The Swim Club

by Anne De Lisle

  ‘I did have that suspicion,’ Cate admits.

  ‘Did you ask him?’

  ‘Yep. He admitted she discussed it with him but denied he was influenced.’

  ‘You believe him?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I expect he’s reluctant for a lot of reasons.’

  ‘Just get pregnant,’ says Wendy. ‘Nothing he can do then.’

  Cate slumps down onto the bench. I’ve never seen her looking so defeated. ‘But I want him to want a child, not just endure parenthood because he couldn’t avoid it.’

  ‘I think you should do as Wendy suggests,’ says Karen with a militant gleam in her eye. ‘It would sort everyone out. Pete couldn’t help but be happy in the end, it would disempower The Sister, and it would do his children good to know that you actually have sex, which they probably doubt.’

  ‘Oh God!’ shrieks Cate, ‘They’d be horrified! I’m sure they don’t think we do it at all.’

  ‘You’re only five years older than Sarah.’

  ‘Yes, but this involves her parent and you know what people are like about their parents. No one thinks they indulge in that kind of behaviour.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘They probably just think Pete and I rattle around in the house like a couple of useful companions. I cook and mend his socks, he cuts the grass, that sort of thing. They’d never imagine we might actually fancy each other.’

  ‘Well I think you need to stop asking,’ I say. ‘Tell him you’re having a child and if he declines to offer his sperm, tell him that you’ll find another donor.’ I’m rather surprised at my own vehemence; guess Cate brings out the motherly instincts in me.

  ‘Perhaps it might come to that. I don’t know.’

  Cate’s eyes mist over and I sit beside her, slipping an arm round her waist, certain that if Pete walked in there and then I’d sock him in the face. ‘If you’re serious about what you just said, you need to take time to examine what matters to you most, a baby or Pete.’

  She nods. ‘It’s Pete now, of course, because there is no child to draw comparisons. But if I cast my mind forward a few years,’ she pauses, glancing at Laura, ‘though it’s not to say everyone would feel the same way, but for me, I know I want to at least try to have a child, maybe two. I suppose I’m feeling resentment towards Pete at the moment and it makes me begrudge organising this party, which sounds so mean-spirited – like the Grinch, or whoever it was that stole Christmas.’

  ‘It’s not mean-spirited at all,’ says Wendy. ‘Why should you go to the trouble and expense of doing something wonderful for him if he is so uncompromising towards you?’

  ‘Maybe if you do organise the party,’ Karen suggests, ‘he’ll be so overawed by the generosity of your spirit, the meanness will seep out of his. We’ll help you.’

  We’re rewarded with a return of Cate’s infectious smile. She gets to her feet and reaches for her cap and goggles. ‘So what else is happening?’

  Typical Cate. She’s said her piece, had the briefest of wallows, now she wants to shift the focus and move right along.

  ‘I have some news,’ says Wendy quietly.

  ‘Graham finally had enough?’ asks Karen.

  ‘Slept the night on the sofa?’

  ‘Penis fell off?’

  ‘No, no,’ Wendy’s laughing, flapping her hands in dismissal of our crude words. ‘Even better,’ she says. ‘I’ve been accepted into university to study Psychology.’

  There’s an immediate chorus of excitement and congratulations.

  ‘When do you start?’

  ‘March next year. It’s part-time, so it’ll take ages.’

  ‘It’ll fly,’ says Karen.

  ‘Maybe.’ Wendy sounds doubtful, and falls quiet for a minute, folding her towel, packing her bag with habitual neatness.

  I remember that conversation we had in her kitchen, and feel so proud of her for daring to take this step. ‘Even if it doesn’t fly, you’re going to savour every second,’ I say.

  When she looks up, there is such an array of emotion on her face: pride, excitement, eagerness, but there’s insecurity too. ‘You know, I still have trouble believing I’m doing this. I haven’t written anything longer than a letter since high school. Or read anything much more taxing than a novel.’

  ‘Ah, but you have the advantage of experience,’ says Laura. ‘Don’t undervalue that.’

  ‘And you’ve had plenty of practice, hanging around with us nutters,’ I add. ‘We’d make good case studies.’

  ‘What you’ve done,’ says Wendy, ‘is given me the belief that I could do it. You’ve shown me nothing is out of reach, nothing is beyond us. You’ve given me courage.’

  Out in the car park we’re so excited by Wendy’s announcement that we’re reluctant to part, and we linger, chatting by her car. Wendy tells us that Graham’s delighted by her decision. ‘I think he’s been worried that I’m having a mid-life crisis,’ she adds, ‘what with all the swimming and everything. Perhaps I am.’

  ‘Probably afraid you’d run off and have an affair.’

  ‘As if I’d have the time or energy for that,’ she laughs.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Getting a degree sounds much less exhausting than having an affair.’

  ‘Depends on the degree.’ We all whirl around. It’s Lee, still damp and ruffled from the shower, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘You’re a happy little crowd this morning.’

  ‘Today is particularly special,’ I tell him, then glance at Wendy, not wanting to be the one to divulge her news.

  ‘I’m off to get an education.’

  ‘Now that is worth celebrating,’ he agrees. ‘Good on you. What are you going to study?’

  ‘Psychology.’

  ‘You won’t have any trouble diagnosing us: obsessive swimming disorder.’

  ‘With masochistic tendencies,’ adds Laura.

  ‘Plenty of those,’ I say, then start hunting through my bag for my keys. ‘Better be off now. See you all tomorrow.’

  ‘Before you go,’ says Lee, ‘I just wanted to let you all know that Anya and I are having a few drinks next Friday as a belated house-warming. More than a year belated. I wondered if you ladies would like to come.’

  ‘We’d love to,’ says Wendy, then looks at the rest of us. ‘We’re all free, are we?’

  There’s general nodding and assent.

  Lee scribbles down the address and hands it to Wendy. ‘That’s great. See you about six o’clock. Oh, and bring your husbands or partners, of course.’

  We wave him off.

  ‘Where does he live?’ says Karen.

  Wendy scans the slip of paper. ‘Valley View Road. Bet they’ve got a great view.’

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘IF THERE WAS A prize for most improved, you’d win it, Charlie.’

  Laura nudges me. ‘Wendy’s right. Your pull is much stronger than it used to be.’

  The three of us are out of the water and heading for the changing room. We’ve just done a fifteen hundred metre time trial, and my arms feel like sacks of lead. I look down at said limbs. To me they appear as sausage-like as ever, lacking the definition of Wendy’s and Cate’s sculpted contours. ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘You’ll be doing chin-ups by the end of the year.’

  ‘Fat chance. You’re the chin-up queen, Wendy.’

  Karen is ahead of us, already under the shower when we enter the antiseptic air of the changing room. ‘What are we all wearing to Lee and Anya’s tonight?’ she shouts. ‘I think we should tart Charlie up, don’t you? We all know who’s going to be there.’

  Wendy, stepping under the adjacent shower, leans close. ‘Do you know that you shout when you’re in the shower, Karen?’

  Karen turns the taps off and throws me an agonised look. ‘Do I? God, sorry Charlie. I must be going deaf.’

  ‘No, it’s just the noise of the water.’

  She looks so guilt-stricken I give her a kiss on the cheek
as she reaches for her towel. ‘I’m sure no one else heard.’

  Laura strips off her wet togs, ‘I think they’ll all be gone by now anyway.’

  There’s a stunned silence.

  Laura looks from one to the other of us. ‘What are you all staring at?’

  ‘Well gone they certainly are,’ I say. ‘What have you been doing, Laura?’

  She looks at me deadpan for a second before she starts to giggle. ‘Wondered if you’d all notice.’

  ‘Wondered if we’d notice?’ says Wendy, and takes a step closer.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ asks Karen.

  ‘Must have,’ I say, peering low.

  Laura’s nether regions are as bald as the day she was born.

  ‘Please explain,’ I say.

  She sits down and starts hunting for toiletries in her overflowing bag. ‘Well, I went for my regular waxing.’

  ‘Yes, we can see that.’

  ‘Elsa asked if I’d like a Brazilian. You know, most of it gone, but for a narrow strip.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we know what a Brazilian is.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I agreed, so she did it, and to be honest it just looked so ridiculous, sort of a Mohican down the middle, and I told her to get rid of it.’

  ‘And?’

  Laura starts to rub Sorbolene into the skin of her stomach and arms. ‘It feels a bit weird.’

  ‘It looks nice and neat and tidy,’ I say.

  ‘But if you knew what I had to go through to look like this. First the front, then up on all fours to get at the back.’

  ‘The back?’ we all scream in shocked unison.

  ‘They grow there too you know.’

  ‘Bit undignified,’ says Karen, wincing at the thought. ‘I mean, it’s bad enough bearing certain parts to your doctor for a pap smear, but that would be worse.’

  ‘You really have to go on all fours?’ I ask, fascinated.

  ‘Absolutely. Up on your knees. Cheeks apart. Don’t think I’ll do it again. Besides, what if I’m in a car accident, or get hit by a bus, taken to hospital, stripped down by the nurses. They might think I’m a bit odd.’

  ‘There’s always that.’

  ‘What does Sam think?’ Too late I remind myself of the change in Laura’s life. It’s so easy to forget, given that the two of them continue to share the house. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Out of line. Tactless. Not to mention none of my business.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ She’s adjusting bra straps, looking for knickers. ‘Sam has seen. Once. He wouldn’t dare comment on what I do at the moment. He’s trying so hard to please me. He’s coming tonight, by the way.’

  I practically clap my hands. The romantic in me can’t help but believe that Laura and Sam’s troubles are solvable, that they couldn’t possibly survive living in the same house for almost two years without starting to get a bit soft on each other again.

  ‘Graham’s away,’ says Wendy, ‘so I’ll be on my own. Shall I pick you two single girls up?’

  Karen and I both nod. ‘Thanks. What about Cate? Is she coming?’

  At that moment Cate sticks her head around the changing room door. ‘Sure am. Do you know that practically every word you say can be heard in the kiosk?’

  Laura pales for a moment, then we all look at one another and dissolve into laughter.

  Wendy, Karen and I cruise along Valley View Road shortly after six. The sun is low, gilding the steep sides of the mountains, throwing long, violet shadows across the valley. On evenings like these it’s easy to believe we live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I feel a wave of gratitude just to be here, living this life, in this Eden.

  Gratitude, Laura tells me, is a very healthy emotion to feel. Not just for one’s state of mind, but physiologically too. Feeling gratitude, apparently, sends friendly little chemicals zipping through your system that do precisely the opposite to the nasty stress-triggered chemicals. Be grateful for small joys and you’ll live forever.

  The houses along Valley View Road are far apart, separated by paddocks and farmland. We slow down, looking for driveways. Suddenly Karen sits up very straight in her seat. ‘Forty-five – there it is!’

  A hush descends upon the car. It is the house of the vicious dog and the inconsiderate woman who we, in our turn, shamelessly threatened with council.

  ‘Guess we’ve all met Anya before, girls.’

  ‘Perhaps she won’t recognise us: no helmets, no lycra, no blood, no sweat.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘And it has been a year,’ Wendy points out.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think our Anya’s an unobservant or forgetful type,’ I mutter as we all climb out of the car.

  Wendy locks up, scanning for dogs. ‘Safety in numbers,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Remember what I said back then,’ Karen reminds us. ‘She’d probably just had a bad day.’

  ‘And she’s Lee’s wife,’ I add. ‘A bloke like Lee couldn’t have married someone that unpleasant.’

  There’s no sign of the dog as we make our way up the familiar garden path. But we walk in a pack, senses alert.

  The girls look lovely. Karen’s got her dark hair in a twist at the back of her head, and is dressed in white pants and a lilac shirt which must be just the right shade for her skin, because she’s glowing and golden. Wendy is in a soft pink shirt and chocolate-coloured pants, Looking like a musk stick dipped in chocolate, she says, but we quickly shout that no musk stick ever looked as gorgeous as her. I’m in a little black dress with three-quarter sleeves and a hem that just touches my knees. I hope I’m not overdressed.

  The door is open and, as we mount the steps, I hear Cate’s laugh above the buzz of conversations. ‘If Cate’s been recognised, she hasn’t been ejected,’ I whisper.

  ‘No, but you and I were the outspoken ones,’ Wendy points out. ‘Karen, you’ll be safe, you were injured and silent.’

  We step inside. There are about fifty people gathered, but Lee spots us and comes straight over. He’s looking all tame and groomed: clean-shaven and wearing a pale blue shirt. We’ve never seen him properly dressed before. Meeting people at the pool is a strange business: getting to know them half-naked, with their hair standing on end, long before you see them with clothes on. We each get a kiss on the cheek.

  Anya approaches: a vision of ethereal grace in mulberry chiffon, her fair hair caught back in an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. But I fancy there’s a hint of tightening around her mouth, a suspicion of an arch to her finely plucked brow: I’m positive she recognises us. However, she is all welcoming smiles by the time she draws near.

  ‘Anya,’ says Lee. ‘Meet Wendy, Karen and Charlie. Three more of Macclesfield’s swimming team.’

  Anya extends her hand to each of us. ‘Delighted to meet you.’

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ I say when it’s my turn to take the offered hand, ‘and an amazing view of the mountains.’

  ‘Don’t let Lee hear you,’ she replies in a low but audible aside. ‘It’s the first house we’ve lived in he’s not designed himself. Prefers to think it’s not up to much. You know how men can be about these things.’

  I laugh and say, ‘But I expect even the biggest architectural ego must acknowledge there are worthy buildings designed by other people. Versailles, for instance.’ Lee hands me a glass of champagne. There’s a raspberry floating in it. And a whiff of brandy. Better go slow. Already I’m worried that I’ve been impolite, perhaps belittled Anya’s words. But I find it ridiculous to imagine Lee being so puffed up that he scorns any work that is not his own.

  As if to confirm my thoughts, Lee says, ‘The house is built to take advantage of the view. I can’t really fault it. But so was our last place on the coast. What I could have done without was yet another move.’ He smiles at Anya as he speaks, softening the words, but there’s a real sense of disharmony between them, and I suspect I’ve inadvertently touched on a sore subject. Great. Less than five minutes at a party and already I’ve started
a row between my hosts.

  Wendy comes to the rescue and starts talking to Anya about the advantages of hilltop versus coastal living. Karen starts chatting to Lee, and I spot Doug across the crowd, lifting a hand to wave. I wave back.

  He comes over, threading his way between the guests. ‘Charlie, girls, I’m glad you could make it.’ He’s in black jeans and a white shirt, looking as dark as a Greek or a Spaniard. A sash at his waist and he’d be very matador. Just the sort of look to set feminine pulses aflutter. He leans close and says, ‘Black suits you, Charlie.’

  ‘Black and blue, I’m always told. Like a bruise. It’s the fair hair.’

  He smiles, but before he can reply, Anya touches him on the arm and he turns to speak to her. Cate appears and we all get another kiss. ‘Strange to see everyone with clothes on for once,’ she remarks, and gives me a wink. I can’t help smiling. Cate’s buoyancy is infectious. ‘You look great,’ she adds. ‘I never knew your eyes were so large – you should wear mascara more often.’

  ‘Hard in the pool.’

  ‘I bet Elsa does eyelash tinting,’ says Wendy. ‘Cate’s right, you look amazing.’

  ‘Not too many compliments please,’ I say, low enough to be heard by Cate and Wendy alone. ‘Don’t want you-know-who to think you’re singing my praises for his benefit.’

  Doug is still talking to Anya. It’s hard not to feel drawn to look at him. He’d stand out in any crowd – the pity being that he probably knows it. But does he know he’s almost too pretty? The sudden thought makes me smile. Not a matador, more like a gigolo.

  Karen leans towards me. ‘Lee’s going to take us on a tour of the house, are you coming?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  Just then Doug steps in. ‘Let me,’ he says to Lee. ‘You’ll have other arrivals to deal with.’

  If Lee minds being ordered about at his own party, he shows no sign of it, but Anya’s clearly peeved, frowning at Doug. Years of being in business together, there’s bound to be the odd moment of discord.

  The house is superb. Not my style, of course, given that my own house is a riot of colour and clutter. But I can appreciate these wide-open spaces, these huge panes of glass, the untouchable white sofas. Though I do wonder at the restraint of anyone who can walk into a fabric or furnishing or paint shop packed with sumptuous colour, yet reach out for the neutral.