by Libby Page
Phil clears his throat as if to speak. Nothing comes out. He coughs and tries again.
“It will be okay,” he says, echoing Jay.
“But what if it isn’t?” says Kate, wiping her eyes and sitting up a little straighter. She looks at them both, and around the newspaper office. Jay and Phil are quiet.
“What if it isn’t?” she says again. Something inside her shifts, like a creature stirring. “I know it’s just a swimming pool, but it’s not just a swimming pool to Rosemary, or Hope, or Ellis, or Ahmed, or Geoff, or Frank, or Jermaine. All these names I didn’t even know a few months ago.”
She is looking straight at Phil now, her mascara-smudged eyes holding his gaze firmly.
“There are so many things that seem not to matter. We live with them and we walk past them and we think ‘it’ll be okay’ or ‘it doesn’t matter’ or ‘that’s just that then.’ Cities change and property companies buy out communities to build more million-pound flats, and ‘it doesn’t matter.’ But then one day you wake up and realize actually it does matter. There are so many things that really don’t matter, like whether I’m going to have macaroni cheese or spaghetti Bolognese for dinner or whether I look fat in a swimsuit or what my hair looks like today or whether my old university lecturer thinks I’m doing well in life. Somehow those are the things I used to spend my time worrying about and not the other things.”
Her voice shakes at first, but it gradually gets stronger, firmer. Jay has let her go and is leaning against her desk, watching her.
“The lido isn’t just a hole in the ground filled with water that a bunch of people happen to swim in every now and then. It’s bigger than that; it’s so big that if you can’t see it, you’re not using your eyes the way you are supposed to. Meeting Rosemary taught me that. And if it’s not the lido, it’s the library, or the youth center, or that building where that man who has lived there all his life is getting thrown onto the street. All these things that this newspaper writes about every day, or should do. They all matter. And it’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay.”
She stands up. Phil hops back a little, as though she is going to hit him. She picks her jacket off the back of her chair and her rucksack from the floor.
“Excuse me,” she says, “but I have to go now.” And she walks out of the office and down the steps onto the street, not looking back. The sun greets her with open arms.
CHAPTER 54
Kate phones Geoff on her way and tells him her plan. He listens quietly as she talks.
“Okay,” he says eventually. When she arrives at the lido he is waiting for her by the reception, holding the keys. Ahmed isn’t working today. The pool behind is empty—it has already received its last swimmers and is awaiting the final removal of equipment.
“I’m not sure why I’m doing this,” he says, handing Kate the bunch of keys, “but it’s worth a shot.”
“Thank you,” she says, taking the keys from him and holding them carefully in her hands like something that might easily break.
“Will you tell the others?” she asks.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Then he turns and heads out of the front door for the last time. Kate searches the metal fist of keys for the right one. She hears footsteps—someone is jogging toward her. She looks up and sees Jay, his camera hanging from one shoulder and a duffel bag slung over the other.
“I got your message,” he says, stopping in front of her.
His cheeks are pink from the jogging.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “It’s a mad idea, really—we might get fired. Or arrested.”
He steps forward, placing one foot over the threshold.
“I want to,” he says. He takes another step until he is inside the reception area. She looks at him as though she is deciding something, and then steps back, letting him in. Together they close the door behind them and Kate locks it. She wants to tell him she’s sorry—for being so distant and for barely speaking to him since they kissed. But the thought of the lido keeps her focused.
“Let’s get something to cover the door,” she says and Jay follows her down the empty corridor. Between them they carry a table from the staff room and prop it in front of the reception doors. Then they search the exercise rooms, carrying furniture to the front of the lido. When they are finished a barricade of tables, chairs, and exercise bikes blocks the entrance.
“That should do it,” Kate says.
There is another entrance through the café so they do the same thing there, locking the door and moving the tables and chairs in front of it. The room looks bare; the baristas and waiters have already cleared away the coffee machine and their aprons are hung over the end of the coffee bar. Kate imagines them lifting them over their necks for the last time.
There are a couple of tables left in the café and Kate sits down at one, taking her laptop out of her rucksack and setting it up. Then she starts to write.
As she writes Jay explores the empty lido, taking photographs as he goes. The water is still and blue, the empty lifeguard’s chair watching over the silent pool. He takes a photograph of the clock and the empty snack shack by reception. The shutters are pulled down, making it look like a beach hut in winter. He walks down the corridors, photographing the afternoon sun catching on dust in the empty yoga room.
As he heads out onto the decking to cross back to the café he hears the sound of voices coming over the top of the lido wall.
“Don’t pull the plug on our lido,” they shout.
Jay steps back into the café and snaps a photograph of Kate at her laptop, her face full of concentration. The noise makes her look up. He takes another photo.
“Sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t help myself. They’re here.”
She stands up, looking expectantly in the direction of the door. As they walk toward the reception area the sound of voices grows louder. She reaches for his arm.
“Don’t pull the plug on our lido!”
Kate and Jay peer through the windows at the large crowd gathered outside, holding placards and a large banner in front of the lido doors. The noise is so loud that Kate imagines they must be wrapping partway around the lido as well, forming a wall of bodies and blocking the entrance. She spots Ellis—he turns and waves at them. Jake is there, too, with Hope, Jamila, Aiesha, and Geoff. Next to them are Frank and Jermaine. Sprout has a flag tied to her collar with “Save Brockwell Lido” written in capital letters. Kate spots the teenage boy and the new mother with her baby on her hip and her husband at her side. The yoga instructor is there, too, along with the lifeguard and the rest of the lido and café staff.
“I can’t believe they all came,” she says to Jay.
“They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” he replies, holding her gaze. She smiles nervously and brushes her hair away from her face.
There is a plump figure at the end of the line whose face Kate can’t see. He turns around and smiles—it is Phil. He is holding a placard. Kate can feel her heart beating quickly inside her chest.
Phil turns again and looks through the window, nodding at Kate and she nods back.
“What now?” asks Jay.
“We wait.”
CHAPTER 55
The protesters stay all afternoon. Ellis and Jake pass around beers; Frank offers biscuits. Locals walk past and take photographs; some join the line and are handed spare placards. As they stand in the sun Kate sits in the café and writes. She sends a new article to a few national newspapers and local blogs and shares the link to the petition everywhere she can. The number of signatures rises steadily throughout the day. Each new signature gives her a jolt of happiness. She thinks about the people in her community who want to help right to the end to keep the lido open, and she feels less despondent. It might be hopeless, but she is not alone. She just wishes Rosemary were there.
“You better come and see this,” says Jay in the early evening. The setting sun streams through the café windows and lights up Kate’
s hair. She looks up from the laptop.
“Is it the police?”
“Not yet, but I think they might be reps from Paradise Living.”
They walk to the reception area and peer through the windows. Hope is standing apart from the protesters and talking to a group of men in suits. Kate spots the councillor from the meetings among them; the rest she doesn’t recognize. Hope is holding her placard tightly across her chest and waving her arm. Ellis leaves the crowd and joins the conversation.
One of the men points at the lido; another looks at his watch. Kate can’t hear the conversation, she just watches through the glass, wondering whether the police are on their way and how long their makeshift barricade will last. Jay stands close to her and she feels the warmth of his shoulder against hers. After a while the group of men take a last look at the lido and then walk quickly away. Hope and Ellis return to the group. The crowd parts and Hope pushes through, coming close up to the glass so Kate can hear her.
“Who were they?” Kate shouts through the window. “And are they sending for the police?”
Hope shakes her head.
“It was a group from Paradise Living. I certainly gave them a piece of my mind!” she says. “But they’re not doing anything today—I think they want to get home to their dinners. But they’ll be back tomorrow. They said we have tonight to clear out of their building and then they will be taking action. ‘Their’ building. The cheek of it. They don’t even care about the lido—and to hear them call it ‘their’ building . . . But I suppose it is, or will be when they exchange contracts.”
Jay looks at Kate. The crowd of protesters are looking at her too. Kate thinks about the prospect of being thrown out by the police, of handing the keys over to the suits from Paradise Living. The thought makes her feel sick and makes her breathing quicken. She pictures her Panic, creeping up to ambush her.
“What do you want to do?” Jay asks. Hope is still there, standing by the glass waiting for Kate’s response. For a moment she wishes she could ask Rosemary or Erin what to do. But then she feels strength rising up inside her.
“I’m not leaving until they drag me out,” she says.
Hope smiles and shouts her reply back to the others so they can hear. The group outside cheers.
“Are you sure?” says Jay.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Suddenly she doesn’t feel afraid. She can see her Panic nearly as clearly as she can see Jay in front of her, but this time she refuses to look it in the eye, refuses to acknowledge it is there. She wants to be here until the very end, doing something even if it comes to nothing. Trying. The lido may still close for good but she wants to know she did everything she could.
“I’ll stay with you then,” says Jay.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He watches her and thinks how different she looks now from the girl who used to pass him on the stairs in the office or wave at him across the street. She is just as lovely, but it as though a light has been switched on inside her. She glows and he stands in her warmth.
CHAPTER 56
Rosemary’s flat is still in disarray. The more she tidies, the more mess seems to accumulate. At points throughout the day she can hear cries of “Don’t pull the plug on our lido” coming from the park. Occasionally she peers out the balcony window at the protesters wrapped around the lido walls, standing back slightly so she can’t be seen, before returning to her tidying. It tires her, and she spends a lot of time napping stretched out on the sofa, trying not to dream about the lido.
As she wakes up from a long sleep she realizes slowly that it is evening and the balcony door is still open. The protesters have fallen quiet by now. The curtains are flapping and the room is shrouded in the near darkness of dusk. A chill rushes through her and she stands up and walks slowly to the bedroom to fetch a cardigan. The bedroom is just as untidy as the living room, with boxes spread out across the floor from her cleaning. She weaves her way through them and opens the doors to her wardrobe, searching for something warm. She reaches up to grab one of the sweaters folded neatly on the top shelf of her wardrobe. As she tugs, she drags down not just the cardigan, but the box that was resting next to it. The box tips, the lid opens, and as it falls to the ground piles of black-and-white glossy sheets come spilling out. Dozens and dozens of photographs. It is raining smiles.
Rosemary watches and waits for the rain to stop. George is everywhere, smiling at her. She kneels down, picking photographs up at random.
George grinning from the diving board, his face turned to her just before he dove off the edge, checking that she was watching him. George stretched out on the side of the lido, a book open over his face, his arms behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles. George teaching a class of children to swim the front crawl: he is standing on the side of the pool stretching his arms in the air in a mock crawl stroke and the children are watching him and laughing.
She picks up another photograph—this one of her. She is wearing a striped swimsuit and holding two ice cream cones—in the photograph the one-piece is black and white but she remembers the suit was white and red. The ice cream is dripping down her hands and she is stretching the cones out toward the camera, her mouth open wide. George made her hold them while he took the photograph but the ice cream started to melt until it was dripping off her elbows. He just laughed and laughed.
There is one of the two of them, both leaning on the side of the pool and kicking their feet behind them, water spraying into the air and catching the sun. Hope took that one of them, just before they both ducked under the surface and kissed each other underwater before leaping back up for air.
Here is the lido covered in snow and George in a woolly hat, a scarf, and swimming trunks, standing on the side and grinning. Here Rosemary and George both dive in unison from the deep end. They look like each other’s shadow they are so perfectly in time.
She gathers the photographs in her lap, stroking George’s face on each one. Her life is spread out around her, disordered. Some of the photos are shadowed by a thumb in front of the lens or have caught the glare of the sun to the point that you can’t see the faces. But she remembers what the faces look like. And throughout the photos is the lido, the thread that holds them together, the place they keep coming back to. Their home. She has to do something. It can’t be the end.
CHAPTER 57
The crowd stays until it is dark. Kate keeps looking along the line for Rosemary but she doesn’t come. She checks her phone for messages, but there are none from her. Kate calls Rosemary’s flat but it goes straight to voice mail. She doesn’t leave a message; she has tried too many times and knows Rosemary won’t answer. But the thought of her alone in her flat not able to come and say her last goodbye to her lido makes Kate terribly sad. She hopes that Rosemary won’t regret it once it is closed for good. There will be no chances for goodbyes then.
Instead she texts Erin, telling her about the plan, and about Rosemary’s absence. Her sister replies immediately.
“You’re awesome! I’m thinking of you. And about Rosemary—maybe she’ll come round still. It must be hard for her. Sometimes hope can be the most painful thing.”
Kate reads the text back and suddenly thinks she understands why Rosemary hasn’t been in touch, hasn’t visited the lido, and won’t let anyone see her. Better, perhaps, to cut yourself off and not let anything or anyone—the light on the water or the comforting words of a friend—give you hope.
The crowd breaks apart slowly. Frank and Jermaine wave to Kate through the glass and walk away holding hands, their placards over their shoulders and Sprout trotting behind them. Hope leaves with Jamila and Aiesha, and Ellis, Jake, and Geoff follow behind.
“We’ll be back in the morning, dear,” Hope says through the glass, before turning and walking away. As she turns to leave, Kate spots a figure walking toward the lido entrance. Kate realizes it is Ahmed. In all the excitement of the day, she suddenly realizes that he w
as the other person missing from the protest line.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says through the glass as he reaches the window and pushes his face up close. “Geoff told me about your plan, but I had my final exam today. I meant to come straight after but my dad insisted on taking me out for dinner.”
He blushes, and it makes Kate smile.
“Congratulations!” Kate says. “You’re a free man now!”
Ahmed smiles and stretches his arms out wide as though he were a bird and could take off right then and there.
“Well done, mate,” says Jay, raising a hand before remembering the glass. Ahmed raises his arm, too, and they do a sort of salute at each other and laugh.
“I wanted to come and wish you luck for the sit-in,” says Ahmed. “But I also wanted to tell you an idea I had—a way we might still save the lido.”
Kate raises her eyebrows and looks at Ahmed intently, trying desperately to slow the beating of her heart. Hope is the most painful thing.
“Go on,” she says.
“It might be nothing,” says Ahmed, suddenly growing nervous.
“Please,” says Kate. “We need ideas.”
So Ahmed tells them.
“Well, I was thinking about the lido after the exam. I was feeling bad for missing the final day, even though I knew the exam was important. And I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with your sister, Erin, Kate. D’you remember, that day at the rubber duck protest?”
Kate nods, remembering Ahmed and her sister talking intently on the side of the pool.
“Well, I remember her talking about a module she did on the rise of branded places and things—you know, like the Barclays and then Santander bicycles in London, the Emirates stadium . . . And I suddenly thought—if it can work for them, perhaps it could work for the lido?”