Phoenix Simpson

Chapter 6

I never wore anything fancy to run. There was no Lycra, or form-fitting clothes of any kind. That kind of shit on a man was just weird and attention seeking. I usually ran in jogging bottoms, a t-shirt and a zip up hoodie. Very rarely, I would wear shorts.

Today it was the norm. The sun was behind heavy clouds. They weren't dark enough to signal oncoming rain, but it made the weather cool enough to wear a hoodie and not feel like I was boiling from the inside. I'd told Walter and Landon that I was going out. It was out of habit. When we were younger and had just been abandoned at the house by our parents, I'd always told the boys whenever I was leaving the house so that they didn't worry if they couldn't find me. I used to have my phone on me at all times, in case they needed me in an emergency. Nowadays they were old enough to sort things out for themselves, but I would still mention that I was leaving.

Walking down the pavement along the street, I had just started a light jog when I spotted one of the neighbours trying to catch my attention. She was standing on her driveway, waving her arm at me like a maniac. I tried not to look at her, to just ignore her and hope she'd get the message.

I'd almost crossed her house when she walked down onto the path to intercept me. I stopped abruptly, my trainers scuffing along the pavement as I narrowly avoided careering into her. I partly wished I had. She would have deserved it.

I forced myself to breathe deeply and slowly, calming the annoyance that was building up inside.

I sort of recognised her. Mrs Leighton or something, but she'd wanted me to call her Lucy, was it? A housewife. Mid-thirties. A full-time mum to a baby who I'd forgotten was a girl or a boy.

"Hi, Phoenix, hi," she beamed at me, giving me a little wave as if she wasn't already standing in my face. "It's me again, Lola."

"What do you want?"

She didn't seem fazed by my frosty attitude. Her blonde hair was puffed up as if she'd just taken them out of rollers. The only reason I knew that was because I remembered my own mother sometimes used to put rollers in her hair. I remembered the way her hair had kept the waves when she took them out. Lola's hair was shorter though, shoulder length.

"I was hoping you could help me with something?" she asked, her green eyes bright. "It's just the bathroom light's gone and I don't know how to replace the bulb. It's one of those weird ones."

"No," I replied. "I'm on a run."

I went to move past her, but she sidestepped to block me, an apologetic smile on her face.

"It won't take long, I promise. I already have the replacement bulbs, it's just the actual fitting that is tricky for me," she insisted.

I heaved another sigh. She wasn't going to stop. She had all the time in the world, clearly, and I didn't. So to make this as short as possible, I'd have to agree to her stupid request and get her off my back.

"Okay," I agreed lowly.

"Great!" she bounced on her toes. "Thank you so much."

She headed back towards her house and I followed her slowly, repeating in my head about how much I hated having neighbours. First, my house became a youth hostel, and now I was the local handyman?

"The baby is asleep," she said in a hushed voice once we crossed the domain of her front door.

I wasn't planning on talking so I didn't know why she felt the need to warn me of making noise.

"You remember Gracie?" she stopped by the stairs to smile at me. "She's just turned one."

I nodded, but I didn't remember at which point she'd even told me that. She turned to take the stairs then, and I grudgingly followed. Her walls were covered in some sort of floral wallpaper. Light pinks mostly, with a little green. It was everything a woman would have and showed no sign of a man's input. Clearly, she ruled the home over her husband then. Mr Leighton was probably a pushover and a poor lover if his wife was clearly trying to go after me instead.

Lola led me to her bathroom where I saw she'd placed a stool on the floor to reach the light fixture. Seemed she had been trying after all, she was quite short. Pushing the plastic stool away with her foot, she turned to me and then pointed to the light.

"I don't know how to get the casing off so I can change the bulbs," she explained.

The bathroom light was a simple flat disc shape, with probably two bulbs lying side by side inside the fixture. I knew that because most bathroom lights were like this. It wasn't uncommon for people to whack a normal bulb with their towel and smash it to pieces, accident or not. Both had happened in my household numerous times. Then we got a flat light fixture, and the problem was solved.

"Do you have a flat screwdriver?" I sighed.

She nodded and disappeared, returning with the tool in hand a minute later.

I took it from her and reached up, not needing the stepping stool that Lola had been using. Wedging the flat end of the screwdriver between the light fitting and the ceiling, I gave it a couple simple pulls and it came free. Using my hand, I eased it off completely and put the plastic casing to one side.

"Is the light switch off?" I glanced at her.

"Yep," she nodded enthusiastically. "Wouldn't want to electrocute you now, would we?"

I highly doubted it would come to that, and I responded with a noncommittal grunt before unscrewing the two bulbs and handing them to Lola. She in turn gave me the new ones to put in, and I tested it by flicking the switch. The lights came on. I put the fitting back over the bulbs. The whole job took a minute.

"Thank you so much, Phoenix," Lola smiled warmly. "Would you like a coffee, or tea?"

"No, thanks," I muttered, moving past her and out of the bathroom.

I headed down the stairs, her footsteps close behind, and I was about to walk out of the front door when I heard the distinctive sound of a baby's wails.

"Oh, sugar," Lola said under her breath. "She's awake, and hungry."

I opened my mouth to say I was leaving, my hand already on the front door handle, but Lola's wide eyes met mine and she held up her finger.

"Wait, one second!" she was looking between me and what was probably the entrance to her living room. "Will you just lend me another hand, sorry."

I puffed my cheeks out and stood there blankly, not that she noticed. She'd already hurried into the living room and was now returning with a rather large baby. Gracie, or whatever the child's name was, was fat limbed and chubby cheeked. She looked heavy, even for her mother – who was rather petite.

"Please hold her for one moment whilst I go and warm up her food," Lola was standing in my face again.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't take a step backwards because the front door was closed and blocking a quick escape. Lola shoved the child into my hands without waiting for a response, and the bald-headed infant took one look at me with her big blue eyes, then howled.

"Oh my God," I muttered under my breath, unable to hide the scowl on my face.

Her lungs may have been small, but how the hell could she generate such noise? I was holding her at an arm's length from my body, and she was squirming in my hands.

"Shhh," I hissed, not sure how to make her stop.

I creased my brows and clenched my teeth together. What the hell was Lola thinking by forcing me into this kind of situation? Landon would probably say I was overreacting, but that was only because he was a father. He knew what handling kids was like. I didn't. And had no intention of learning.

It seemed Gracie didn't like being held this way, so with a pinched face, I slowly brought her closer to my body until her head was close enough for me to see that she wasn't bald but had a few fine blonde hairs. I had no choice but to hold her to my body, my hands awkwardly manoeuvring her. She stopped her screaming and whimpered instead. Looking down at her, I stiffened when I saw she was staring back at me. I really hated it when children stared at me. Melody, Landon's kid, did that too. They all did.

To my horror, Gracie raised a chubby hand towards my face, and I craned my head back to avoid her slobbery touch. She was drooling now, and one drop was about to land on my hand.

"Oh God," I whispered to myself.

Finally Lola returned, a napkin over her shoulder and holding a brightly coloured bowl of steaming baby food.

"Oh, you're so good with her," Lola cooed, watching us with a smile instead of taking her child back.

I made it easier for her and practically pushed Gracie back into her arms, before opening the front door.

"Thank you, Phoenix!" Lola called after me.

I raised a hand back without turning to look at her. Once I was off her driveway and back on the street, I started running. This time, I skipped the warm-up of a gentle jog and broke into my normal running pace. In fact, I was going a little faster than usual, but I couldn't blame myself. After that horrible ordeal, I needed to run more than ever.

I hadn't made a familiarised route yet. I normally ran until I was out of the general neighbourhood, then sometimes I went to a nearby park and ran around the grounds. Other times, I jogged through the town centre, but I didn't like that much. Too many cars, too many people. It had been like that in London too, but since moving to Dover, I realised I liked the quiet more than I thought I would. This time, I found myself running towards the beach. It wasn't too far from our home. A thirty-minute walk, or a less than ten-minute drive. I didn't time how fast I ran, but I made it there quicker than I thought.

I ran along the seafront, lines of shops and restaurants across the road to my left, and a sandy beach and blue-grey sea past the barrier to my right. In the distance, I could see the white cliffs that made Dover so 'picturesque'.

It was busy. The place was also a tourist destination in the summer. Not to mention, Dover was so close to France that it was a common route of travel to and from mainland Europe, for both business and leisure.

I didn't descend the steps to the beach, but stayed on the wide path by the road, dodging hand-holding couples, dog walkers, and parents pushing their buggies. Groups of teens hung around together, eating chips and throwing some to the flocks of seagulls who were always causing a nuisance.

I did a loop along the seafront and then made my way back home, trying not to get lost. I hadn't come this way on foot before, after all. By the time I arrived in familiar surroundings, my chest was tight and my legs burned. My t-shirt stuck to my body underneath my hoodie and sweat ran down my temples, dripping off my jaw.

Slowing down to a walk, I avoided looking at the Leightons' house in case Mrs Leighton – Lola – was out there again. Walking up my own driveway, it was still hard to believe that I lived here now. That this was my new normal. A standard house, on a standard street. Number 22 plastered on the front door.