Swimming Pool Sunday

by Madeleine Wickham

  Were Hugh and Ursula liable for letting a child dive, unguarded, off their diving-board? Or was it the child’s own fault? No-one’s fault? The mother’s fault? Should Hugh and Ursula put in a claim against Louise for contributory negligence? Should they trump up some kind of counter-suit?

  Meredith shut her eyes and pulled a face. All the legal jargon was making her brain ache. She seemed to have read hundreds of accounts of cases of negligence in the British law courts. People who left spilt yoghurt on the floor of their store for people to slip up. People who allowed children to play with dangerous bits of wire. People who didn’t fix the bannisters on their stairs.

  None of these cases quite appeared to resemble their own situation, and it now seemed to Meredith even more obvious that Hugh and Ursula hadn’t been negligent, not like some people were negligent. But at the same time, in her heart of hearts, she was beginning to see how Cassian Brown might put together some kind of phoney case against them; how he might even be able to convince a very stupid jury that Katie was a victim of the Delaneys’ negligence, and that she was owed damages. And if that happened, how much might Hugh and Ursula have to pay out? Meredith’s eyes glanced, unwillingly, down the list of examples of damages claims which she’d compiled. Huge sums stared back at her, and she gave a little shiver. She’d heard the rumour about half a million pounds, which was going round the village, and dismissed it. Now she wasn’t so sure. A recent well-publicized case – in which a head-injured child had received nearly £700,000 from a negligent local council – jumped out at her particularly blackly.

  Half a million pounds? Hugh simply didn’t have that kind of money. Not money sitting around, just waiting for an emergency. His business had dwindled considerably since Simon’s death; Meredith knew for a fact that it was bringing in only a small income. Of course, they could sell the little house in France – but that wouldn’t fetch much. Not these days. So … what? Would they have to sell Devenish House? Sell what little there was of the business? Take out some sort of loan? Declare themselves bankrupt? How on earth would Hugh and Ursula cope with that? Hadn’t they had enough?

  Meredith stared into the pouring rain and felt an impotent frustrated anger rising through her. Abruptly, she got to her feet. She’d had enough of law books. Enough of the law altogether.

  Hugh looked out of the window of his study and saw Meredith walking through the garden, in the rain, wearing her black strappy swimming-costume. She was heading towards the swimming-pool. He waited a few moments, then put down his pen and went outside after her.

  The swimming-pool was heated to its normal temperature, and clouds of steam were pouring off it into the rainy atmosphere. Huge raindrops pounded fiercely down onto the surface of the water, which seemed, in this weather, grey and uninviting. But through the misty clouds, Hugh could see Meredith swimming determinedly up and down the length of the pool, efficiently cleaving the water with her strong muscular arms, turning at each end in a seamless movement, purging something out of her system, he guessed. He stood by the side of the pool for a few minutes, sheltering from the loud battering rain under a bright-yellow umbrella. Eventually Meredith noticed him. She stopped swimming and began to tread water, holding her face up to the rain, closing her eyes.

  ‘I fucking hate them all,’ she said, above the pounding noise of the rain. Her eyes were still closed. Hugh gave a small grin, and squatted down by the side of the pool.

  ‘I had a letter from the Kembers’ lawyers today,’ he said, ‘requesting permission for some sort of safety expert to come and examine the diving-board.’

  They both turned and stared at the diving-board, glistening wet in the rain.

  ‘The diving-board’s fine,’ said Meredith in a tight voice. ‘It’s just a diving-board. What’s he expect to find? Oil smeared all over it?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Hugh wearily. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s perfectly safe, but …’ He tailed off.

  ‘Perhaps we should rip it out,’ said Meredith, ‘and when this safety expert comes along, we’ll say, “Diving-board? What diving-board?”’

  She gave Hugh a grin and he smiled reluctantly back. He looked old and defeated. Meredith could hardly bear to look at him. She took a deep breath and plunged under the surface, feeling cold water pour into her ears; hearing the sound of the rain on water suddenly muffled. When she surfaced, Hugh was still there, staring at the diving-board.

  ‘They won’t be able to prove anything,’ said Meredith, trying to sound confident.

  ‘And what if they do?’ said Hugh. He looked at Meredith, a haggard expression on his face. ‘What if it’s proved in a court of law that it was our negligence that put an innocent child in hospital? That our diving-board was unsafe? How will we live with ourselves?’

  ‘It won’t be,’ said Meredith uncertainly. ‘No way.’ There was a doubtful pause.

  ‘It’s not the money,’ said Hugh suddenly. ‘I mean, of course the money is worrying, yes.’ He looked at Meredith. ‘You know what sort of sums we might be talking about, don’t you?’ She nodded. ‘But even if we had to sell everything …’ Hugh waved one hand in the rainy air, ‘it wouldn’t be the end of the world. We’d be able to live with ourselves.’ He looked at Meredith. ‘What I couldn’t live with is the thought that the accident was our fault.’ He looked bleakly at Meredith and transferred the dripping umbrella handle from one hand to the other.

  ‘No-one’s saying it was your fault,’ said Meredith, fiercely. ‘For Christ’s sake, what were you supposed to do? Guard the diving-board against stupid kids? When it’s perfectly plain that diving can, yes, can be risky? And when the kid’s mother was actually there?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Hugh wearily. ‘Maybe that’s just what we were supposed to do.’

  ‘What, so nothing’s obvious any more?’ said Meredith angrily, slapping her hand down on the surface of the water with a sharp splash. ‘We have to protect everybody against everything? Whatever happened to common sense? Someone should have told that kid, if you leap high into the air you might hurt yourself. That’s a fact of life. It’s not anyone’s fault.’ Hugh shrugged.

  ‘But what if the board was dangerous?’ he said in a quiet voice.

  ‘It wasn’t dangerous,’ said Meredith angrily. ‘No more dangerous than any other diving-board.’

  ‘Maybe that’s enough,’ said Hugh. ‘Maybe the very fact that a diving-board is dangerous at all will be enough for them to win the case. I just don’t know.’

  Meredith felt a stab of uncharacteristic fearful panic. She and Hugh looked at each other for a moment, silent, except for the rain.

  ‘Well, God help the world, then,’ said Meredith at last, looking away from Hugh’s weary face. ‘And God save us from the fucking lawyers.’

  A pair of sudden hot tears fell from her eyes, mingling with the drips on her face. Quickly, before Hugh could see, Meredith plunged back into the blue-grey depths of the pool, her legs thrusting furiously through the yielding water, her hair streaming out behind her, and the raindrops falling in splashy circles on the surface above her. She swam silently and desperately, holding her breath, until she felt able to surface and talk to Hugh again. But when, eventually, she surfaced, breathless, he had gone. And she was left alone, cocooned from the pounding rain in the warmth of the water, surrounded by steamy clouds, with no-one to talk to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time the end of term arrived it was baking hot once more, and Amelia was asking, every day, if they could please, please go swimming.

  They hadn’t been swimming at all since the accident; the vision of Amelia plunging again into the forbidding blue water of a swimming-pool made Louise shudder and feel sick. But she couldn’t say that to the child, and give her a complex for the rest of her life, so instead she said again, sharply, that they didn’t have time. Not at the moment.

  Amelia stared resentfully at her mother, then stamped back up the stairs to get her school hat. She hated her mother, and sh
e hated Katie, and she hated everybody. Today was the last day of term, and everybody was taking a present to school for their form teacher. But although she’d kept promising they would go and find something nice at the shops, Louise had forgotten, until Amelia reminded her last night, when it was too late.

  ‘We’ll buy something on the way to school,’ she’d said hastily. ‘Something nice.’ But the only shop on the way to school was the garage, and Amelia knew they wouldn’t find anything nice there, only jars of coffee and pints of milk and Mars bars.

  And it was all because her mother spent the whole time at Forest Lodge. Amelia hated Forest Lodge. It was really creepy and it smelt horrible, and all the people in it were weird. Some of them couldn’t speak properly and some of them had strange jerky arms, and last time she went there for lunch she’d sat opposite a boy who was much older than her, but dribbled his food. It was disgusting. And then he’d smiled at her and tried to take hold of her hand. She’d stared at him in panic, feeling her face turn red and her heart thumping, until a nurse noticed what was happening and hurried over, and said, ‘Martin, leave Amelia alone.’ And then she’d turned to Amelia and smiled, and said, ‘Don’t worry! He won’t bite!’ And Amelia had smiled back, but inside she felt all shaky and frightened.

  She didn’t see why Katie had to stay there. Katie wasn’t a bit like those people. She could walk and talk properly now, and sort of read, and last time Amelia had visited, they’d even played French skipping. Katie had forgotten all about French skipping after the accident, but Amelia had taught her how to do it again, and she’d been quite good – at least, at the very easy jumps.

  Everyone kept going on about how well Katie was doing, so much better than they’d expected, and Amelia always said, ‘Well, why doesn’t she come home, then?’ And her mother would say, ‘She will, darling, very soon.’ But she never did, so they kept having to go to horrible revolting Forest Lodge.

  Amelia picked up her satchel and put on her hat, and scowled at herself in the mirror. Nothing was fun any more. She didn’t have anyone to play with, and they weren’t going on holiday, and everyone seemed cross all the time.

  By the end of the morning, however, Amelia’s spirits had risen. After they’d had a story, and before they went down for final prayers, Mrs Jacob had taken the star chart off the wall to announce the winner. And it was Amelia!

  She was so surprised she just sat still, while Clara, who sat next to her, tugged at her school dress and hissed, ‘Go up! Go up and get your prize!’

  Mrs Jacob smiled at Amelia and said, ‘I’ve been awarding stars for good behaviour, as well as the stars I’ve put in your exercise books, and Amelia has done very well this term! Well done!’ And Amelia struggled to her feet and Mrs Jacob gave her a huge tube of Smarties, and everybody clapped.

  Then everyone crowded round Amelia’s desk for a Smartie, and Amelia handed them out, keeping back the orange ones for herself. And Anna Russet, whom she didn’t know very well, said shyly, ‘I think you deserved to win the star chart, Amelia.’ And Clara, sitting next to her, said at once, ‘Yes, so do I. I think you deserved to win it.’

  Amelia had glowed, pink with pleasure, as she doled out Smarties into thrusting hands, and thought how impressed Katie and Mummy would be when she told them. Then they’d gone down to the hall for final prayers, and Amelia’s name was read out, along with all the other star-chart winners, and all the teachers smiled at her. Then they sang Amelia’s favourite hymn, and did three cheers for the teachers, and then it really was the end of term.

  All the parents were waiting outside, mostly mothers, but a few fathers too, and the playground was filled with children, carrying satchels and pencil-cases and rolled-up paintings and recorders and shoe bags. Amelia looked for Louise in the throng, but she couldn’t see her anywhere, so she sat down comfortably on the low wall at the front of the playground and waited for her to arrive.

  Half an hour later she still hadn’t come. The playground was now nearly empty, with just a few parents and children and a couple of teachers, and a book dropped face-down on the ground. Amelia sidled over and picked up the book. It was a very junior reading book that she remembered from Form Two, and she began to leaf through it, recalling the bright pictures and the story, and all the big words that she’d found so difficult then, but now seemed really easy.

  ‘Amelia!’ Amelia looked up, startled. Mrs Jacob was in front of her.

  ‘Hasn’t Mummy come yet?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Amelia. ‘She’s often late,’ she added quickly.

  ‘I know,’ said Mrs Jacob, ‘but not normally this late.’ She looked hard at Amelia. ‘She does know it’s a half day today?’ Amelia thought.

  ‘Well, she knows it’s the end of term,’ she said eventually. ‘She must know it’s a half day.’

  ‘Did you tell her?’ persisted Mrs Jacob.

  ‘No,’ said Amelia in surprise, ‘but she must know! It’s always a half day on the last day of term.’

  Mrs Jacob sighed.

  ‘Perhaps’, she said, ‘she’s forgotten. Just this once.’

  Amelia stared at Mrs Jacob and felt a sudden angry hurt. Mrs Jacob must be right, her mother had forgotten to come and pick her up. She’d forgotten about her. No-one else’s mother forgot about them.

  A voice interrupted them both. It was Mrs Russet, Anna’s mother, coming over from the other side of the playground.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she said. She addressed Amelia in a sugary voice. ‘Has Mummy forgotten all about you?’ Amelia shrugged and went pink. Mrs Russet came closer. She was a very large lady, with curly hair; Amelia had sometimes seen her in church, doing readings in a loud voice with lots of flapping arms.

  ‘I’ll go and phone her,’ said Mrs Jacob. She looked at Amelia and smiled reassuringly. ‘Will she be at home, do you think?’

  ‘She’s probably at Forest Lodge,’ said Amelia. ‘She’s always at Forest Lodge,’ she added, gloomily, as Mrs Jacob hurried off.

  ‘Is she?’ Mrs Russet’s eyes bored beadily into Amelia’s face. ‘Does she leave you all alone?’

  ‘Well,’ began Amelia, meaning to explain how Mary always came and looked after her. But a sudden resentment at her mother took over.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘She leaves me all alone. All she cares about is Katie.’

  Mrs Russet’s mouth tightened and she folded her arms.

  ‘Well, Amelia,’ she said. ‘What about coming home with us? If Mummy’s too busy to remember about you?’

  ‘Yes, go on,’ said Anna. ‘You can see my guinea-pig.’

  ‘And then we can have some nice lunch,’ said Mrs Russet cosily, ‘and you can tell me all about it.’

  Louise had spent much of the day in Linningford, trying to catch up with the minutiae of daily life. Since the accident, she realized, she hadn’t paid a single household bill. Food shopping had been reduced to buying a few tins whenever she had a spare moment; most basic household items had run out or broken and not been replaced. And tomorrow was the start of Amelia’s school holidays. She wanted the house to be in some kind of order before then. So the night before, she had sat down with a pencil and begun a list, starting modestly with light-bulbs; pay gas bill; first-class stamps. By the time the catalogue was finished, it was running onto a fourth sheet, and she was staring at it in amazed despair. But she had decided that, if it were at all possible, she would get everything done before she picked up Amelia from school.

  Somewhere in her mind she had once been aware that on the last day of term, school finished at lunchtime. But this fact was submerged as she battled with a pair of heavy carrier bags through the morning throng, and found herself thinking, I’m never going to get everything done by three-thirty. As the day progressed she began to move more quickly; imbuing each transaction with a sense of urgency; pitting herself against crowds of people, overheated lifts and surly shop assistants. She abandoned all thought of taking the toaster for repair, in favour of finding a
special present for Amelia. She decided, hastily crossing it off the list, that plant food could wait for another day – but they really did need new tooth-brushes.

  She arrived at the school on the dot of quarter to four, with a red face and a full car and a colouring book for Amelia waiting on the front seat. And then, as she opened the door and got out to an uncharacteristic silence, the truth hit her, and she leaned weakly against the car, her heart thudding and a light-headed amazement pervading her body. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten that school finished at lunchtime today?

  For a moment or two she couldn’t move, so astonished was she at her lapse of memory. It almost seemed a feat of achievement to have forgotten something so important. Then, as her astonishment began to abate, she felt a sudden guilty pang, all the stronger for being delayed. Where was Amelia? What had happened to her, if nobody had arrived to collect her?

  Stupidly, Louise began to run towards the playground. Of course she wouldn’t be there. The teachers wouldn’t have left her. Louise imagined kind steady Mrs Jacob, Amelia’s teacher, and her heart began to quail. What on earth would Mrs Jacob think of her? And all the other teachers? Would they put a black mark against her name?

  And where, thought Louise again, arriving in the deserted playground, looking hopelessly around; where the hell was Amelia?

  ‘If we win in the court,’ said Amelia, sitting back comfortably on Mrs Russet’s cushioned garden swing and accepting another chocolate biscuit, ‘we’re going to get half a million pounds.’ She looked at Mrs Russet for a reaction and bit into the biscuit. Mrs Russet gave a satisfactory gasp.