Swimming Pool Sunday

by Madeleine Wickham

  ‘Oh, no trouble,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Did you forget something?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Cassian casually. ‘I just wanted to check something very unimportant. Something I was wondering about.’ He smiled sympathetically at her. ‘When the accident happened, there were still lots of people present, weren’t there?’ He spread his hands vaguely. ‘Witnesses, if you like. People who saw what happened.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mary in surprise. She hefted Luke up further on her chest and stroked his downy hair. ‘Well, yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose there were. Heaps of people were there. All the village, really. Although, of course, not everybody was looking when it … when it actually happened.’ Her face began to crumple.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Cassian quickly. ‘Well, that’s all I wanted to know. Thanks.’ And he began to stride back towards his car, while Mary looked after him in slight puzzlement.

  When the door of the little room opened, Louise jumped and looked up fearfully. A face peered round. It was a young man, wearing round spectacles and a white coat.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Kember? My name’s Michael Taylor. I’m the consultant dealing with Katie.’

  He came into the room, sat down, and looked earnestly at Louise and Barnaby.

  ‘As you know,’ he began rapidly, ‘Katie has sustained an injury to the head. She was hit quite hard when she …’ he consulted his notes … ‘crashed down on the diving-board. Now,’ he paused, ‘we’ve just had back the results of Katie’s scan. And we’ve found what we suspected might be the case, that a blood clot has formed, which is pressing on Katie’s brain.’ He looked from Barnaby to Louise. ‘I don’t want to appear to be rushing you,’ he said, ‘and I know it’s difficult to take all this in, but we’re going to have to remove the clot as soon as possible to maximize her chances of recovery.’

  There was a silence. Barnaby looked away. Louise met the consultant’s eyes.

  ‘Brain surgery,’ she faltered.

  ‘I know it sounds frightening,’ said the consultant earnestly. ‘In actual fact, it’s a fairly straightforward operation, and we need to give the brain as much chance as possible to heal.’ He paused. ‘We’d like to take her into theatre as soon as we can.’

  There was another silence. Louise could hear her breaths coming quick and shallow. She felt as though she might be hallucinating. Suddenly Barnaby spoke, in a husky, almost inaudible voice.

  ‘But she will be … all right.’ The consultant’s gaze did not flicker.

  ‘There is a strong chance that once the pressure on her brain has been relieved, Katie will make a good recovery,’ he said. He paused. ‘But you must remember, she has received a considerable injury to the brain; not merely from the blow to the head, but also from lack of oxygen during the time spent underwater.’ He looked at Barnaby. ‘I gather she wasn’t under for more than a few seconds?’

  ‘I got to her …’ Barnaby’s voice was hoarse and cracked. ‘I got to her as quickly as I could.’

  ‘Well then,’ said the consultant gently, ‘you may well have saved her from serious brain damage.’

  ‘But you don’t know?’ Louise’s voice was high and brittle.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t,’ said the consultant. ‘Not yet. After surgery, things may be clearer.’ He flipped to another page of his notes. ‘There are several encouraging factors. There seems to be no paralysis, and her spinal cord appears undamaged, and the swelling of her brain is less severe than we might have expected.’ He looked at them. ‘Until Katie regains consciousness, we won’t know exactly what sort of damage has been done, if any.’

  ‘And when will that be?’ Louise tried to control her voice.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s something else that we don’t know.’ He looked at Louise. ‘You’re shivering, Mrs Kember. Would you like the nurse to bring you a cup of tea?’

  Louise shook her head numbly.

  ‘I’d like to see Katie, before she has her operation.’

  ‘Of course. Do you have any more questions?’

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door. A nurse poked her head into the room.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘A Mr Cassian Brown’s here. He said he didn’t want to disturb you, but he’s brought a change of clothes for Mrs Kember and some bubble bath.’ She looked at Louise. ‘He thought, if you had to spend a long time here, you might want to have a bath.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said the consultant. ‘When Katie’s gone into theatre, one of the nurses will take you to a nice quiet bathroom. You’ll want to be rested and refreshed for when she comes out.’ He looked at the nurse. ‘You can sort that out, can’t you, Sandra?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the nurse sympathetically. ‘Just tell me when you want it,’ she said to Louise, ‘and I’ll run you a nice hot bath.’

  Louise looked at the kindly face of the nurse, and to her horror, felt her shoulders heaving. She gave a single, involuntary, anguished cry; heavy hot tears began to splash onto her hands.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she struggled to say. Then, unable to stop herself, she gave way to pent-up juddering sobs. The nurse exchanged looks with the consultant.

  ‘I’ve got to go, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘but Sandra will look after you. Sandra,’ he added, on his way out of the door, ‘they’d like to see their daughter before she goes into theatre.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the nurse. She crossed the floor, sat down beside Louise, and brought out a tissue.

  ‘Thank you,’ managed Louise. For a moment she seemed to be calming down. She sat up and wiped her eyes. Then, suddenly, she began to weep again in a frenzy of gasping and shuddering.

  ‘I know,’ said the nurse soothingly. ‘I know.’ She put an arm round Louise, and Louise suddenly turned her sobbing face, burying it in the nurse’s ample shoulder.

  Barnaby stared blackly ahead, immobilized by grief, fear, and an impotent anger. Everybody seemed able to do something to help except him. Someone else was comforting Louise; someone else was operating on his daughter; someone else had even thought to bring bubble bath for Louise. A picture of Cassian’s smug face passed briefly through Barnaby’s mind, accompanied by a black, suspicious, envious resentment. Why had Cassian been the one to bring bubble bath for Louise? What was he doing at the hospital? What right did he have to interfere?

  A cloud of despairing misery fell down upon Barnaby, and his head drooped lower until all he could see was the oatmeal fabric of the sofa. But even that was too much for him, so he shut his eyes and listened to the sound of Louise weeping, and found himself wishing, in a stark, hopeless way, that they could go back to the beginning of the day and start all over again.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Meredith woke late, with a looming, menacing feeling in her head, and a painful dream about Simon slipping out of her mind before she could remember it. She got shakily out of bed, pulled back the curtains to reveal another shining bright day, and regarded herself in the mirror. Her face was pale and puffy, and down one side of it ran a deep red crease where she had slept, pressed up against the seam of her nightdress. Like a scar, she thought dully.

  And then, in a flash, it all came back to her: the accident, the ambulance, the endless hours afterwards; hours of persuading people to go home, and fending off phone calls, and turning away visitors who had got hold of a garbled version of the story. They’d stayed up until midnight, until someone phoned to give them the news: Katie’s operation had gone well, but she was in a coma.

  Lightning visions of hospital wards, machines and nurses passed through Meredith’s mind. Simon had only been in hospital for a day and a half before he had died, but that time had magnified in Meredith’s mind until it seemed a lifetime; a lifetime of sitting by his bed, talking to him, holding his hand, battling with the dragons of fear and pessimism; trying always to keep her voice warm and positive, just in case he could hear. Now, she thought, she would never know if he really had heard any of the things she’d said; if he had taken in any
of the love, the respect and the belief in him that she’d tried so desperately to convey.

  They’d switched off his life-support machine early in the morning, and for a few seconds afterwards she’d stared in desperation at his face, believing that if she willed hard enough, he would open his eyes and wake up. But of course, he hadn’t, and he never would, and perhaps, Meredith thought, with a sudden stab of fearful pain, little Katie never would either.

  She quickly dressed and opened her bedroom door. From downstairs she could hear the voices of Hugh and Ursula … and Frances … and a voice that sounded like Alexis. In spite of herself her spirits quickened slightly, and for a moment she battled with the desire to shut her bedroom door, choose a new outfit and check her appearance in the mirror. But a stern sense of priorities stopped her from doing so. Now was not the time for thinking of herself.

  She came down to find Hugh and Ursula sitting in the kitchen. It was a large sunny room, with yellow-painted walls and a huge oak table. At one end of the table was the remains of breakfast; at the other end was Alexis, drinking a cup of coffee and looking concerned; and at the back door was Frances, wearing an unbecoming beige print frock and an anxious expression.

  Meredith looked from face to face.

  ‘Have you heard anything?’ she said.

  ‘She’s still in a coma,’ said Frances.

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Meredith. She sank onto a chair and poured herself some coffee.

  ‘I just feel,’ said Hugh miserably, ‘so … so helpless.’

  ‘I can’t bear to think about it,’ said Ursula. ‘Poor Louise. Poor Barnaby.’

  ‘Poor Katie,’ said Meredith soberly. She looked at Frances. ‘And they don’t know what the prognosis is?’ Frances shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think they do. I think they’re just waiting for her to wake up.’

  ‘Waiting,’ said Meredith. ‘That’s the worst part. Just sitting there, with that feeling that there’s nothing you can do.’ There was a short silent pause. From the hall came the sound of the grandfather clock ticking quietly and steadily along.

  ‘Well, actually,’ said Frances eventually, ‘there is something that you can do, if you wouldn’t mind. Alan’s holding a service for Katie tonight at six o’clock. We expect that quite a lot of people will come, so we’re going to need extra chairs from the church hall, and I was wondering if you could help me move them.’ She looked around. ‘If we all move a few it won’t take long.’

  ‘Of course we’ll help,’ said Hugh. He sighed. ‘It’s the least we can do.’ He looked at Frances. ‘Do you think Louise and Barnaby will come to the service?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Frances. ‘It all depends, I suppose, on what happens …’ There was a brief sobering silence.

  ‘OK,’ said Meredith. She put down her coffee-cup. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I don’t want to rush you,’ protested Frances. ‘Have some breakfast first.’

  ‘No, I’m not having breakfast,’ said Meredith. Alexis looked at her.

  ‘Your not eating breakfast’, he said seriously, ‘is not going to help young Katie.’

  ‘I know,’ said Meredith impatiently. ‘I know it won’t help, but still … it seems like an insult – to be eating, when she’s …’ She tailed off.

  ‘Meredith!’ interjected Ursula in alarm. ‘You mustn’t starve yourself.’

  ‘I’m not going to starve myself,’ said Meredith, ‘but you know what I mean.’ She looked at Alexis. There was a pause, then he nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  When the others had gone off to the church, Ursula began to clear the breakfast things away, picking up plates and cups, and stacking them haphazardly by the sink. Despite what Meredith repeatedly told her, Ursula could never quite believe that the three of them ever used enough china to make it worthwhile using the dishwasher. And so the usual pattern was that, after every meal, she would put on a pair of rubber gloves and attempt to begin washing-up by hand, while Meredith furiously grabbed the plates from the sink and thrust them into the machine. But today there was no Meredith to stop her. And so, for a while, Ursula stood, diligently scrubbing each plate by hand, rinsing it free of foam and checking its shiny surface in the sunlight. It was a slow process, but she had done all the plates and nearly all the cups and saucers before she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel.

  At first she thought it was the others returning from the church, but there only seemed to be one pair of feet. And instead of making confidently for the back door, they were hesitating, swivelling around on the gravel, stopping altogether, then starting again. Ursula put down the cup she was holding, took off her apron, patted her hair, and went out of the back door. It was probably somebody from the village, wanting news of Katie.

  But when she reached the drive, she stopped in surprise. There, standing with his head tilted back, surveying the house with a full and frank stare, was the young man with the dark hair whom everybody said had broken up the Kembers’ marriage. What was his name, now? The only name that came to her mind was Dawn Treader, and that couldn’t be it, surely?

  ‘Hello,’ said Ursula hesitantly. The young man started, then regained his composure, gave Ursula an unctuous smile and held out his hand.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Delaney,’ he said smoothly. ‘I don’t know if you remember me. Cassian Brown.’

  ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Ursula. ‘Prince Caspian!’ Cassian stared at her.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘not Caspian, Cassian. And I’m afraid I’m not quite a prince.’ Ursula blushed.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I mean in the book. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. C.S. Lewis, you know,’ she added feebly. ‘Prince Caspian. That’s where I remembered you from. Although of course the name isn’t quite the same …’ She tailed off foolishly as she saw Cassian’s blank face. He waited for her to finish, then smiled again, a very brief smile, before adopting a solemn expression.

  ‘I was wondering whether you would allow me to have a look at the swimming-pool where Katie was hurt yesterday,’ he said, in grave tones. ‘Since I wasn’t actually there, I’d just like to see it for myself …’ Ursula’s face crumpled slightly.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Poor Katie. Do you know how …?’

  ‘She’s still unconscious, I’m afraid,’ said Cassian. He began to lead the way round the house, and Ursula followed him timidly, feeling that this seemed a little wrong, but not quite sure why.

  When they got to the pool, Cassian made his way straight to the diving-board. He looked at Ursula.

  ‘This is where she slipped?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ursula, in a distressed voice. ‘I can hardly bear to look.’ There was a pause. ‘Actually,’ she amended, ‘I’m not sure whether she actually slipped …’ But Cassian didn’t seem to be listening. He was bending down and running a finger along the surface of the board.

  ‘How old is the pool?’ he said.

  ‘Well, I don’t really know,’ said Ursula. She looked around vaguely. ‘It was here when we moved in, and that was over twenty years ago.’

  ‘The diving-board too?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Ursula. She looked at the diving-board and shivered. ‘I’d like to get rid of the horrid dangerous thing.’ Cassian looked up sharply.

  ‘Why dangerous?’ Ursula looked at him in puzzlement.

  ‘Well, dear,’ she said gently. ‘Katie had her accident trying to dive off it, you know, and I believe professional divers quite often have accidents too.’

  ‘Yes, but you said this board was dangerous,’ persisted Cassian. ‘Why would this particular board be dangerous?’ Ursula looked at him confusedly.

  ‘Is it?’ she said. ‘I don’t think it is, really.’ Cassian gave up. He stood up and looked around.

  ‘Do you remember how many people were here yesterday?’ he asked conversationally. Ursula screwed up her face.

  ‘I suppose … about a hundred,’ she said
. ‘I could tell you if we’d counted the donations, but we haven’t yet. It didn’t seem, somehow …’ She broke off and clasped her hand to her mouth, her eyes shining slightly. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The money must go to Katie. And we must start an appeal. We can begin at the church tonight.’ She looked at Cassian expectantly, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

  ‘And who was supervising the children?’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ said Ursula slowly, ‘no-one was actually supervising them. But they were all here with their parents, you know, and there was always someone watching them. Louise was watching Amelia and Katie for quite a long time, I remember, and then I watched them for a bit …’ She broke off and looked at him, tears bright in her eyes.

  ‘You know, I find this rather distressing,’ she said. ‘Would you mind if we went inside?’ She paused. ‘Perhaps you would like a cup of coffee. The others should be back soon and you can chat to them.’ She regarded him sympathetically. ‘You must be terribly upset.’

  Meredith and Alexis arrived back at the house to find the kitchen empty and the back door open.

  ‘I wonder where …’ began Meredith.

  Then they heard Ursula’s voice from outside, saying, ‘Ah, that sounds like them!’

  She appeared at the back door, looking a little flustered. Meredith opened her mouth to speak, then stopped in surprise as she saw, hovering behind Ursula, the unlikely figure of Cassian Brown, wearing an immaculate suit and carrying a dark heavy-looking briefcase. Her initial temptation was to ask what the fuck he was doing there, but instead she took a step forward and smiled at Cassian. He beamed charmingly back, and nodded his head politely towards Alexis with a smooth deferential courtesy which Meredith, in her mind, labelled creepy.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘We have met before. I’m Meredith.’

  ‘I remember very well,’ said Cassian. ‘The artist.’ His eyes briefly met Meredith’s, and to her astonishment she felt herself staring back at him, unwillingly mesmerized by his deep dark gaze. Briskly, she tore her attention away. ‘And this is our friend Alexis Faraday …’ Suddenly she interrupted herself. ‘Is there some news about Katie? Is that why you came?’ Cassian shook his head gravely.