Swim Until You Can't See Land (13 page)

Her house.

Her kitchen.

What am I doing?

Failed Swimmer Breaks Into Old Woman’s House While She Lies Dying In Hospital

I could be arrested for this. Even though she’s left a key out, practically inviting me in, it’s still breaking and entering.

Well, entering anyway. I haven’t broken anything.

Okay, I have cracked the flowerpot, but it’s not broken and I’m not doing any of this with criminal intent.

I’ll be quick.

The front door has to be directly opposite me at the other end of the house. I’ll go straight there, check the numbers, then leave. Nobody ever has to know I’ve been here.

Her kitchen smells of mince and tatties. It makes me feel sick and hungry all at the same time. The lights are off and everything’s dull, in shadow. I don’t want to turn anything on though, draw attention to myself. Someone might notice.

I open the kitchen door onto a hallway. I’m right. The front door’s at the opposite end, light shines in through frosted panes of glass. There are closed doors on either side of the hallway, must be her living room, her bedroom, her bathroom.

It smells of mince and tatties out here too.

What do people smell when they come to our house?

(who ever visits us?)

Stale beer, unwashed clothes, chlorine, slept on sofa?

I step into the hallway and the kitchen door swings shut behind me. I’m in darkness now, the only light faint in front of me. I’m unable to move. My knees shake.

I was wrong to laugh at myself earlier. It’s still possible to freak yourself out during the day.

Anyone could be on the opposite side of one of these doors.

I hold my breath. My heart’s thumping so hard, it’s all I can hear, all I can feel.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

I inhale, exhale through my nose, try to slow my breathing down.

(pre-race routine)

Use the nerves to my own advantage.

(channel them into strength, speed) 

A clock ticks somewhere. I tune into it, time my breathing with it.

Tick Tock  In In

Tick Tock  Out Out

Tick Tock   In In

Tick Tock   Out Out

Calm down, Hannah, calm down.

This is an empty house, an empty house, an empty house.

There’s nobody here.

My eyes grow accustomed to the dark. I can make out a table at the other end of the hall, her purse on the floor.

All I have to do is walk forward.

Twenty-five baby steps.

Eight giant steps.

Mother may I?

(that’s a joke, asking my mother for permission)

I don’t move, can’t move.

Not ready yet.

To dive in.

I reach behind me, touch the kitchen door.

I’m safe where I am. As soon as I step into the hall, that’s it. I’ll have to let go.

Dive in.

Jelly legs.

Tick Tock   In In  Tick Tock  Out Out 

Tick Tock   In In  Tick Tock  Out Out

Jelly legs.  Jelly legs.

I used to get jelly legs before I raced, but I used them. Like I used the butterflies in the stomach, the palpitations. Turned them into speed, strength.

Have I lost the ability to do that? I’m out of practise, but please don’t tell me I’ve lost that. It’s one of the few skills I have.

(sets apart the great swimmers from the good swimmers)

Jelly legs

Jelly legs

Tick Tock  In In   Tick Tock Out Out

Maybe I never had it to begin with? I just imagined it. Created a false memory for myself. Made myself believe I was a great swimmer when I was just good.

Only good.

Not great.

(the real reason I failed)

I move one leg forward.

Left leg

Jellylegsjellylegsjellylegsjellylegs    Right Leg

jellylegsjellylegs

Tick Tock   In In  Tick Tock  Out Out

My arm’s at full stretch now, I need to let go of the kitchen door.

Tick Tock  In In  Tick Tock  Out Out

I can feel it. A little bit of the old me returning. I felt it in the shop yesterday too. The competitive streak. The determination. The bloody-mindedness.

I’ve missed her.

(where have you been? where have you been hiding? don’t you know I need you?)

I let go of the door.

Left leg

Right Leg

Left leg 

Right

Left

Right  Left  Right  Left  Right   Left

I walk forward, towards the light of the front door.

Stop trying to spook yourself, Hannah. It’s just an empty house. There’s nobody here. No old woman. No relatives. No ghosts.

Just me.

I reach the front door, pick up the purse, along with some mail, the free newspaper.

I did it. I made it.

There’s a phone on the table. I put the mail down next to it, carry the purse back along the hall to the kitchen. I’m out of breath. Tired. 

(post-race cool down)

‘There’s someone here after all,’ I say, spotting a fish bowl on the kitchen counter.

‘What’s your name? Are you hungry?’ I say to the goldfish. My voice sounds hollow, hangs in the strangeness of the empty house. I open the tub of fish food, sprinkle a few flakes onto the surface of the yellow water. A scum line has formed around the top of the bowl. He could do with a clean.

The fish darts away from the shadow of my hand, but swims to the surface as I move away. The flakes float for a moment, before sinking to the bottom of the bowl.

‘Your owner’s not well. She might be dead actually. Sorry to break it to you like that. I don’t want to upset you little fish.’

The fish sucks at the surface of the water, inhales soggy flakes of food. I run my finger along the side of the glass bowl.

‘Poor fish.’

Does he care that his owner went out and never came back? Did he even notice? Maybe he’ll only start to worry when his water gets too brown to see through or when he misses his food?

I sit at the kitchen table. I could do with a cup of tea, something to eat, but that would be a step too far. It’s one thing breaking in but another helping myself to breakfast.

I play with the clasp of her purse.

Click it open, shut, open, shut, open, shut, open, shut.

Win or lose?

Win or lose?

Win or lose?

‘What would you do?’ The fish nibbles at the layer of coloured chips lining the bottom of the bowl.

‘As many flakes as you can eat? A castle?’ He swims in a circle, long tail rippling behind him.

I open the purse, slide out the lottery ticket.

5
 
16
 
21
 
26
 
32
 
44

I was right, five numbers and the bonus ball.

£
100
,
000
. £
100
,
000
.

I hold up the ticket for the fish. Read the small print on the back.

Is there any way I can do this without phoning, without turning up in person?

(without giving myself away)

HOW TO CLAIM

PRIZES CAN BE CLAIMED BY POST OR IN PERSON.

PRIZES OF UP TO £75 CAN BE CLAIMED FROM YOUR LOCAL RETAILER.

PRIZES OVER £50,000 MUST BE CLAIMED IN PERSON.

PROOF OF IDENTITY WILL BE REQUIRED.

I should probably check she’s still with us, before I go spending her money.

I head back into the hallway. I feel better somehow, knowing the fish is here, switch the light on now.

The phone book lies on a shelf underneath the phone.

I flick through it, find the number for the PRI. It rings a few times before a woman answers.

‘Good morning, Perth Royal Infirmary.’

‘Hi… I’m phoning to find out about a patient. She was brought in on Friday.’

‘What’s the name?’ Fuck sake, what’s her name again? My mind’s gone totally blank. I lift a piece of mail. 

TO THE HOUSEHOLDER

Shit, another one.

MS MARIÈLE DOWNIE

‘It’s Downie, Marièle Downie.’

‘Hold on.’

I hear the clacking of computer keys as she types.

‘Can you spell that for me?’ She asks.

‘Yeah, it’s M.A.R.I.E.L.E. D.O.W.N.I.E.’

‘I’ll need to transfer you to Intensive Care.’

The phone beeps as I’m put on hold, then it rings again.

Intensive Care.

That sounds bad, but at least she’s still alive.

‘Hello, can I help?’

‘Hi, yeah, it’s about Marièle Downie.’

‘Are you a relative?’

‘Yeah, she’s my aunt… my great aunt.’ The lie slips out before I stop to think about what I’m doing.

‘She’s very poorly but she’s hanging in there. She’s still unconscious, but we’re hoping she’ll wake up soon. Are you able to come in and see her?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. When’s visiting?’

What am I doing?

‘We make exceptions for Intensive Care. We can usually let you in at any time provided that the Doctor’s not on rounds. Only for a short while though – fifteen, twenty minutes at most.’

‘Okay,’ I reply.

I can handle fifteen minutes.

‘I’m really pleased to hear from you. We’ve been having a real job trying to trace next of kin. Was it the police who contacted you?’

‘Right, yeah.’

The police. I’m lying about the police.

‘Okay, my name’s Jackie. I’ll be here till about six if you want to ask for me.’

‘Right, will do, thanks Jackie, bye.’

I hang up.

Shit, Hannah, what are you doing?

You can’t go and visit her, pretend to be some long-lost niece. Especially now she’s won the lottery. It’s totally dodgy.

‘She’s alive,’ I say to the fish, back in the kitchen.

Alive but unconscious.

Alive but alone.

Alive but with no traceable relatives.

No traceable relatives.

I can’t leave her on her own.

That poor old woman. Marièle. Marièle Downie.

She has a name. She’s a person with a name and she has nobody to visit her.

(no traceable relatives, no traceable relatives, no traceable relatives)

The lottery ticket.

It could be you.

It could be you.

It could be you.

Stop.

Stop it.

I feel sorry for her. That’s all. Nothing more. She’s dying and nobody cares enough to visit her.

Nobody cares enough to even notice she’s missing.

(except me)

I’ll go and visit. Return her purse. She’ll need it if she wakes up. Maybe get some Lucozade, grapes, a card. Let her know someone cares.

‘I owe her some Revels anyway,’ I tell the fish.

I’m about to slip the lottery ticket back inside her purse when I stop myself.

‘I’ll just leave this here for now,’ I say, ‘in a safe place.’

I put the ticket in behind the bowl, hide it under the tub of fish food.

‘Guard this with your fishy life, okay? This is our wee secret.’

The fish swims round in circles, mouth opening and closing, gills vibrating.

I let myself out of the house, lock the back door and pocket the key.

10

I understand the clauses of the Official Secrets Act and am fully aware of the serious consequences which may follow any breach or misdemeanour. I will not divulge any information secured as a result of my employment, entrusted to me in confidence by persons under His Majesty. This applies not only during my employment, but after my employment has terminated.

I have read and understood and hereby sign:

Signature…………………      
Marièle Downie

May
1943

My dearest Cath,                                 

Well, I expect you’re wondering what’s become of me since I left for the big smoke. It’s all been a bit of a blur, I can tell you. I have joined up with the
FANY
and am now doing a spot of training for my duties. I’m afraid I can’t give away much of the nitty gritty, it’s all very hush hush. What’s new though? A few of us girls are billeted together in a hostel in London. They seem a nice bunch, although we’ve only known each other a short while so are still on our best behaviour. I’m afraid I’m not allowed to send you the address, they’re very stuffy about security. I’m sorry for the hurried goodbye, everything happened so quickly after I got the letter asking me to interview. You understand why I had to get away, don’t you? You more than anyone.