The Last Summer of the Water Strider by Tim Lott Read Free Book Online Page A

the back seat and laid them on the grass. I removed my apple box of LPs. I was worried they might have warped in the heat. The plastic bag full of
ice I had carefully rested on top of them had long since melted. I emptied the waste water on to the ground, then anxiously took out a disc to check – The Incredible String Band’s
Strangely Strange But Oddly Normal.
I held the record at a steady horizon. It appeared to have survived the journey intact. I gently lifted out my portable record player, unstuck the
Sellotape and confirmed that the needle hadn’t been damaged in transit.
    I decided to check if Henry was actually in the boat. I would have expected him to hear the car pulling in and come to welcome us, but there was no sign of life. I approached the boat and peered
through the first porthole I came to.
    Uncle Henry was sitting cross-legged on a futon. He had spectacles on, round and wire-framed like Mahatma Gandhi’s. He was naked. His body was wiry and brown with a little pot belly. His
eyes were open and he was absolutely still. I tapped gently on the window with my fingernails, but there was no response.
    My father was already crossing the gangway, carrying the suitcase in one hand and my holdall in the other. It was very quiet. The only sound I was aware of was the slight lapping of water
against the hull. Under the waterline, it was patched with green slime. Ray started calling out.
    ‘The charabanc has arrived. Where’s the welcoming committee?’
    There was no answer. My father put down my bags on the front deck, then noticed me staring through the window.
    ‘Is he in there?’ A note of irritation sounded in his voice.
    I gestured for him to come and join me. He looked flustered. There were vast sweat patches mapping his armpits.
    Ray peered through the window. His face ruptured in distaste.
    ‘For Christ’s sake. He could at least have made himself decent.’
    He knocked on the glass with his car keys. Henry did not move or react in any way. He gave the appearance of being dead, except that his pot belly could be seen very slowly expanding and
contracting with his breath. Beneath his midriff, his cock was substantial. Perhaps this was another reason for my father’s irritation.
    My father knocked again, more firmly this time. Some light returned to Henry’s eyes, which had been fixed and blank. After a couple of moments, his shoulders dropped slightly and his eyes
began to move, though his head remained still. His torso relaxed slightly. His eyes focused and his head swivelled slowly in our direction.
    Showing no embarrassment or surprise, his face broke into a wide smile, displaying his small, even, rather dirty teeth. He rose from his position and stretched, as if nothing could be more
normal than sitting naked apparently enjoying an out-of-body experience. He stood still for another moment, facing us, as if inviting us to admire his physique.
    ‘He should put his wedding tackle away at least,’ muttered Ray. ‘Not much to boast about if you ask me,’ he added sourly.
    Henry left the cabin via a door to his left. After about thirty seconds he reappeared at the front deck, with a clean white loincloth wrapped loosely around his hips and his spectacles removed.
He beckoned and we crossed the gangplank to join him. Ray marched purposefully while I loped behind.
    ‘Raymond. Adam.’
    He reached his arms out for my father and this time, despite the precedent of the funeral, my father shrank away. Being hugged by a largely naked man, even if it was his brother, was clearly too
much for him to stomach. Henry held his shoulders instead, at arms’ length. Ray stood there, rigid. After several seconds, Henry allowed my father out of his grip. He looked past Ray and his
gaze fell on me. He winked.
    ‘The real business of the visit,’ Henry said. He smiled his terrific smile. ‘Hey, stupid.’
    ‘Stupid yourself,’ I said casually.
    ‘Can I help unload?’ He ignored the bags on the deck