Phoenix Simpson [PUBLISHED]

3

Phoenix Simpson

Chapter 3

I stared at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen.

So far, the only thing on the white screen was my name. Phoenix Simpson. I'd never written a CV before. I didn't even know what it stood for until I'd searched it in a moment of desperate boredom. Turned out it was the Latin phrase 'Curriculum Vitae'. Course of Life, in English. With no qualifications, achievements, or previous jobs to put, I'd ended up thinking about the course my life had taken. There was no resentment towards my younger brothers. My bitterness was all speared towards my parents. It was their fault that I'd had the responsibility of being two parents at once, and running a household of seven, all dumped on me at fifteen years old.

Huffing out deeply, I looked away from the white screen and let my gaze scan the dreary library. I couldn't remember the last time I'd visited one of these, let alone sat in one for two whole hours. I was on the first floor, away from the loud, annoying children chanting on the ground floor. But clearly not far away enough. I could still hear them pelting their nursery rhymes at the top of their tiny lungs. Whose great idea was it to have a children's sing-along-session in a library anyway?

Pushing my chair back, I stood up, wanting to stretch my legs. I'd chosen to come to the library not just in a search for quietness, but I knew if all things went to shit, I could try Plan B. Walter had touched on Plan B a couple of months ago, right before we moved. I had decided that the gang stuff was all over, and now we had to find another way of making a living. It may have been a throwaway comment that Walter had made, but it had stayed in my mind. Starting a business. My father did it, so why couldn't I?

Sure, my father's boating business was a front for all the illicit schemes he ran, but running a business wasn't that much different to running a gang. Where there was a demand, there needed to be a supply. I didn't know anything about speedboats or yachts, but there had to be some legal things I was interested in.

Closing my laptop, I eyed the people in my close vicinity, deciding whether I should leave my belongings unattended or not. Dover wasn't London, but still. My trust for anyone other than my family, was little to none. I'd seen people leave their whole bags behind, laptop open and charging on tables as they went to the toilets. I wasn't about to go that far. I made sure my laptop was locked and closed, and that my wallet was in my pocket. Apart from the old man sleeping in the plush chair in one corner, and the girl – probably a student – pouring over her textbooks with a highlighter in hand, the place was quiet.

I walked across the threaded blue carpet, scanning the categories of books they had labelled on the shelves. Well, they weren't really shelves that were built into walls. This library was more modern, I supposed. The books were kept in white cabinet like bookcases, which had wheels on the bottom of them. I made my way between the haphazardly arranged 'bookshelves', reading 'COOKERY', 'LANGUAGES', and finally 'BUSINESS'. Stopping in front of one section, my eyes trailed the various titles. There were books on how to influence people, how to be productive, and how to negotiate. I didn't actually know what I was looking for. To understand how to run a legitimate business, I needed to know how business and the law integrated. That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much to it all. People went to university and did whole three-year degrees on the subject. And I was thinking one or two books could cut it?

Shoving a hand through my hair, I tore my gaze away and turned to leave. Except someone was now standing in the aisle I wanted to pass through. Breathing heavily through my nose, I stood there blatantly. The man had a backpack slung over one shoulder, his lightly bearded face buried in a book that was from the Business category. He either didn't notice me, or he didn't care.