Laura’s house was at the end of a neat cul-de-sac of small, modern houses. There were several cars in the driveway.
We approached the front door and I noticed that she had red geraniums in window boxes.
I find geraniums somewhat unsettling; that rich, sticky scent when you brush against them,
a brackish, vegetable smell that’s the opposite of floral.
Raymond rang the doorbellthe chime played the opening chords to Beethoven’s Third Symphony.
A very small boy, his face smeared with, one hoped, chocolate, answered and stared at us.
I stared back at him. Raymond stepped forward. “All right, mate?” he said. “We’re here to see your granddad.”
The boy continued staring at us, somewhat unenthusiastically.
“I’m wearing new shoes,” he stated, apropos of nothing. At that moment, Laura appeared behind him in the hallway.
“Auntie Laura,” he said, not turning round, and sounding distinctly unimpressed, “it’s more people for the party.”
“I see that, Tyler,” she said. “Why don’t you go and find your brother, see if you can blow up some more balloons for us?”
He nodded and ran off, his little feet thumping on the stairs.
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