The Thing on the Shore Read Online Free Page A

that swam ever upward in a spiral of verdigris, and set off along the harbor walk. He staggered like a drunk as the wind pushed him this way and that, and his hair blew out horizontally, first in one direction and then another. He kept his eyes focused downward so that he didn’t step in any of the goose shit or dog muck that littered the way. Although, thanks to the rain, whatever shit he did see looked quite vibrant and appealing, like big blobs of green and brown oil paint. And stopping to lean over the railings, which he did frequently, the water looked opaque and deeply colored, like enamel. It was mildly rippled, but no doubt there were larger waves to be seen beyond the harbor walls. Filthy, rusted fishing boats floated beneath him, but the strange quality of the atmosphere meant he could trick himself into seeing them as resting on the top of something solid. Something restless maybe, but solid all the same.
    Arthur continued along the harbor, past the big pink buildings that had once been warehouses and were now flats. He walked on past the pubs and the restaurants. The wind made him feel as if he were stripped to the waist. He headed toward the hill at the far end of theharbor. Walking past the empty shell of the derelict hotel, he took the steps up the hill two or three at a time. At the top he came to the housing estate on which he lived with his father. The sky resembled a thin, greenish membrane, through which heavy black clouds were trying to force their way.
    Arthur opened the back door and the first thing he saw was his father’s pair of spectacles left on the kitchen worktop, surrounded by crumbs and baked beans. The kitchen was a mess. Hearing his father’s voice from the front room, Arthur paused and listened.
    â€œBut I don’t want to do the shopping,” his father, Harry, was insisting. “I mean, I’ll do it if you really want me to, but I’m no good at it. You can go in there and keep a hold of whatever you need, but I get all in a flap. You think because you can do it, everybody else can do it, but I can’t do it.”
    Arthur listened for a response. There was nothing. Just a moment’s silence. Then Harry continued.
    â€œIt’s like I keep saying, Rebecca. We’re all good at different things, that’s all. Please, Rebecca—”
    Harry stopped as Arthur opened the door into the front room.
    â€œWho are you talking to, Dad?” asked Arthur.
    â€œYour mother,” said Harry.
    â€œMum’s not here,” said Arthur. “I can see that she’s not here.”
    â€œI was talking on the telephone,” said Harry. “That’s the magic of the telephone. They don’t have to be here at all.”
    â€œDad,” began Arthur.
    â€œI know you don’t believe me,” said Harry. “I know you don’t believe me, son. I’m not asking you to. Just—let me talk to her.”
    â€œOK,” said Arthur, after a moment.
    Harry was a small man, painfully thin, and he lived in a navy-blue fleece. His pointed face was red and flaky, his hair was gray and greasy, flecked with dandruff, and he always smelled faintly of old raw meat.
    â€œDo … do you want some tea?” he asked, then he gave a little smile. “I had beans on toast. I can make you some beans on toast if you like. I saved half the tin.”
    â€œGo on, then,” said Arthur. “I’ll just go up and get changed.”
    Later on, as Harry sat on the edge of the old gray sofa and shouted out the answers to
University Challenge
, Arthur went upstairs to use the toilet. The light on the landing was dim. The carpet was green and cheap and badly fitted. The walls were a dirty cream color. Arthur stood there for a moment and listened to his father’s voice carrying upstairs from the front room. Harry got most of the answers right when it came to
University Challenge
. It seemed that watching it was one of the highlights of