by Rachel Ward
‘I’m fine.’ I try to sit up.
‘Just rest for a little while.’
‘No. No, really I’m fine. I want to get out of here.’
Dad helps me to sit up.
‘Can we go home?’
‘You need to be checked out, but after that, yes, I’m sure. In a little while.’
The people gathered round me start to drift back to Harry. Dad helps me to my feet. ‘How are you feeling?’
Truthfully, I feel disconnected, like all of this is happening to someone else. I look down at my fingers. I make them move, clenching and unclenching both fists. I must be here, alive. This must be real. But it still feels like I’m in a dream, or watching a film.
‘I’ll get a shower,’ I say.
‘Someone should come with you.’
‘I’ll come,’ a woman nearby says. She’s grey-haired, stout, in a flowery costume with a frill of material around her hips. She links her arm through mine, and we start to leave the pool. I catch Jake watching us – me – stony-faced.
The woman, Shirley, helps me fetch my towel and shampoo from my locker. ‘Don’t lock the door in case you faint again, love. I’ll wait outside so no one comes in,’ she says.
I push the door to, hang up my towel, put my shampoo bottle down and press the metal button on the opposite wall. The shower starts, running cold for a few seconds, then warm. I step forward, shut my eyes and tip my face into the stream. I squeeze my hands over my head, pushing my hair away from my face, scraping it close to my skull, then – eyes still closed – I peel off my swimsuit and drop it on the floor. I let the water fall on me for a while, like rain, until it dwindles and stops. I reach for the button again, push it, turn round and crouch down. Time to shampoo this day away, get clean.
I open my eyes to see a pair of feet by the door, blocking my way out. Naked feet. Bruised. Marked.
I can see through them, see the tiles he’s standing on.
I gasp.
I can hardly bring myself to look up, but I do. Hairy legs with deep scratches in the pale, translucent skin. Wet white boxer shorts clinging to him. Skinny torso, ribs visible. And his face looking down.
Rob.
Hunched over as I am, my naked front is shielded from him by my head and shoulders, knees and shins.
‘You shouldn’t— You can’t—’ I stutter.
Ssh. He holds his index finger up to his lips.
‘You all right in there?’ Shirley shouts.
‘Yes. Yes. Just dropped my shampoo.’
In the pool he reads my thoughts.
You can’t be in here, I think, making the words as forceful as I can, trying to keep calm.
It’s okay.
No! Not like this. It’s not right. Please, go away.
Two down, he says. Two to go.
What?
We did it. Job done.
I don’t understand.
You and me. We solved one of your problems.
Harry? It was an accident. I didn’t mean him to hit his head . . .
He got what was coming.
The shower’s stopped again. Water trickles down my spine. It drops from my chin on to my knees. And Rob starts to disappear. Everything behind him – the grain of the fake-wood door, the pattern of my towel hanging on the hook – is becoming clearer.
What the—? Where are you going?
Press the button, Nic.
No. I’ll see you in the pool. Tomorrow. I’ll be there, I promise.
Press. The. Button.
The menace in his voice is unmistakeable.
I can’t reach. I uncurl a little and, keeping one hand over my boobs and covering my crotch with my elbow, I reach for the button.
The water rains on to me again and he’s back.
Good girl.
I really want to get dry now. I want to go home.
Home. With Mummy and Daddy.
Yes.
Neisha and Carl.
Of course he knows their names, but it still unsettles me to hear him say them.
I’ve missed them.
Of course you have. They’re your family as much as mine. He’s your brother. Seventeen years is a long time.
A long time. Coming to an end soon.
What? What is?
The water’s running out again.
Rob, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?
He doesn’t reply. He just looks down at me and keeps looking. Staring, with his pitiless eyes, at my naked body.
My cubicle door drifts open an inch. I stretch my hand forward to close the gap again.
‘Are you nearly done?’ Shirley says.
‘Yeah.’
The last suggestion of Rob’s shape has gone now. I’m alone in the cubicle. I haven’t washed my hair, but I don’t care. I’m not pressing that button again. Not today.
I stand up and wrap the towel round me.
Shirley’s still on guard outside. ‘You feeling all right now?’ she says.
‘Yeah,’ I say. I can’t put into words how I feel, and if I could, I wouldn’t tell anyone.
‘So it’s okay if I have a quick shower now, while you get dressed?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Someone comes into the changing room and the opening of the door brings a brief burst of noise – the distant wail of an ambulance. Harry on his way to hospital, no doubt. Do they keep the sirens going if someone’s died? I don’t know how anyone could survive losing that much blood.
He got what was coming.
We did it.
Job done.
It was an accident, wasn’t it? Okay, I pushed him. But how could I have known his feet would get caught up in the rope like that? How could I have known he would hit his head?
We did it.
Rob asked me to give him my worries, to tell him who was bothering me. And I did. Mum, Dad and Harry.
Two down, two to go.
Two down – does he mean Christie as well? Oh God. What have I done? What the hell have I got myself into?
Shirley emerges from the shower.
‘You haven’t made much progress. You all right?’
I look around me. My clothes and toiletries are laid out on the bench, just like they always are.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Bit shaken up.’
‘Do you need some help?’
‘No, I can manage. Thank you.’ I switch on to autopilot, go through my daily routine, until I’m dried and dressed, my hair is brushed and everything’s packed away in my bag.
Dad’s in the corridor outside the changing room, pacing up and down. As soon as he sees me he rushes over, takes my bag from me and puts his arm round my shoulders.
‘Are you all right? Let’s get you home. I’ve rung for a taxi.’
‘How did you know I was here? You must have got a text saying training was cancelled.’
‘Yeah, and I went back to bed, but when I woke up again and found you were missing, this was the first place I looked. I know you, Nic. I can read you like a book.’
‘Are you cross?’
‘I was, but when I saw you in the pool and the blood all round you, my heart just stopped. I wasn’t angry any more, I just wanted you to be okay.’
‘And I am. Except . . . except . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, Dad. I’m scared.’
His hand tightens on my shoulder and I bury my head in the curve of his neck. He kisses my hair.
‘I was scared too, but it’s okay,’ he says. ‘You’re okay now. Let’s get you home.’
Maybe he didn’t hear me properly, doesn’t realise that the fear is still with me.
I think I’m starting to feel what he feels.
I’m scared of what I’ve done, and what I’m capable of.
I’m scared for him and for Mum.
I’m scared for me.
TWENTY-TWO
I’m lying in bed, the sheets damp around me. Have I slept? I don’t know. I was awake when the dawn light started creeping th
rough the crack of the curtains. Awake when the first bird started singing. The air is thick and stifling.
I look at the clock. Nearly six. Normally I’d be up and having a quick snack before training, but not today. I think I’ll steer clear of the pool for a little while.
All yesterday, all last night, I had thoughts in my head I couldn’t blot out. Christie, Harry. And Rob’s voice. We did it.
My phone pings. I reach for it and open the new message. It’s from Clive.
Team meeting to honour Christie: 8.30 a.m. Swim after. Nic, can you get here for 7.30? Need to talk.
I groan.
Someone taps on the door and immediately opens it. Dad pops his head round.
‘Got a text from Clive,’ he says.
‘Me too. Dad, I don’t want to go today. I think I need some time away from there.’
‘They’ll want to ask you about yesterday. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.’
‘Can I just go after that?’
‘I think you’ve got to go to the team meeting, Nic. Out of respect. Just meet up with them. You don’t have to swim.’
I sigh.
‘It’s that place, Dad. I don’t feel safe there any more.’
‘I know. But I’ll be there. I’ll be right with you. Jesus, Nic, it’s hot in here.’
‘My radiator’s been on.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t turn it off.’
‘The heating shouldn’t even be on. I’ll go and have a look at the boiler. You don’t need to get up yet. Try and get a little more sleep if you like.’
He closes the door and I close my eyes.
My phone pings again. I reach for it and squint at the screen.
You awake? Milton.
Kind of.
Wanna Skype?
I sit up and reach for my laptop. When I activate Skype, Milton’s call request is already there. I accept and two windows open up. Me and him. He’s at his desk already, I’m propped up in bed with my hair like a bird’s nest and my eyes full of sleep.
‘God, I look like a tramp,’ I say. I try to smooth my hair down, with only partial success. I wipe my eyes with my scrunched-up hands, making them squeak in their sockets.
‘Morning, Nic. You look lovely.’
‘Milton, you didn’t wake me up just to be pervy, did you?’
He smiles.
‘No, I wanted to check you were all right. I heard about Harry.’
‘Do you think I did it?’ I don’t know why I said that. Too sleepy to be careful, I suppose.
‘What?’
‘Hurt Harry.’
‘No! ’Course not.’ He frowns. ‘Did you?’
‘I wanted to. Hurt him.’
‘Wow. Why?’
‘I thought I liked him, but it turns out he’s just a pig. More than a pig. A prick.’ I check Milton’s reaction. ‘Sorry,’ I say quickly. ‘I shouldn’t speak ill of him, not when he’s in hospital, but . . .’
‘. . . but he is a prick. I could’ve told you that.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘He was in my year at school. Tried to flush my head down the toilet in the first year. Nice.’
‘God, Milton, I wish I’d known. I would’ve steered clear.’
‘He didn’t try to flush you, too, did he?’ He’s smiling again.
‘No. He . . . I can’t tell you. I did something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know he was . . . and then I pushed him at the pool, I didn’t mean to hurt him, just get him wet, but he hit his head. Oh God, can we just talk about something else?’
‘Nic, it sounds like an accident. Accidents happen, okay? Either that or you don’t know your own strength. I’d better remember that. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about your dad – and your uncle, the one who drowned.’
Now I’m really awake. For a moment I’d forgotten that Milton knows all about them. Him talking about them makes it all seem more real.
‘I don’t think that incident is enough to explain how your dad is now. I mean, it’s really bad, but lots of people have lost people close to them. There’s got to be something more.’
‘And is there? Did you find something?’
‘A few weeks after the accident, there was a massive flood in Kingsleigh. The river burst its banks and a whole row of houses was flooded up to the second floor. Your mum’s was one of them. Your mum and dad both got taken to hospital. You should ask them about it.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, maybe I should. My mum doesn’t seem freaked by the water, though, Milton. She’s just worried about Dad.’
‘Perhaps she’s the one to talk to, then.’
‘Hmm.’ Then I remember the last time I talked to her and my face starts to flush. ‘Um, Milton, I should tell you something.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s a bit embarrassing.’
‘Whatever. Shoot.’
‘I had to make up a lie really quickly and I just said the first thing that came into my head . . .’
‘Yeah?’
‘. . . and I kind of ended up telling my mum that we’re going out.’
‘Huh?’
‘I said you were my secret boyfriend.’
He processes my words for a few seconds, then breaks out into a huge grin. God, this is exactly what I was afraid of. Talk about crossed wires. I need to untangle them quickly, before they get in a knot.
‘Aw, Nic, you should have said something. You know I like you.’
He’s still smiling but I can’t tell if there’s a serious edge there or not.
‘It wasn’t . . . I mean, it doesn’t mean . . . the thing is . . .’
Now he’s properly laughing.
‘Hey, Nic. Relax. I like you. I really like you, and I’m flattered that I was the first one to pop into your head, but—’
‘It was just one of those things . . .’
‘—but I’m pretty sure I’m gay. I mean, I am. Sure. And gay.’
‘Oh.’
‘Not boyfriend material. Not for you anyway. Sorry.’ He holds his hands up in a What can I do? kind of gesture.
‘Do you mind being my pretend boyfriend, if Mum asks you?’
‘I don’t mind at all.’
I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘Thanks, Milton. You gave me a locket, by the way. It’s really nice.’ I fish it out from my vest top and hold it towards the camera.
‘Hmm, I’ve got good taste. Well done me! Who did give it to you?’
‘I . . . found it.’
‘O-kay. What’s inside?’
‘Dunno. I can’t get it open. It’s, like, rusted shut or something.’
‘If you open it there might be clues in there as to who it belongs to. You could get it back to them.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
He looks behind him and then back to the screen.
‘I think Mum’s awake. I’d better see if she’s okay. You take care, yeah? No more pushing boys. Stay out of trouble.’
‘Okay.’
‘See you later, girlfriend.’
‘Ouch. See you later.’
The screen goes blank and he’s gone and I’m thinking, I could have told him more. I could tell him about Rob.
Rob. The first time I heard him was the first time I wore the locket in the pool. Was that just a coincidence? Milton’s right. I should try and get this thing open, look inside. I glance round the room, looking for something to help prise it open.
And then there’s a knock at the door.
‘Nic, we need to get going in about twenty minutes. Come and have some breakfast.’
The locket will have to wait.
At the pool, there’s a reception committee waiting for me. Clive and Jake are there, and one of the managers.
‘We need to talk to you about yesterday.’
Dad steps in. ‘Will it wait until after training?’
‘Afraid not. We’ll use the membership room just along the corridor. Nic?’
‘I’m coming too,’ Dad says.
&nb
sp; ‘Of course.’
The room is just a small office. A couple of desks pushed together. A couple of computers facing each other. No window. It would feel claustrophobic with just two occupants, but with five of us it’s more than uncomfortable. There aren’t enough chairs.
I’m asked to sit in front of the manager while the others stand. I reach into my bag for my bottle of water and take a swig.
‘Nic. I’m Steve, the duty manager. As you know, one of our lifeguards, Harry, was seriously injured here yesterday. I’m looking into the circumstances. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘Is he all right? I mean, is he going to be okay?’
‘We’re waiting to hear how he’s doing this morning. They stitched him up yesterday, X-rayed him. He had severe concussion.’
‘I’m really sorry . . . I hope . . .’
‘I know. Now, in your own words, what happened, Nic?’
‘We were just talking after training, mucking about. Messing. He fell backwards, then he seemed to get his balance, but then . . . then he went. I think his legs were tangled in the rope or something. His feet went from under him.’
‘Jake here says he saw you push him.’
Jake’s standing behind him, arms crossed, face set hard.
Another swig of water to buy myself a little thinking time. A tiny bit trickles out of my mouth. I wipe it with the back of my hand, smearing it across my jaw, and hear a faint whisper close to my ear.
The rope, Nic.
I look round, but no one else has squeezed their way in. It’s just the five of us.
‘I did . . . just a little push, playing. Messing about, like I said. That’s not what made him fall. As I say, we were only having a laugh, and he was getting his balance back from that when his feet went.’
Jake’s shaking his head, and then I hear the voice again.
The rope.
‘Maybe someone pulled the other end of the rope by mistake. At the other end of the pool.’
I look back at Jake, and so do the others now. His face burns, bright blotches appearing on his neck. ‘I didn’t pull on it, Steve, I swear to you. No way.’
‘Mistakes do happen, though, don’t they?’ I say, innocently. ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’
‘That’s not what happened. You pushed him. Shoved him. I saw it.’
He’s shouting now, his voice too loud for the room, his frame seeming to get bigger and more threatening by the second.
‘All right, all right.’ Clive’s squaring up to him, putting his body between me and Jake. And now Dad’s jumping in.