In At the Deep End

by Penelope Janu

  I open the door. With a whoosh of damp cold air, he steps inside. His dark hair is dripping. I’d like to run my hand across his forehead to wipe the moisture away. My knees weaken at the thought. What would he do? Press his face against my hand? Or scowl? Do I know him any better than he knows me?

  ‘I parked out the front.’ He examines my pyjamas—the blue flannelettes with white clouds. His eyes meet mine. ‘We’re staying here?’

  ‘No.’ I point to the sofa where my laptop is sitting on top of a doona and pillows. ‘I got distracted. I’ll get ready now.’

  When a plastic chair on the deck crashes against the railing, I jump. Our eyes meet again.

  Per jerks his head towards the beach. ‘You’re not ready yet. Don’t do this.’

  I raise my chin. ‘I want to try.’

  His mouth is set. ‘Why end things now, when I’m just beginning to understand?’

  ‘It was me who needed to understand, not you.’ Whenever I did think about the accident, usually in my dreams, all I focused on were the things that I did wrong. Now I can see that I did some things right. When I get to the door of the hall I turn and face Per again. ‘I almost had a panic attack when we were at the dinner because you said something about me diving in at the deep end. But that’s what I have to do now. I have to be brave.’

  CHAPTER

  30

  I chose a terrible day to be brave. The waves are enormous. I’m nauseous. My hands are shaking.

  Per takes my hand when we get to the dunes. His grasp on my fingers is much too tight but I don’t complain. I like the feel of his skin against mine.

  ‘I’m totally opposed to this,’ he says.

  ‘I’ve done difficult things before.’ I raise my voice over the roar of the ocean. ‘Why aren’t you talking about glaciers?’

  ‘You promised to follow my instructions. You’ve gone back on your word.’

  ‘You went back on your word first. You asked about Brazil.’

  ‘Did you have nightmares last night?

  ‘No.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Thank you.’

  I’d like to re-fasten my hair. Strands fly into my eyes and mouth. The rain is relentless. The tide is out but the occasional wave crashes against the rocks and washes into the pool. I can’t stop swallowing.

  When we reach the landing Per puts his bag near the base of the cliff. He turns and faces me. His mouth is a grim hard line. ‘We can sit on the steps,’ he says.

  ‘I want to go under the water. I want to hold my breath.’

  At the top of the steps he pulls me against his chest and puts his hand on my heart to feel my heart rate. His breath is warm on the side of my face. ‘Du får meg til å skade deg.’

  I take a shaky breath. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re making me hurt you.’

  I push against his chest until he takes a step back, and then I take his hand. I tug, and we walk down the first three steps. A wave crashes over the rocks and sweeps into the deep end of the pool. A moment later the water rolls towards us and laps around my hips. I shudder. I’m trying so hard to breathe steadily that it’s almost impossible to speak, but it seems important to say the words out loud.

  ‘I held my breath in Brazil. And I was only a child.’

  We walk down to steps four, and five. I don’t look down but I feel the water at my waist. The wind stirs up the surface, making it choppy. The rain and the seawater splash me.

  Per stares at my profile. ‘You’re not a child now.’

  There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me turn towards him. His gaze locks with mine.

  ‘I want you, Harriet. So fucking much.’ There are molten silver flashes in his eyes. His lips are wet like mine. He’ll taste of the sea.

  I wrap my arms around his neck. He grasps my bottom and pulls me against his body. Then we explore the surfaces of each other’s lips and tongues like we’re searching for something elusive and can’t get deep enough. We’re both gasping for air when he raises his head. His breaths are short and sharp against the side of my face. I’m standing in the water and the waves are crashing onto the rocks but all I want to do is kiss him again.

  I touch his face. ‘Per?’

  ‘Harriet,’ he says, kissing my wrist. ‘Harriet Hillary Amelia. Why are you called that?’

  I have to gather my thoughts. ‘Harriet for Harriet Adams. The explorer, geographer. Imaginative.’

  He takes my bottom lip in his mouth and pulls on it with his teeth. Then he trails his lips over my chin, across my throat and up the side of my neck to my ear. He bites my earlobe. He whispers words I don’t understand as he collects raindrops with his lips and kisses them into my mouth.

  ‘Hillary,’ he says. ‘Is that for Sir Edmond?’

  How can he string a sentence together? ‘Yes.’

  Another wave crashes into the pool, and little waves lap against the small of my back. I take a jerky breath. ‘He was for determination.’

  He holds me by the hips and lifts me. ‘Wrap your legs around me.’

  When I do as he says he kisses me again, a hard possessive bruising kiss that’s difficult to keep up with. I don’t realise he’s standing at the foot of the steps until he raises his head.

  ‘Amelia?’ he says.

  ‘Earhart.’

  He’s a few metres into the pool now. ‘What does it stand for?’

  ‘Courage.’

  He presses his forehead against mine. ‘Can we go home yet?’

  I slowly shake my head. Then I look over his shoulder to the deep end. Every nerve in my body is on high alert. I’m aroused. And terrified.

  ‘I want to hold my breath.’

  Per growls as he pulls me closer. He walks backwards until he’s almost at the end of the pool. The water is up to our necks. His breath is warm on my face.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  I nod, and take a breath.

  But that’s not what he wants. He presses his lips against mine again. He opens my mouth with his tongue and mutters, ‘Breathe. Through. Me.’

  He bends his knees and we go under the water together. His breath is in my mouth. Then the sea is there as well. But I don’t breathe in until we break through to the surface again. I can’t think how he’s still kissing me because my lips are frozen and my teeth are chattering. The rain falls in thick heavy drops on our faces and the sea spray casts foggy mists around us.

  He talks against my mouth. His lips are gentler now, persuasive. ‘Vakker,’ he says, before we go under again. This time I kiss him back. My lips and tongue slide against his while I hold my breath. One, two, three seconds, and then we break the surface again.

  ‘Enough,’ he says.

  I take my legs from around his hips and hold on to his arms.

  ‘Again. By myself.’

  When I go under, the water swirls around me. I hear the underwater echo sounds I’d almost forgotten. The salt stings my eyes. The light is soft, and green. My hair floats and tangles.

  Per links his arms around my waist when I come up for air. I whisper in his ear. ‘Listen to the rain with me?’

  We stare at each other under the water. His face is blurry but his eyes are fixed on mine. My heart thumps in my chest. He said he wanted me. I know that I want him.

  He sits on step three of the pool as I lie on my back and kick slowly off from the wall. He lunges after me, and lifts me into his arms. The wind has died down and the rain has eased to a drizzle. I wipe the drips from his widow’s peak.

  ‘You’re as cold as ice,’ he says. ‘And you promised to stay within reach.’

  I smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Løgner.’

  When I bury my face in his neck he mutters. ‘Trøbbel.’ He carries me up the steps, kissing me silent when I complain. After he carefully lowers me to the ground he looks up, and I turn around. Helga, Allan and the other Amazons are approaching. It must be seven already.

  ‘Good morning, Harry,’ Helga says. ‘Hello, Commander.’

 
; Per nods abruptly. ‘We’re done.’ He grabs my hand as if he’s concerned I might be tempted to stay with the Amazons.

  Allan continues his warm-up. He swings his arms out wide and then crosses them over his chest. He rolls his shoulders and smiles. ‘Morning, lassie,’ he says, ‘Morning, Commander.’

  They must have seen Per kiss me. I look at my feet. ‘Morning, everyone. Awful weather.’

  As we walk along the coarse yellow sand, our hands swing in unison. We’ve never held hands like this before.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Steam from the shower fills the bathroom. Per is behind me, drawing down my wetsuit zip. His eyes meet mine in the cabinet mirror as he reaches over my shoulder and traces around my lips with his finger.

  ‘You’ve made them puffy,’ I say.

  ‘Vakker.’

  I remember what he said in the quadrangle of the university. You have a beautiful mouth.

  When I take his finger and bite the knuckle, he kisses my neck. Then he peels the wetsuit from my arms and yanks it down to my waist. He pulls me backwards so I’m leaning against his front and cups my breasts over my thermal top, gently stroking my nipples. I tip my head back and put my hands over his, pressing my bottom against his thighs. He spins me around and pulls the wetsuit down further, past my thighs, exposing my leggings.

  He gets onto his knees. ‘Hold my shoulders.’

  When I do, he rolls the wetsuit down over my calves and feet. He runs his fingers up the outsides of my legs and grasps my waist. Then he finds the gap between my thermals and nuzzles my stomach, searching for my navel. He circles it with his tongue.

  His voice is muffled. ‘I think about you all the time.’

  I sink to my knees and we share salty impatient kisses in the steam. Then he pulls my top over my head and draws my leggings down. We both yank at them until I’m free. He runs his hands over my body and kisses me while I tug at his wetsuit. But my hands are clumsy and I’m much too slow, so he strips it off himself and hauls me to my feet. His thermals are gone in even less time. He faces me.

  I’d love to draw his body like this. Bones and muscles, angles and curves. He holds his breath while I study him. Everything is fascinating. I touch his face and his chest and his flat stomach, and when I take him into my hands he groans. Then he reaches around me to test the water, and eases me backwards into the shower.

  His erection nestles against my stomach. He strokes my bottom with an open hand as I wrap my arms around his waist and listen to his pounding heart. We’re so closely bound together that the water cascades over both of us. My skin tingles. When I wash my hair he steals the foam and lathers it over our bodies. He gazes at my breasts when I wash his hair.

  ‘Please don’t cut it so short,’ I tell him, tugging at the hair of his widow’s peak. ‘There’s no fringe at all.’

  When I comb conditioner through my hair, he dips his head and suckles my breasts. I drop the comb to hold him there.

  ‘It’ll serve you right if you get soap in your eyes,’ I say.

  ‘Look,’ he says.

  My nipples are erect again. He seems to be pleased with himself. I graze his collarbone with my teeth.

  ‘Harder,’ he says, cradling my head and running his fingers through my hair.

  ‘No. I might hurt you.’

  He stills. Then he takes my face in his hands. The water blinds me. He kisses me so hard that our teeth clash. He’s frantic again, like he was when we kissed on the steps of the pool. I stroke his erection, tentatively, not sure what’s next. He covers my hand for a moment and squeezes, but then he turns away. His breathing is harsh.

  ‘Per? Tell me what you want.’

  ‘Can’t,’ he says, closing his eyes. He takes a breath, steadies himself. He feathers his hands down my body and puts one hand between my thighs; his breath catches when he strokes, and feels the slipperiness. His tongue moves against mine, slowly, in time to the slide of his fingers. He lifts his head. His voice is raspy. ‘I have to kiss you there.’

  I try to keep him upright but he pushes my hands away and crouches at my feet. I watch the water splash onto his shoulders and run in rivulets down his back as he burrows between my legs and kisses the insides of my thighs.

  ‘Hang onto my shoulders,’ he mutters.

  ‘No. I want to hold you.’

  He frowns as he nudges me up against the tiles. ‘Let me, Harriet,’ he says, as he runs his hands up my legs, spreads them a little, and holds me steady. He looks up, asking permission to go further.

  I smooth the crease between his brows with my fingertips. He’s blinking against the water that’s splashing into his eyes. This is the way he wants me for now. I run my hand through his hair.

  ‘I guess.’

  His lips explore, and so does his tongue, like he wants to discover places in my body that are new to him. The warm water caresses my breasts and stomach, and flows over his sleek dark head. My legs quiver and I grip onto his shoulders with unsteady hands.

  My voice is soft and shaky. ‘I want you inside me.’

  ‘I am inside you.’

  He searches with kisses until the warmth between my legs spreads throughout my body. He grasps my hips to stop me from falling when I climax. He soothes me with slow gentle touches of his tongue when I tremble. He stands and drapes my boneless and compliant body against his. He turns off the taps with shaky hands and reaches for towels. He wraps me up and pulls me close.

  I nuzzle against his neck and yawn. The ceiling fan whirs and clunks. There’s hardly any steam now.

  ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  I feel the movement of his jaw when he smiles. ‘To sleep?’

  I shake my head. ‘Sex.’

  ‘I could’ve been sleeping around, doing drugs in Oslo back alleys.’

  I kiss his chin. Then I stroke his chest. ‘I didn’t really think that. You’re careful and noble.’

  He tips my chin up with a finger. ‘I don’t have a condom.’

  ‘You’re a commander. You should be better prepared.’

  ‘I bet you’re not on the pill.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you want to have a baby straight away?’

  I’m not sure what to say to that. A couple of seconds pass, before he throws a towel over my head and rubs briskly. It’s easier to talk to him like this.

  ‘I haven’t had sex since I was eighteen.’ The rubbing stops, and then it starts again. ‘Liam has condoms. We can use his.’

  When he pulls the towel off my head, our eyes meet. His are serious.

  ‘I don’t want another man’s condoms,’ he says. ‘And we have to talk.’

  I shouldn’t be cold. I’m wrapped in two towels. My skin is pink. He said he wanted me. Why doesn’t he want to have sex with me?

  ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said before, should I, about being eighteen? I don’t have a problem with sex.’

  I don’t want to have sex just to please someone. That’s what I did with Grant. I don’t need to have sex to prove I have control of my life. That’s what I was trying to achieve with the one-night stands. I’m desperate to have sex with Per because I want to hold him inside me. Only him. But how can I tell him that?

  He frowns. ‘You’ve had a difficult few months.’

  ‘Because of the swimming?’

  ‘And other things.’

  I inch backwards and he loosens his arms. ‘You think I’m careless because I didn’t ask about condoms, afraid because I haven’t had sex for a while, and mixed-up because of the water. Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t want an argument.’

  ‘Neither do I!’

  ‘Get dressed then. We’ll eat, and then we’ll talk about what happens next.’

  I have goosebumps all over my body but I don’t want to get dressed. I don’t want to talk. Or eat. So I skirt around him and open the cabinet. The bottom two shelves are mine. Liam, with shaving gear and twice as many toiletries as me, has the other four. I have to stand on ti
ptoes to reach the box of condoms on the top shelf. There’s a strip of six inside. I shove them at Per’s midriff.

  He keeps his hands by his sides. ‘I said no.’

  ‘You’d better go back to Balmoral then.’

  He unleashes a string of expletives in Norwegian—I’m familiar with all of them. Then he tips his face to the ceiling.

  I count for him. ‘En, tro, tre—’

  ‘Stop it, Harriet.’

  We stare at each other. His lips are firm. They’re not soft like they were before, when he kissed me in the shower. The thought of that flusters me. I have my hand on the door handle when I turn and face him again.

  ‘You are like Roald Amundsen. The way you’re so disciplined. The way you have to be in control.’

  Something flares in his eyes. He speaks between his teeth. ‘Are you getting dressed, or not?’

  ‘No. I don’t take instructions from you.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ He snatches the condoms out of my hand and kicks the door open. Then he takes my other hand. He curses all the way down the hall. He’s sexy-angry, like he was the night of the foundation dinner.

  Within a minute of coming into my room he’s ripped off our towels. He kisses me briefly, groans, and then we tumble onto the bed. The blind is still drawn. The light coming in from the hall throws shadows on his body.

  ‘Does this constitute control?’ he says. I’m on my back and he’s lying half on top of me, one leg draped across my hips. His hand runs over my stomach and rib cage. ‘Does this?’ He cups my breast and rubs my nipple with his thumb. When he takes the nipple into his mouth and rasps it with his tongue I arch my back and moan. He caresses the top of my leg, and then rests his hand between my thighs. I dig my heels into the bed and press up against his fingers. ‘What about this?’ He holds my wrists and pulls my arms above my head. He teases my lips and neck with hard impatient kisses.

  I open my legs and wrap them around his body. He releases my arms and I grasp his shoulders.

  My voice is husky. ‘That’s loss of control. I like that a lot.’

  He slowly shakes his head. Then he rolls off me and puts on the condom. He holds my hip and pulls me onto my side. We face each other.