, and for the duration you become the character, feel
what they feel, live what they live.

Thinking of Phoenix holding my hand as we walked home from the market today
makes me feel like that, like I could fall in love. And yet, there is a
hardness to him that makes me wonder if he could ever feel that way, too.