Phoenix (7 page)

I sit in the passenger
seat and put on my belt. Phoenix is silent as he drives, taking the left turn
onto the road that leads out of the town.

“Are you going to go to James’ barbecue?” I ask hopefully. I really want
to go with him. Perhaps we could even call it a date.

“Not likely,” he replies, and my heart sinks with disappointment. He
cocks his head to me. “Are you?”

“Well, I said I might, but I haven’t decided for certain yet.

“How come?”

“Oh, no big reason. I just don’t like going to things where I don’t know
the people. I’ll only end up sitting in a corner sipping on a drink with nobody
to talk to.”

“So there is a reason.”

“I guess.”

He smiles and asks softly, “Would you like me to take you?”

“Huh?”

“That way you’ll know at least one person.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going?”

“I merely said it wasn’t likely, not that I wasn’t going.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Um, okay then. Yes, I would like you to take me.” My heart starts
beating fast now and I try not to think about how much I’m blushing.

His smile is devilish. “You only had to ask, darling. Besides, I don’t
like the idea of James having you all to himself. He is too old.”

“Too old for what?”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “Too old for you, my sweet.”

“Well,
yeah
. He is turning forty. He wasn’t asking me to come in
that way. He was just being nice.”

Phoenix grumbles low in his throat. “If you could see the way he was
looking at you, you’d know that’s not true. I wanted to punch the bastard.”

“Phoenix!” I gasp, appalled (and a tiny bit flattered.)

He reaches over and clasps my thigh in his hand. “It is ridiculous. We
hardly even know each other, and yet, I cannot stand the thought of another man
touching you. James thinks that because there is a shortage of bachelors in
this small town that he has a chance with you. That makes me angry.”

“I only want to be touched by you,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure if
he hears.

But then, he smiles wide as he focuses back on the road. He doesn’t
breathe a word, but his hand remains on my thigh and I know he heard me.

When we arrive
home Phoenix pulls into my driveway and I unbuckle my seat belt. He gets out
and retrieves my shopping bag from the back of his truck, handing it to me.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow for the barbecue?” I ask, unsure.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he says, reaching out to grab my hand. He
brings it to his lips, eyes intent on mine, and places a lingering kiss on my
skin. I shiver. He smiles. Then he walks back to his truck and drives over to
his own place.

Rummaging my keys out of my bag, I see Jeffrey perched on my front
doorstep.

“Here for dinner again?” I ask as he purrs loudly.

I open the door to let him in and he makes his way straight to the
kitchen. Harriet would be proud of me taking care of this stray. She always was
a cat person.

I place my bag of brand new gardening equipment on the floor by the
dining table and then sit down to unlace my boots. My feet ache from standing
by the blackboard all day. I’m too tired to cook dinner, so I take a packet of
ham from the fridge, open it, and put it on the floor for Jeffrey to eat.

I’m not feeling very hungry. Nervy days usually stunt my appetite. I wait
for Jeffrey to finish eating and then I let him out. Feeling music in my
fingers, I go into the living to sit by the piano and spend the rest of the
evening practicing songs.

I’m lounging with
a cup of tea in my garden the next day, the weather moderately sunny. Good for
a barbecue, I think to myself. There are leafy vines that tangle and untangle
and then tangle again on the wall on the far side of the garden. I occupy my
eyes with following the twisty-turning patterns of these vines that culminate
in a massive heap over the old stone wall.

I spent the morning digging out weeds, but still the job is not even half
finished. I want one of those perfect gardens, where each section of grass or
flowers is mathematically segmented. I think that might surpass my limited expertise,
though.

I take a gulp of my tea but it has gone cold, and the sugar at the bottom
is too strong. My stomach lurches because it reminds me of how my mother used
to like to like her tea cold and sugary. She’d leave the tea bag to soak in the
water until it was black as tar, then she’d add milk and three heaped spoons of
sugar. Next she’d leave it to sit for a while until it went cold. I used to
imagine the coldness and the blackness of my mother’s tea was symbolic of the
coldness and blackness of her heart.

I can smell the smoke from the cigarette in her hand, and my stomach
turns again at the thought of that cold, sugary tea. Her hair was brassy blonde
from years of using home dyes. The way she would look at me with complete and
utter bemusement surges into my memory, too. I was the one child unlike either
of my parents. It clearly confused her.

Then I think of the time when Maxwell had brought me into the living room
in front of my other brothers and sisters, instructing them all to kick and
punch me until I had bruises. Being the eldest, they all followed his orders,
even took enjoyment out of it. With our parents eternally absent, there was no
discipline, and children without discipline can degenerate when there is a boy
like Maxwell to guide them.

In the end Mum had come home from the pub in the early hours of the
morning and found me lying on the floor beaten to a pulp. She nudged me with
the toe of her shoe and told me to get up. She didn’t ask me what had happened,
but she knew. I could see it in her dead, alcoholic eyes.

With a sharp intake of breath, I pull myself from my thoughts.

I must try to stop thinking about my family. But these things are easier
said than done, because there are just some people I will never be able to
forget.

Inside, I am nine years old and afraid of the world. Inside, I feel like
I am so much bigger than the outside. The landscape of my pain has so many more
places in which to fester than the small circumference of my skin. I want to be
separated from my family by more than just miles. I want it to be as though I
was never even a part of them to begin with.

I need something trivial to focus on, so I go upstairs to look in my
wardrobe and decide what I will wear to the barbecue. I still have a sleeveless
purple dress that I haven’t yet worn. It’s knee length and tight around my middle
with a loose swishy skirt.

Thinking about the dress is useless though, because once I have seen my
mother in my head it can take days to shift her. She was such a careless woman.
She should have protected me from my brother. She shouldn’t have allowed him to
hit me. She knew and she did nothing. And sometimes I don’t know whether she
knew and just didn’t care, or if she knew and liked it. Perhaps she was jealous
that I’d replaced her with Harriet, and allowing my brother to torture me was
her form of revenge.

It’s five-thirty. Phoenix will be here soon, but still I am lying on top
of my bed and acting out imaginary scenes in my head. Scenes where I tell
Maxwell to stop hurting me, where I have the actual physical strength to
prevent him myself. Kick him away. Be scary. Where I have the courage to tell
somebody,
anybody
, what is going on.

Another scene. I confront my mother. I tell her exactly what I think of
her. My words are articulate and spoken with confidence.

My imaginings are interrupted by a knock on the door. I’m still in my
mucky gardening clothes. I quickly run downstairs and answer it. I apologise to
Phoenix for not being ready, tell him I’ll be ten minutes and ask him if he’ll
wait in the living room, to which he agrees and appears amused by how frazzled
I am.

I give my face a quick wash and put on some light make-up, then let my wavy
hair down. I put on my purple dress and some ballet flats before going
downstairs to Phoenix.

“You look very pretty,” he says, eyes on my hips where the dress is
particularly tight.

“Okay,” I reply awkwardly.

Whatever made me give that stupid response? My brain must be gone to seed
after all the agonising I’ve been doing today.

When we get to James’ house, which is a large detached sort of modern
build, the sound of jazzy piano music can be heard drifting out from the back
garden, alongside the muffle of voices chatting. James answers the door and
leads us out to a large garden where there are deck chairs and several tables
with place settings beside each seat. He seems taken aback that Phoenix has
come with me. When he’d invited him yesterday, I don’t think he expected he
would ever show up.

I see Margaret and Thomas chatting to a group of people. Unfortunately, I
also notice that Deborah and Cathy are among the guests. Margaret spots me and
waves hello. I return the gesture.

“Would you like a drink, Eve?” James asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Will a white wine be okay?”

I nod.

 “And you, Phoenix?” James turns to the man at my side.

“A beer if you have it. Thanks.”

Phoenix puts his hand lightly to the small of my back, as though to show
James that we are here together. James’ brow furrows slightly and he leaves to
get our drinks. Butterflies claim my stomach.

“Well now, you would not have been all alone if I hadn’t come. Isn’t that
your good friend Margaret over there?” says Phoenix with a hint of flirtation.
His hand presses a touch harder into my back and I hold in my urge to sigh from
the sensation.

“Well obviously she’s here. James
is
her son.”

He chuckles low. “I’m beginning to think you manipulated me, Eve.”

Phoenix’s laugh is one of those things that gives me goose pimples. Good
ones. Unexplainable.

James returns with our drinks, before hurrying over to help out the guy
who’s manning the barbecue. The smell and prospect of greasy, fatty, disgusting
meat makes my mouth water.

“Speaking of which,” I say to Phoenix, whose hand is still on me. “I see
I’m not the only one with friends in the vicinity.”

I nod subtly towards Deborah and Cathy, while taking a sip of wine.
Deborah is currently doing her best to catch Phoenix’s eye, but he’s not
playing along. I think I even see her fluff up her breasts in her white contour
dress.

Phoenix smirks at me, “Jealous, darling?”

I blush and gasp. “No.”

I wasn’t expecting him to say that and it makes me get shy.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “She’s not a friend, or anything else.” Then,
under his breath, “Even though she tries her hardest to change that fact.”

I swallow hard, a foreign feeling stirring in my gut. Maybe I am jealous.
Then I notice Deborah taking leave of the people she’s with and making her way
toward us.

“Oh, great. She’s coming over,” I mutter.

Phoenix’s smile drops when he sees her approaching. His hand on my lower
back transforms into his arm being wrapped around my waist. I can’t help
getting a kind of
Fatal Attraction
vibe off this woman. She notes
Phoenix’s arm around me with a brief look of distaste, but quickly disguises it
with a smile.

“Hello, Phoenix,” she beams, not bothering to address me even though I’m
standing right in front of her.

“Deborah,” says Phoenix emotionlessly.

There is a tension and I don’t like the way she’s looking at him.
Suddenly, I feel the need to escape, so I tell them I’m going to put my bag
inside the house. Phoenix gives me a look urging me not to go but I’m already
leaving. When I get to the door, I turn around for a second to look back. Deborah
has moved in to stand closer to him and is whispering something in his ear.
Pity I can’t lip read. His posture is rigid as she speaks. He looks like he
wants to bolt from the party.

I really don’t like that woman.

Just as I return, James announces, “Alright everyone, take your seats at
the tables. The food is ready.”

I notice that Cathy has joined Deborah in chatting to Phoenix, but I
haven’t got the confidence to go over to them. Instead, I take a seat at one of
the empty tables. A couple I don’t know sits beside me. I can see Deborah and Cathy
leading Phoenix over to one of the more populated tables and my heart sinks.
But then he shakes them off and makes his way toward me.

“Christ. It took a while to get rid of those two,” he says with relief.

“I don’t think you got rid of them just yet,” I say when I see the two of
them, alongside a portly brown haired woman, walking over to our table.

Phoenix turns around and whispers, “Fuck,” to himself.

I smile and find that I like the sound of him swearing. It makes my
cheeks get flushed.

“Mind if we join you?” asks Deborah as they reach us.

I’m about to answer, but quick as a flash the chair beside mine moves and
I hear Margaret’s voice say, “Not at all, Debbie dear.” Her tone is as
disingenuous as it can possibly get.

“Call me Deborah, please, Margaret. You should know I’m not one for
nicknames.”

“Indeed,” replies Margaret, holding back a mischievous grin.

Deborah eyes Margaret suspiciously, but then turns to Phoenix, taking the
chair on the other side of him and exclaiming, “Why Phoenix, you’ve never met
Alison here,” and she gestures to the portly woman. “She’s our Treasurer on the
town council.” She reaches out and gives his forearm a squeeze. Phoenix pulls
away subtly.

“Pleased to meet you,” says Alison with a smile.

“Likewise,” replies Phoenix without a smile.

“To be honest,” interrupts Deborah. “I’m surprised to see you here,
Phoenix. It’s not very often, if at all, that we are graced with your company.”

“I came with Eve,” he says. Under the table his hand slides over my
thigh, provoking goose bumps. I bite on my lip to stop from moaning when his
fingers brush between my legs for a moment before returning to my thigh. He
turns to take in my reaction and his eyes are dark with heat.