Spades

f o u r t e e n : swallowton

| FOURTEEN |
SWALLOWTON

There were exactly eight white tulips in the bouquet.

He was almost certain. Of course, he'd only counted them five times. And, just for fun, he'd even memorised the employee reference number on the receipt he'd gotten from Shiro's mother's gift shop.

The lady opposite him sent him a warm, knowing smile. Isaiah smiled back, wishing he could tell her that no; he wasn't taking a thirty three minute train for a significant other. That those flowers were not for a faceless boyfriend, girlfriend. He didn't though, because he quite liked how happy the lady was to assume that romance wasn't dead.

He checked his phone for the tenth time since putting it on Do Not Disturb. Messages from his friends, either starting, continuing or referencing a conversation beckoned. A message from his father, about one thing or the other. He'd reply to them eventually. Maybe when he was on the bus to The Home.

It was half past 12 when he got off the train, bouquet pressed to his chest and phone tucked into his pocket. It had rained earlier, and the sun was only just beginning to bashfully peek out of the bleached clouds.

As he ambled down the streets of Swallowton, he vaguely registered his bus pulling away from the stop, but he knew he was already thinking about the extra 5-10 minutes that he'd have to wait for it. He was going to be behind schedule. But somehow, he didn't mind as much. It didn't seem like such a big...deal.

He sat at the stop, flexing and unflexing his fingers, watching the cars speed past him, watching teens and tweens on scooters and skateboards zip past him. This visit seemed different. He couldn't place it. He didn't know what it was about it, because he wasn't doing anything particularly special that he didn't do every weekend. He wasn't doing anything at all. So what was it?

On the twenty five minute bus ride to his destination, he tried to ask himself that question. What was so special about today?

When he alighted, he felt the curious, wary stares of the passengers on him. It wasn't a secret what this stop was. It was named Evergreen Avenue, but everyone knew that it was where people got off to get to a place that wasn't so cheery.

After he'd braved the seven minute walk with nothing but birds, park spaces, passing cars and harmless wildlife for company, he reached it. The home looked like a country mansion with towering flowering hedges, creeping ivy and an idyllic sign.

The Swallowton Home Of Hope and Rehabilitation.

The guards posted opposite the sign nodded to him, familiarity in their greeting. Isaiah nodded back.

When he got to the large, looming marble doors, he stood, feet apart and arms out for the customary brief pat down and polite rummage through his belongings. As usual, it was Dave patting him down. He liked Dave.

Isaiah beelined for the garden immediately. It was surprisingly sunny day despite a chill every so often, and many of the residents were taking advantage of this.

They dotted the expansive, impressive green space in their weekend wear. People were sat on the stone benches or on the grass, some even lingered around the imposing, treacherous hedge maze that first saw on a tour. That was the only time he'd been allowed to the dorms.

Isaiah, strangely, found the entire scene peaceful. It was easy to see those who were easing their guilt by visiting. People like him.