Swimming Pool Sunday (2 page)

‘So’m I,’ said Katie quickly. ‘I can’t
wait
to go swimming.’

‘I’m going to dive straight in,’ said Amelia. ‘I’m not even going to feel it with my toe or anything.’

‘So’m I,’ said Katie again. ‘I’m going to
dive
in.’

‘You can’t dive,’ said Amelia crushingly.

‘I can,’ retorted Katie. ‘I learned it in swimming. You sit on the side and …’

‘That’s not a proper dive.’

‘It is!’

‘It isn’t.’

‘It is!’ Katie’s voice rose in fury. ‘It is a proper dive!’ Amelia smirked silently. ‘I did it the best in my class,’ shrilled Katie. ‘Mrs Tully said I was a little otter.’

There was a pause. Then Amelia wrinkled her nose superciliously and said, ‘Yuck.’

‘What?’ Katie looked discomfited. ‘Why is it yuck?’

‘Being an otter is yuck.’ Amelia looked at Katie challengingly, and Katie met Amelia’s gaze silently for a moment, then she looked away. Amelia’s eyes glinted.

‘You don’t know what an otter is, do you?’ she said.

‘Yes, I do!’

‘What is it, then?’

Katie stared crossly at Amelia. Her mind scrambled over half-imagined pictures. Had Mrs Tully ever actually told her what an otter was?
Otter
. What did it sound like? Into her mind came an image of blue-green water; of silvery streaks of light and a lithe body shooting through the water in a perfect dive.

‘It’s like a flower fairy,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s a
water fairy. It lives in the water and it’s all blue and green.’

Amelia started to crow. ‘No, it’s not! Katie Kember, you don’t know anything!’

‘Well, what is it then?’ shouted Katie angrily. Amelia brought her face up close to Katie’s.

‘It’s an animal. It’s all slithery and hairy and its feet are all webbed and slimy. That’s what you are. You thought you were a water fairy!’

Katie sat down on the grass. It didn’t occur to her not to believe Amelia. Amelia hardly ever made things up.

‘I haven’t got slimy feet,’ she said, her voice trembling slightly, ‘and I’m not all hairy; I’ve just got normal hair.’ She pushed her bright brown fringe off her forehead and looked at Amelia with worried blue eyes. Amelia relented.

‘No, but otters are really good at swimming,’ she said. ‘I expect that’s what Mrs Tully meant.’

‘Yes, that’s what she meant,’ said Katie, immensely cheered. ‘I’m the best swimmer in my class, you know. Some of them still have
arm-bands.
’

‘One boy in my class still has arm-bands,’ said Amelia, giggling, ‘and he’s
nine.
’

‘Nine!’ echoed Katie scornfully. She was only just seven, and she’d been swimming without arm-bands since last summer.

Suddenly there was the sound of a car pulling up outside the house.

‘Daddy!’

‘Daddy!’

They both ran around the side of the house. There was their father getting out of the car, as tall as ever, wearing a pair of shorts and a very old-looking blue checked shirt. There was a combination of familiarity and strangeness about the sight of him which made Amelia stop momentarily in her tracks and look away. Katie pushed past her.

‘Daddy!’ she cried. Their father turned and smiled. And immediately, predictably, Katie burst into noisy, copious tears.

Louise Kember sat in her pretty kitchen and waited for Barnaby to come in. She’d heard the car pull up, heard the girls run out to greet him, and could now hear Katie’s muffled sobs. It was nearly five months since Barnaby had moved out, and still Katie wept every time he arrived or left. And every time, a hand seemed to squeeze Louise’s heart until fresh painful guilt filled her chest.

Hadn’t she been told that it was far better for parents to separate than to stay together, arguing? In those awful few weeks over Christmas, when the rows between her and Barnaby had reached their height, when her frustrations and his suspicions had spilled over into everything they did, contaminating every gesture and giving every seemingly innocuous remark a double-edged meaning, she’d been convinced that when the split did come, it would be a relief for all of them. For her and Barnaby, certainly, but also for the girls.

Larch Tree Cottage wasn’t big enough for two shouting parents and two sleeping children; more than once she and Barnaby had been interrupted mid-flow by a white-faced, white-nightied little person at the kitchen door. They would shoot accusing looks at one another as they quickly adopted soothing voices, proffered glasses of water and spoke gaily to Mr Teddy or Mrs Rabbit. And then they would inevitably both go back upstairs with whichever of the girls it was, in a self-conscious togetherness – tucking in and tiptoeing out as though they were once again the young married couple besotted with their first baby.

For a few moments the pretence would last. They would float down the stairs together in a cloud of deliberate
good nature, fulfilling the image of the happy, loving, contented parents. But downstairs in the kitchen, the air would be thick with lingering, remembered jibes. The smiles would fade. Barnaby would mutter something incomprehensible about popping to The George for a quick half, and Louise would run a hot bath and weep frustratedly into the foamy water. By the time Barnaby got back she would be in bed, sometimes pretending to be asleep, sometimes sitting up, having formulated in her mind exactly what she wanted to say. But Barnaby would wave her speeches aside.

‘I’m too tired, Lou,’ he’d say. ‘Busy day tomorrow. Can’t it wait?’

‘No, my life can’t wait,’ she once hissed back. ‘It’s been on hold for ten years already.’ But Barnaby was already in his automatic, unseeing, unthinking, undressing and going-to-bed mode, and he didn’t even reply. Louise stared at him in exasperated anger.

‘Listen to me!’ she screeched, forgetting the children, forgetting everything but her need to communicate. ‘If you really loved me you’d listen to me!’ And Barnaby looked up, baffled.

‘I do love you,’ he said in a low resentful voice, folding up his trousers. ‘You know I love you.’ And then he stopped and looked away.

And Louise looked away too. Because the truth was that she
did
know that Barnaby loved her. But knowing that Barnaby loved her was no longer enough.

Katie was sitting on the grassy bank outside the cottage next to Barnaby. His arm was round her, and she was juddering slightly, but her tears had dried up. On the other side of Barnaby was Amelia, who felt a bit like crying herself, but was far too grown up.

‘That’s better,’ said Barnaby. He squeezed them both
tightly so their faces were squashed against his shirt. After a moment Katie started to wriggle.

‘I can’t breathe,’ she gasped dramatically. Amelia said nothing. She felt safe, all squashed up against Daddy, smelling his smell and hearing his laugh. Of course, Mummy hugged them all the time, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t so … cosy. Her face was pressed up against a shirt button and her neck was a bit twisted, but still she could have stayed safely inside Daddy’s hug all morning.

But Barnaby was letting go of them and reaching into the car.

‘Here you are, you two,’ he said, tossing a package into each lap. ‘Vital equipment for the day.’ The two girls began to unwrap their parcels and Barnaby watched, a pleased smile on his face. He’d bought each of them a present. For Katie he’d bought a small collapsible fishing-rod, and for Amelia, who already had a fishing-rod, he’d bought a smart little fishing-tackle box.

Katie unwrapped hers first. She squealed in delight and leaped up.

‘Goody gum drops! A real fishing-rod! You can keep your smelly old rod, Amelia!’

But Amelia looked up from her tackle box in sudden realization, and said in dismay, ‘What about going swimming?’

‘What about it?’ said Barnaby easily. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to leave that to the fish. You might be able to paddle, though.’

‘No, silly!’ Katie dropped her fishing-rod on the ground and rushed over to Barnaby. ‘Swimming Day, at Mrs Delaney’s house! Can we go instead of fishing?’

Barnaby tried to hide his surprise.

‘What! Don’t you want to go fishing?’

‘I want to go
swimming,
’ said Katie coaxingly. ‘It’s so
hot!
’

By way of illustration she began to fan her legs with
the skirt of her dress. It was a familiar-looking pink and white striped dress; a cast-off of Amelia’s, Barnaby abruptly realized. He had a sudden memory of a small Amelia wearing it, leaving for a birthday party, excitedly clutching a present, while an even smaller Katie jealously watched from the stairs.

‘Mummy said you wouldn’t mind,’ offered Amelia. She tried to signal to Katie to shut up. She would make Daddy cross if she wasn’t careful, and then they’d never be allowed to go swimming. ‘We could go fishing next week,’ she suggested. Abruptly, she remembered. ‘And thank you for the lovely present,’ she added.

‘Yes, thank you, Daddy,’ said Katie quickly. She picked up her fishing-rod and stroked it tenderly. ‘For my lovely fishing-rod.’ She looked up. ‘But can we go swimming? Please?
Please?
’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Barnaby, trying to keep his temper. ‘I’ll go and talk to Mummy.’

Louise had begun rather self-consciously to make some coffee, waiting for the moment when Barnaby would come in. She moved gracefully around the kitchen, a careless half smile on her lips, noting with pleasure the pretty citrus-tree stencils which she had carefully painted onto the pine back door the week before. Those, and the new curtains, splashed brightly with orange and yellow flowers, had really lifted the kitchen, she thought to herself. Next she intended to stencil the bannisters, and maybe even the sitting-room. Larch Tree Cottage had, in the ten years they’d lived there, always been pretty, in a predictable old-fashioned sort of way, but Louise was now determined to transform it into something different and beautiful; something which people would look at with admiration.

As she heard Barnaby’s heavy tread in the hallway, she glanced quickly around, as though to reaffirm in her mind the image which she presented. A happy,
fulfilled, independent woman, at home in her own beautiful kitchen.

Nevertheless, she turned away as he got nearer, and turned on the coffee-grinder. Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed the top down, and the electrical shriek meant that she couldn’t hear his greeting.

‘Louise!’ As she released the pressure on the coffee-grinder and the noise died down, Barnaby’s voice sounded aggressively loud. Louise slowly turned. A jerk of fearful emotion rose up inside her, then almost immediately subsided.

‘Hello, Barnaby,’ she said in carefully modulated tones.

‘What’s all this nonsense about going swimming?’

As he heard his own rough voice, Barnaby knew he was playing this wrong; rushing in angrily instead of asking reasonably, but suddenly he felt very hurt. He’d planned this fishing expedition carefully; he’d been looking forward to it ever since he’d had the idea. The cheerful disregard with which his daughters had abandoned the idea wasn’t their fault – they were only kids; but Louise should have been more thoughtful. An angry resentment grew inside him as he looked at her, half turned away, feathery blond fronds of hair masking her expression. Was she trying to sabotage his only time with the girls? Was she turning them against him? A raw emotional wound, deep inside him, began to throb. His breathing quickened.

Louise’s head whipped round. She took in Barnaby’s accusing expression and flushed slightly.

‘It’s not nonsense,’ she said, allowing her voice to rise slightly. ‘They want to go to the Delaneys’ to swim.’ She paused. ‘I don’t blame them. It’s going to be a boiling hot day.’

She tipped ground coffee from the grinder into a cafetière and poured on hot water. A delicious smell filled the kitchen.

‘Mummy!’ Katie’s piercing voice came in from the hall. ‘Can we have a drink?’ There was the sound of sandals clattering against floorboards, and suddenly the girls were in the kitchen.

‘I’ll pour them some Ribena,’ said Barnaby.

‘Actually,’ said Louise, ‘we don’t have Ribena any more.’ Barnaby stopped still, hand reaching towards the cupboard. ‘Water will do,’ added Louise.

‘What’s wrong with Ribena?’ demanded Barnaby. He flashed a quick encouraging grin at Amelia.

‘What’s wrong with Ribena?’ Amelia echoed.

‘It’s bad for your teeth,’ said Louise firmly, ignoring Barnaby. ‘You know that.’

‘What’s wrong with Ribena?’ Amelia repeated, lolling against a kitchen cupboard.

‘I want Ri-bee-na,’ said Katie.

‘I can’t blame them,’ said Barnaby.

‘Or Tango,’ said Katie, encouraged. ‘Or Sprite. I
love
Sprite …’

‘All right!’ Louise shouted. There was a sudden silence. Louise scrabbled inside a jar on the work-surface.

‘Go on, both of you, along to Mrs Potter’s shop, and buy yourself a fizzy drink.’ Katie and Amelia stared at her uncertainly. ‘Go on,’ repeated Louise. Her voice trembled slightly. ‘Since it’s such a hot day. As a treat. Stay on the grassy path and come straight back.’

‘And then will we go swimming?’ said Katie.

‘Maybe,’ said Louise. She handed some coins to Amelia. ‘It depends what Daddy says.’

When they’d gone, there was silence. Louise slowly pushed down the plunger of the cafetière, lips tight. She stared down into its gleaming chrome surface for a minute, formulating words. Then she looked up.

‘I would appreciate it, Barnaby,’ she said deliberately, ‘if you would try not to undermine
everything
I do.’

‘I don’t!’ retorted Barnaby angrily. ‘I wasn’t to know
you’d suddenly taken against Ribena. How the hell was I supposed to know?’ There was a pause. Louise poured the steaming coffee into mugs.

‘And anyway,’ added Barnaby, remembering, with a sudden resentful surge, the reason for his anger, ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t muscle in on my time with the girls.’

‘I’m not! How can you say that? They’re the ones who want to go swimming, not me!’

‘What, so you aren’t going swimming?’

‘I probably will go, as a matter of fact,’ said Louise, ‘but I wasn’t planning to take them.’

‘Planning to take someone else, were you?’ said Barnaby, with a sudden sneer. ‘I wonder who?’ Louise flushed.