Swim Until You Can't See Land (19 page)

A shape beneath her bedroom window.

What was that?

She turned her head to look, inhaled as the headlights illuminated what lay there.

The man beside her laughed.

Then the car drove away. Away from the farmhouse, away from Madame, away from Alex’s body.

March
2008

Hannah Struggles To Get It Wright

Shock as Scottish Swimmer Fails To Make European Final

Hannah Wright has had a disappointing European Championships, after failing to make the final of the 100m Butterfly. Hannah, world bronze medallist and British record holder for the event, came fifth in her semi-final, failing to qualify for the final which will take place tonight.

‘I’ve been struggling with a shoulder injury for the last few weeks,’ said Hannah following her semi-final swim, ‘so my preparation has not been as I’d hoped, but I don’t want to make excuses. That was a poor swim and I should have done better. I’m really disappointed.’

Hannah has pulled out of the relay squad and will fly home to seek medical treatment on her shoulder.

‘The Olympic trials are at the end of the month and these are my priority now,’ said Hannah.

13

I CAN’T WAIT
to get in the pool this morning. Dad’s right, I’m pushing myself too much, but I really need it today.

The discomfort woke me before my alarm clock. Head throbbing, queasy tummy, dry mouth. I had two beers last night, two lousy beers, but I still feel crappy this morning. My body just can’t handle alcohol after so many years of being good.

You’re so dedicated, Hannah, I can’t believe you don’t drink

Is this how Dad feels every morning? Or does drinking every night mean the hangover never catches up?

I stand on the poolside for a beat longer than normal. Enjoy the anticipation of hitting the water. Then I dive, stay under for the whole length. Strong butterfly kick propelling me forward.

Water and white noise. Water and white noise. Water and white noise.

I reach the wall and rise to the surface, gasp the air in, water dripping from my body.

How did I live without the pool all those months? No wonder I lost the plot. I can’t imagine what I’d have done if they told me I could never swim again, not even for fun. I’ve got so much pent up energy, so much that needs swept out of me by thrashing up and down the pool.

I push off again, without thinking go into my butterfly stroke. My leg kick’s strong, skims me along the surface of the pool like a flying fish.

Like a dolphin.

If I started deep enough, I could propel myself right out of the water.

I turn and go into a second length of butterfly. I’m not as fit as I used to be, my arms heavy. This is good though, I’m tiring myself out, getting rid of the aggression. I’ll probably pay for this later, but I don’t care. I hit the wall, turn and go into front crawl. Instead of slowing down, I pick up the pace. Eight-beat leg kick, head down, as fast as I’ve gone in a long time.

I need the pool to stay alive, I start to dry up on land after a while. Sometimes I wish it would rain so much the pavements and the roads filled up, turned into one long swimming pool. I’m so ungainly on dry land, it’s easier in the water.

You’re a wee selkie, Hannah

I’m wide awake, refreshed by the time I cycle to work. 

‘Hey,’ Calum greets me when I get to the shop.

(twice in one week, what did I do to deserve this?)

I run a hand through my hair, wish I’d brushed it properly, put on some make-up.

‘It’s an in-service day at school, so you’re stuck with me again,’ he says.

I nod, grab onto the word school, repeat it over and over and over.

School, school, school, school, school, school, school.

He’s at school, a schoolboy.

You can’t have a crush on a schoolboy. It’s wrong. Wrong.

‘Mum’s got accounts to do so she asked if I could work. I’m glad to get away to be honest, she always gets dead crabbit when she’s doing accounts. Starts ranting about Presto.’

‘It’s not been Presto for about fifteen years.’

‘I know, but it’ll always be bloody Presto to Mum.’

Poor Shirley. She’s been struggling to stay afloat ever since that supermarket opened.

I dump my bag in the backroom, being here undoes all my good work from the pool. The positive energy sucked out of me. It’s not that I’m ungrateful to Shirley for giving me a job, getting me out of the house, it’s just that working in this shop is not where I thought I’d end up.

‘Not much of a day off, having to come in here,’ I say.

He shrugs.

‘I’m going to a party on Friday night, need some beer money.’

(with Blake?)

I’m about to ask him if his mum knows he’s underage drinking when I realise how ancient that makes me sound. I’m only a few years older than him, but my closest female friend is his mother. Shit, what’s happened to me? Where has my life gone?

Is that how he thinks of me? That woman who works with his mum?

When I was in school, anyone over the age of twenty seemed old. It’s weird how your concept of age changes the older you get.

Here’s me, barely in my twenties and on the scrap-heap already.

I have to stop myself being so negative. I can’t help it though. It’s not just this shop or this town, it’s this life I hadn’t planned for myself.

‘You been swimming?’ Calum asks.

‘Yeah, can you tell?’ I reply, wet hair dripping down my back, leaving a damp patch on my top.

‘Do you go every morning?’

‘Just depends.’

‘Don’t you get bored? I mean it’s not the most exciting thing in the world, is it?’

I shake my head. I never got a chance to get fed up of it, not properly. It got taken away from me before I was ready to let it go. Having the decision made for you changes everything.

‘Can you still do it? I mean, I know you can swim, but can’t you go back to it properly?’

‘They said it’s fine for me to swim every so often but I couldn’t manage proper training anymore. I probably go too much to be honest, but I enjoy it.’

‘Man, that’s pretty crappy, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ I want to elaborate but I can’t, just nod instead.

Pretty crappy doesn’t cut it. I can’t think of the words to describe just how shit it is. To have to give up the one thing you love, the one thing you’re actually good at.

On my worst days, I look at the people around me and tell myself how much better I am than them.

I’m different.

I hate myself for doing it, but I look down on them, like they’re beneath me. I should be doing more exciting things, more important things, instead of stuck in this small-town life. On my worst days, I just can’t stop the part of my brain that tells me I deserve so much more.

Everyone feels that way though, right? That their life isn’t going to be like everyone else’s? Normal, uneventful. That the universe owes them more than just the mundane.

My shoulder aches.

It’s my own fault, I pushed myself too hard in the pool this morning. Sometimes I get so angry, I want to make it hurt even more. I want to punish my shoulder for fucking everything up, even though it’s part of me and I’m only hurting myself.

It’s such a non-event of an injury too.

A sore shoulder.

I’ve got a sore shoulder.

Not a life threatening illness or a horrific accident. Just a sore shoulder.

I grab boxes of sweets from the back room, carry more than I should, let the weight tug and pull at my shoulder. If you want to hurt, I’ll make you hurt. It’s dumb of me and I know I’ll regret it later, but for now I don’t care.

‘What are you doing that for?’ Calum asks as I stock the shelves. ‘Mum’s not here, we don’t need to work.’

He leans on the counter reading
NME
and drin
king a can of Fanta.

I shrug, move older bags of Maltesers to the front, fill the back of the shelf with the new stock.

Maybe he doesn’t think of me as being like Shirley after all? Maybe he sees me as being like him? Just working here to make some money, fill in the time until real life begins?

For him, university.

(for me?)

I move onto a box of Revels, dig a pen into the brown tape sealing the box and rip it open.

The old woman’s favourite.

Marièle’s favourite.

There I go, making up a life for her again. How do I know they’re her favourite? Because she bought them once and never even got to eat them?

Dried banana chips always remind me of Gran. In the car going home after a swimming gala, me in the back, still in my tracksuit, wet hair, Dad driving, Gran in the passenger seat. She turned round and took a bag of banana chips out of her handbag, gave me a handful to eat. I didn’t believe her when she told me they were banana.

That could have been a one-off, the only time she ever had them. She might have given them to me because she thought they were fucking rotten.

It’s weird, I never saw her eat them again, but they always remind me of her.

Maybe it’ll be the same with Revels and Marièle now?

‘Leave that, you’re making me tired watching you. Fancy a cup of tea?’

‘Okay,’ I stand and kick the box of Revels to one side, follow Calum into the back room.

I sit on the table as he puts the kettle on.

My shoulder is really killing me now. I squeeze it, try to massage the ache away.

‘You alright?’ Calum asks.

‘It’s my shoulder, I did too much in the pool.’

‘Is it still injured?’

I want to scream at him for asking such a stupid question. Of course it’s still injured, do you think I’d be here right now if it was okay?  

But it’s not Calum’s fault.

A sore shoulder.

It’s such a stupid fucking thing to have to give up a career for.

‘I’ll always be injured.’ I reply. ‘That’s why I had to give up.’

‘Sorry. Can I do anything? To help I mean?’ He asks, coming towards me.

‘No, I just have to rest it.’

He’s standing right in front of me now.

It’s weird, kind of awkward. The way he’s not moving.

The way he’s looking at me.

The kettle clicks off but he just stands there, not breaking eye contact. Can he feel it too? The friction, the way the air has gone all fuzzy around us.

(water and white noise)

I can sit here and let it go on or I can break it. Jump down off the table and move away, finish making the tea.

(dive in)

This is a decision I need to make very soon.

I know I should choose the tea, but I’m not moving. I’m still sitting here and he’s still standing right in front of me. He moves his arm to my shoulder, starts to rub, circular movements, kneading the pain. His fingertips brush my neck and still I don’t move.

This is bad, this is very bad, but I want him to kiss me. I haven’t kissed a boy in so long.

I can feel the heat prickle up and down my spine and I can’t stop myself.

I grab his hips, pull him forward. His hands move to my hair, my face, and we’re kissing. Warm and damp. Months of making myself come, of no human contact, make me want him and I open my legs and wrap him towards me.

His breath’s hot and sticky and I can feel his cock pushing against his jeans. The shop’s open, anyone could come in, but somehow that only makes it more urgent, more desperate.

His hands are all over me, inside my clothes, tugging at buttons. It’s been so long, he only has to rub me for a few minutes and I’m shuddering and gasping. He looks at me, his expression weird. Like he’s never made a girl do that before. How experienced is he?

It feels good though, I’m tingling and ringing, toes curling. I see Jason, head between my legs, the smell of chlorine seeping from our naked, sweaty skin. Hear his voice telling me to relax. I push the image away, concentrate on the moment.

‘Hang on,’ Calum says.

He reaches into his wallet, slides a condom out from behind a bank card, pulls his jeans and boxers down, unravels the condom down his cock.

He may be a schoolboy but he’s definitely done this before.

Why am I disappointed? Because I’m not the first? The experienced older woman turning the boy into a man.

(he’s probably done this more than me)

He slides me toward him, slips his cock inside and then I’m leaning back on the table as he pushes into me. My shoulder’s burning. With each thrust I think it’s going to give way underneath me. The sex is quick though, quick and frantic. He comes, panting and heaving, kisses my forehead.

He pulls out of me and I stand, do up my jeans. My legs are wobbly and I lean against the table, sort my clothes out. He turns away from me, I hear the snap of rubber as he removes the condom, ties a knot in the end of it. He chucks it in the bin, fastens his jeans.