by kendra Smith
They were next.
‘Alright?’ The official was bending over. She leant in closer. Victoria could see tiny hairs on her face. ‘I said, are you alright?’ A wave of bile rose in Victoria’s throat and she swallowed it down. She stared at her toes, crunched them up to focus her mind on the present, as the din of the water, whistles and booming announcer smothered her like a claustrophobic blanket. It was for Izzy. She had to be brave. Just like Izzy had been when she’d gone back to school with her head held high in front of Bella.
Victoria nodded mutely. She kept her eyes on her pink neon wristband. She twisted it round and round, no beginning and no end. No beginning, no end. She gulped. James was about to enter the water in his wave of swimmers. He was mouthing to her, ‘You OK?’
Her hands were shaking as she gave a thumbs up, took a deep breath of the fuggy air. And then her row was up, ready for the water. They were all walking to the start line. She stood next to the diving boards as an official checked their names. She forced herself to look at the surface of the water. This is real, she told herself. She shuffled towards the edge of the pool, the smell of chlorine stinging her nostrils, beads of sweat forming along the tight line of her swimming cap. The noise in her head was like a swarm of bees.
‘Are you OK, dear?’ The timekeeper had his hand on her elbow. She nodded. ‘Only, you need to start or you will be disqualified.’
Victoria stared at him. He had kind blue eyes with little flecks of black in the irises and short grey hair. ‘It’s fine, I’m fine,’ she muttered, then edged forward, pulled her goggles down over her eyes and did a pencil dive straight into the deep end. It was ice cold, the liquid surrounding her and the tang of chlorine filled her nostrils, water filled her ears as she emerged from her dive to slowly start to swim. One arm over the other, kick your legs. Keep going. She looked up towards the end. Tiny water droplets on her goggles obscured her vision; the end seemed miles away. She gulped and took in some water, started coughing. She hadn’t swum anywhere since, well. Just since. It was all a muddle.
She put her head back in the water and carried on, trying to get going. She took huge lungfuls of air, left, right, kick. Breathe, breathe. Her knee was aching badly and her hand was throbbing. She knew she wasn’t breathing properly, she felt suffocated. She told herself to stay calm as the water slapped her cheek. She froze, took in a mouthful of water, coughed and inhaled more water; her goggles were steaming up, she was swallowing chlorine. There was no air. Keep going she told herself, but then, from out of nowhere, she was back to the nightmare: water in her ears, screaming, the acid tang in her mouth, her limbs felt like lead, as if she was swimming through cement; she stopped, looked wildly around, she knew she was thrashing, gasping for air, one minute above, the next submerged, muffled noises, a siren, the water deafening in her ear, her hand stinging. Then suddenly pressure under her arms, a strong grip. She was being hauled up, the muffled noises turned to carnival noise above the water, a hand on her head.
It was James, dragging her to the edge of the pool, hauling her along the water, then an official was kneeling on the side, his mouth opening and closing, eyes wide, reaching for her. And she was staring at the ceiling, bright neon strip lights hurt her eyes, her head on the hard surface, grit under her legs, a hand on her shoulder. Shivering uncontrollably. And then it went black.
48 Lulu
James has just texted. Victoria is fast asleep – thank goodness she is OK. I’m back at my flat, letting them have time alone. I can’t shake that image of seeing her submerged in the water, I just lost it, I jumped up and started to scream. It was like nobody could see her. Then James was suddenly next to her, thank God it was the shallow end; that image of him hauling her up under her arms is awful. I shake my head. The whole event had to be stopped. I can’t get Vicky’s pale face out of my mind. The senior lifeguard said she was alright. Her colour had come back to her cheeks and she’d had a cup of tea before James got her in the car. Izzy had been awesome; holding her hand on the side of the pool, telling her it would be alright, the mum-daughter role reversed.
There’s a knock on my door. I glance in the mirror and it’s a sight to behold. Wet T-shirt from helping Victoria and James, bird’s nest hair. I glance at my watch: seven o’clock. When I open the door, I inhale sharply. It’s Markie.
‘Hello.’ I can’t help a grin spreading across my face.
‘I was, um, just passing,’ he says and gives me a wink. ‘But there were no flowerpots to fall into.’
‘Very funny.’ I stand back to let him in, my heart thudding.
‘Cute flat.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I got your message about Victoria, I came to see how you were,’ he says taking off his leather jacket and placing it on the arm of the sofa.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, quickly smoothing down my hair, ‘it’s more Victoria I’m worried about.’
‘And how is she?’
‘The family are all with her, at home. The first aider at the pool said she’d be OK. That it looked like a panic attack. She was a bit shaken.’
‘I’m sure you are, too.’ He stares at me as I nod and somehow, I feel tears threaten. I’d been holding it all together and it’s as if Markie can touch the soft centre of me that nobody else sees and I just seem to crumble. But I can’t be like this.
‘Do you want some tea?’ I say, to take my mind off things.
‘Ach, OK. But no poncy nonsense, OK? Just builder’s.’ He smiles at me and takes a seat on the sofa.
When I come back with two mugs of tea, I put them on the small table in front of him and sit next to him on the green faded sofa. I pull my knees up and hug them.
‘What are you thinking?’ he says after a moment’s silence as we sip our tea.
‘I was so worried when I saw her. Because Victoria’s always been the capable one, the bigger sister, the one who’d take over, who’d read to me at night when Mum was tired.’
‘That’s a nice memory.’ Markie crosses his long legs at the ankle.
I look out of my window, at the fields stretching into the horizon. The rain has stopped and a few chinks of light are appearing in the sky through the blue-grey clouds. I think about Victoria’s life, about how she put on a brave face, kept going and it makes me think of my own demons.
‘Penny for them?’
I look at him, with his crumpled white T-shirt, at the guitar earring in his left ear, shining in the sun’s weak rays and his open, smiling face and I think about the last time I tried to tell this story. Not only had Simon not wanted to hear it, he hadn’t even given me a chance. I take a long breath in. ‘It’s a lo-o-ng story,’ I say pulling a cushion over my knee.
‘The ones that matter normally are.’ He leans back on the sofa and folds his arms. My heart misses a beat as I start, but then I open my mouth, see Markie smiling, and ready to listen to me and I begin.
‘You’ve always asked me why I didn’t carry on with my West End dream. Izzy asked me, too. Victoria can’t remember how I changed. And I, well – everything changed that day. My dream was put out.’ I pause and look down at the tea in my cup.
‘What day?’
‘It was the day of the Mamma Mia audition, I remember it well. I’d been anticipating it for a month, practising my lines in the shower, in the kitchen. I was seeing the producer at 2.30 that day. I’d bought a new £35 wrap-over dress, worn my denim jacket, cowboy boots and spent ages on my make-up. I also went into a department store on the way and covered myself in expensive perfume because I couldn’t afford to buy any.’ I shrug. ‘I can’t stand that perfume now.’
Markie nods at me.
‘And I took the train to London, then the tube to Piccadilly Circus. I found the hotel where the audition was taking part, and I went to the front desk. They said he was already in the room, waiting for me. I didn’t think it was odd; I had never been to an audition before. He’d emailed me and told me that it was too noisy at the theatre, that we’d be able to speak better
at a hotel. I was beyond excited. I would have travelled to the bottom of the sea, you know?’ I shrug at Markie as I feel my throat catch.
I cough. ‘Anyway, I go up in the lift and then knock on the door. This guy opens it, he’s about maybe sixty, I don’t know, and he shakes my hand, asks me to come in. Neatly dressed, suit. I look around expecting there to be an assistant, a team of people interviewing me, a camera, something, anything. He tells me to sit on the chair and then he starts asking questions. Asks if I want a coffee, but I’m too nervous to drink anything. It starts off fine, he asks about my previous experience, about my college degree, he asks questions about my ambition, what I want for my career. He tells me that it’s a small role in the show, but it’s a prominent one; he says I will be alone on the stage for some time, that I need to make an impact. Then,’ I take a breath, ‘I notice how much he’s looking at my legs, he seems distracted, and he moves his chair closer and I smell garlic, I smell cheap aftershave. He tells me he needs to see how much I want it.’ My stomach curdles at the memory. ‘He tells me how pretty I look, and I’m flattered.’
‘Go on.’ Markie sits up and makes a fist with his hand.
‘Then he tells me that he’s interviewed a lot of girls for this show and that the person he chooses has to be someone really special. When he said “special” he looked me up and down. That’s when I started to have misgivings, but I still wasn’t sure. I’d never done this before. I was naïve. But I was, by then, way, way out of my depth, I can see that now.
‘And then,’ I can feel tears. ‘Sorry Markie, this is,’ I swallow and carry on, ‘hard for me.’
‘You don’t have to say any more, really Lulu.’ He’s leaning towards me now, deep frown marks on his forehead, studying me.
‘No, I do. I have to deal with it. So,’ I sniff, ‘he tells me that having good legs is critical for the role, that I’ll have to wear heels and he says he has to check how I walk. He produces a pair of high heels and tells me to put them on, and walk towards the bed. And I do, I put them on.’ I shake my head at the memory. ‘I stand up and walk to the bed. And before I know it he’s behind me, he’s pushed me onto the bed, has my hair in his grip and he’s hurting me, really hurting me. He tells me to sit up, that he wants me to “do something for him, to see how good an actress I am”. He yanks me up by my hair and tells me he likes me, that I might get the job, but first I have to act out a role, do something.’ I shudder. ‘Then he unzips his trousers and he looks at me, says “is there a problem?” I felt sick, I didn’t know what to do, I remember feeling trapped. Then he sat next to me on the bed, pushed his mouth on mine, it was disgusting, but I really wanted that part. I didn’t know if I should be acting or—’ I shiver as my voice starts to break. ‘Running away.’ Markie pulls a blanket from the arm of the sofa across me. ‘I remember shouting “Don’t” as he pulled the sleeve down on my dress, ripping it. I sat there humiliated. He stared at me then, then ordered me to take my bra off.’ My cheeks are wet now as I hang my head and I feel this stabbing pain in my gut, as I recall the events of that awful afternoon.
‘Lulu, it’s OK, you can stop.’ Markie touches me briefly on the knee and I look down at his hand with the silver ring on the thumb and take a deep breath.
‘He tried to kiss me again. I froze. I felt like I was watching myself. He told me I was a “good girl” and part of me felt it was my fault. I guess I know that’s wrong now, and yet—’ I stop. Tears trickle down my face and I am back in that small hotel room with its revolting geometric wallpaper, cheap carpets and the smell of garlic. ‘He pushed me down on the bed. I remember the feel of his hands, they were rough, he was wearing a wedding ring. He said if I did what I was told and acted well I would get the part. And,’ I pull the blanket over my knee and look at Markie, ‘I wanted that part, I really did.’ Suddenly I am that girl lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her heart hammering in her chest and I feel disgusted with everything.
‘I tried to get up. He slapped my face, he told me I shouldn’t dare. That it would ruin my career. But from somewhere, I just felt this fury, you know?’ I look at Markie and our eyes meet. ‘I slid off the bed and I bolted, I reached the front door and I ran down the corridor, my dress ripped. I pushed through a Fire Exit door, ran down to the next level and then sat there, on the cold concrete steps, trying to get my breathing back. Once I had calmed down, I went down another set of stairs and found the Ladies’. I stayed there for ages, crying. Then I washed my face, pulled my dress up and went home on the tube.
‘I never told a soul.’ I blink away some tears and look into Markie’s green eyes. ‘Until now.’ He fixes me with a stare, his eyes, the colour of emeralds, with tiny amber flecks in them in the dim light, they’re dewy.
‘Jesus feckin’ Christ, Lulu. I don’t know what to say. What a complete bastard. And you’ve never told anyone?’
I shake my head. ‘A year later, that’s when I applied for the job with you. I was “better”, I told myself.’ I shrug, then carry on. ‘I mean, the nightmares had lessened, but I don’t think I’m over it.’
‘Will you see someone, talk about it, get some help?’
I nod slowly. ‘I did some research, sent some emails, when I was at Dad’s.’ I fiddle with the edge of the blanket.
‘You can’t deal with something like that on your own.’
‘I know, I suppose I went into myself for a bit, looking back, that’s when the drinking got worse. I could still be “fun Lulu” because it took the edge off, be someone who I used to be, only I needed the drink to forget the pain.’ I straighten out a leg and circle my ankle round, thinking about it. ‘Drink sort of melted real life away. I get these flashbacks; the drink, it makes me take a “holiday” from myself – know what I mean?’ I lift a shoulder to my ear.
He nods.
After a while he speaks. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me.’ He reaches over and places a hand on my knee briefly. ‘But, you know, someone once said to me, “you can’t expect anyone to love you if you don’t love yourself”.’
‘I think I know what you mean,’ I sigh and hug my knees up to my chest.
‘I know you, Lulu. Every time you drink, you change. Whether it’s pulling a steering wheel—’ he stops to look at me, ‘or being a bit crazy at a Bubble Disco,’ he smiles. ‘If you loved yourself more, you wouldn’t be like this.’
I nod. I can feel the tears threaten. And it’s not because I’m sad, it’s because I know he’s right – but more than that, it’s because, I realise, he cares. ‘At my dad’s up in the moors, it was wonderful. I took a long walk every day, cleared my head, cleared my thinking. Decided what I wanted.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Well, obviously I need to talk to someone, I know that, but there are two things I’ve been dreaming about.’ I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. I get up and walk to the window and move the curtains to one side and stare at the damp fields outside. One of them is obviously out of my reach now, judging by what I saw at the village hall, so I concentrate on telling him about the other. ‘Well,’ I say, walking back to the sofa and sitting down, ‘I’d like to get back to the West End, to try my luck again, or maybe sing professionally, I’ve contacted that agency, thanks for sending that to me. They’re pretty cool, like a middleman between booking you a gig and finding places to perform.’
‘Good stuff.’
‘I have an interview in two weeks. It’s a start. You know, following my dream. Dad reminded me about Mum,’ my eyes well up when I think about it. ‘Reminded me that she only had one year of her dream.’ My eyes find a spot in the middle distance. My fur rug is covering an old wicker chair; when Simon was last round he picked it up with two fingers as if it was contaminated. I sigh thinking about it. ‘So, yeah, West End here I come – second time round. And anyway,’ I venture, ‘looks like you don’t need me anymore.’
Markie gives me the briefest of playful punches on the shoulder and it’s all I can do not to reach out and clasp his
hand. ‘Hey, you’re fabulous, you know that, but it’s not what you want to do is it? Katia’s grand, she’s really good.’
A little spear jabs at my heart, but I nod enthusiastically. ‘Great that’s just – yeah, great.’
His tone is soft: ‘I went off the rails a bit, you know, after Esme died. That’s why I could see it in you. Looking back, I was just trying to blot out the pain. Threw myself into my music, out every night, gigs, didn’t let myself really feel anything. But eventually it catches up with you – you need to confront it.’
I smile, feeling this sensation wash over me. Grateful for his guidance, pleased that he wants to share his experiences with me. It’s relief and exhaustion rolled into one. We’re silent for a while, both lost in our thoughts. The sun is streaming through the window now and my purple voile curtains diffuse the sunlight as it makes a pattern on the floor.
‘Shouldn’t you, you know, tell Simon all this, tell him everything you told me? Explain?’
‘I tried. He didn’t want to know. I wanted him to understand – well, some – of what happened, of who I’d become. I know it was wrong, but, you know, we make mistakes.’
Markie purses his lips and doesn’t say anything but he’s looking straight at me. After a while he leans back and clasps his hands behind his head. My eyes flick to the soft skin next to the sleeve of his T-shirt on the underside of his arm. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, Lulu.’ He stretches his arms in the air then sits forward. ‘Anyway, I think we could both use a decent hot chocolate, what do you say? As much as I like tea, I think this calls for sugar. I’ll make it.’