Phosphorescence Read Online Free Page A

being at home. It is so silent: Mum is always sighing or just lying on the sofa with no lights turned on, and Dad is always out.
    Tonight when I arrive at Josh’s house to bath Sadie and put her to bed, the noisy chaos of the Christie kitchen envelops me like a warm embrace. The telephone is ringing, Neoprene the African grey parrot is singing a nursery rhyme Sadie has taught him, and Josh is practising guitar chords, settled deep in the sagging sofa beneath the kitchen window. Caroline answers the telephone as I arrive, but she finishes her conversation and comes back to the table, pushing wisps of wild hair back from her face, which is pink and friendly as she smiles a welcome to me and carries on her conversation with Ian. He is smoking a cigarette, his chair back from the table, and he has managed to get himself looking very relaxed in what must be an uncomfortable position for a tall man, on a small kitchen chair, stretched out with his ankles crossed miles in front of him. They are talking about the advertising brochure for the sailing school.
    â€˜I think we should have a picture of Josh and you on the front,’ Caroline says, teasing her husband, ‘wearing stripy T-shirts or smocks and looking nice and nautical.’
    â€˜No way,’ Josh interrupts. ‘Put Dad in the picturewith Neoprene. Sailors should have parrots, shouldn’t they?’
    Ian laughs and suggests, ‘Maybe you, Caroline, wearing your bikini, might attract more clients?’
    Even though Caroline is not the bikini type, she doesn’t seem to be offended in the general laughter and the phone rings again. Sadie picks it up.
    â€˜Hello. This is Sadie’s house. I’m five and they’re all Loony Toons here. Who is that anyway?’ she warbles before anyone else can grab the receiver.

Chapter 2
    My family life is small and contained, just Mum and Dad and me. Dad is away so much at the moment, or about to go. I keep on tripping over his bag, and Cactus looks upset whenever he sees it out again.
    â€˜Well, you’re never here, so how does it affect you?’ I ask Dad, after he moans that I have spent three evenings out of four with the Christies this week. ‘The only person at home any more is Mum.’
    Dad is taken aback. ‘Well, the Trust has huge planning meetings at this time of year.’ He shifts in his chair by the fire, dropping his newspaper on to his chest, stretching out his feet. I have to look away when I notice he is wearing his horrible, old-man slippers. ‘There’s a lot to plan for this year, but as soon as the days are longer I’ll be back on the marshes.’ He smiles an end-of-conversation smile and turns back to his paper. The door to the kitchen clicks shut, and from behind it come muffled sounds: the flump of the fridge door and the clatter of a pan as Mum begins to clear away supper, the click of her heels on the stone floor. I open the door to join her, and Icatch her, red-eyed, crying. Her quiet, secret crying makes me uneasy.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Mum? Why are you unhappy?’
    She shakes her head and manages a sad, small smile.
    â€˜I’m not, love, I’m fine,’ she insists. ‘I’ve just got backache.’
    Frankly, I’m not surprised. She must do her back in completely. Even though everyone else in Staitheley wears sensible shoes, Mum is never out of proper heels unless there is an actual flood to prevent her. She still wears urban shoes and clothes, even after all these years on the edge of the sea. I’ve never seen her in slippers and her wellies are fifteen years old but they still look brand new.
    â€˜It’s probably your shoes,’ I suggest, wiping dishes and placing them back in the cupboard.
    â€˜Yes, I expect it is,’ she agrees quietly, ‘I’m sure you are right.’
    Mum is sad and quiet now, but she used to be happy, I think. She says she has no one to talk to but fish, and