Swimming Lessons(20)

Her sister yawned. “I’ve got to go to bed. It’s been a long day. The ferry had stopped running when I got there because of the weather. I had to drive all the way round.”

“Oh my God!” Flora interrupted, rapping her forehead with the bowl of the teaspoon. “I forgot to tell you. It rained fish when I was driving along Ferry Road.”

“Driving?” Nan put her tea on the table.

“They fell out of the sky. Dead fish all over the tarmac.”

“Flora, you haven’t bought a car, have you? You’re an art student. You can’t afford a car.”

“I would have taken a picture if I’d had a camera, or drawn them if it hadn’t been raining.”

“The insurance must be astronomical.”

“It’s not my car,” Flora said. “It’s Richard’s.”

“Who’s Richard?”

“Shit! Richard’s car.” Flora jumped up. “It broke down and I just left it there.” She rushed from the kitchen into their bedroom and pulled on her knickers and a sock.

“Where?” Nan said, following. She sat on her bed.

“I told you, Ferry Road. Can we get someone to tow it?”

“Now? It’s nearly one. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.” Nan was speaking in that voice, not the sister or the mother one, but the calm sensible one, which Flora sometimes found herself listening to.

She pulled her sock off by the end of its toe. “OK,” she said, and saw that she had forgotten to wash her feet and ingrained dirt still crusted her toes.


“What do you think Gabriel’s doing right now?” Flora said into the dark of the bedroom. “What do you think he looks like? Maybe he has a moustache.”

“Not now,” Nan said, rolling over in her bed.

They were silent until Flora said, “Do you remember when I found a life-size plastic whale’s head washed up on the beach?”

Nan gave a small laugh. “You insisted we drag it home.”

“You would only help me some of the way and then you dropped your end.”

“There was a bad smell about it. It was slimy and full of water. It must have been in the sea for ages. It was disgusting.”

“I carried on pulling it, though.”

“You could have only been about six. You got it all the way around the point to our beach. I think it was the rocks at the bottom of the chine that defeated you.”

“I remember asking Daddy to hang it on the wall of the sitting room like a big game trophy. He said we could borrow Martin’s wheelbarrow and go back the next day.”

“That was Mum,” Nan said.

“No, it was Daddy. I remember.”

“Dad wasn’t even there.”

“Yes, he was.”

Nan sighed. “He wasn’t, Flora.”

“Where was he, then?”

A few seconds passed before Nan said, “He was just away.”

“Well, whoever it was, the next day the whale’s head had gone,” Flora said bitterly. She still wanted it, still wanted someone to blame for its loss.

They were both silent, and when Nan’s breathing slowed and deepened, Flora whispered, “Do you ever think you see Mum walking along the street?”

Nan didn’t reply.





Chapter 12


THE SWIMMING PAVILION, 8TH JUNE 1992, 7:05 AM


Dear Gil,

This morning, a little before six, I gave up trying to sleep and went to the sea for a swim. I was halfway down the chine, wrapped in a blanket and wearing a pair of flip-flops that had been left in the hall, when I heard someone running behind me. I turned and there was Flora, barefoot and in just a towel, coming after me.

“Mum! Wait!” she called. “I’m going to swim, too.” Flora is like a cat, she wants everything on her terms. If I’d asked her to come with me for a swim, she’d probably have said no. Occasionally she’ll allow me to stroke and pet her, but if I put out an uninvited hand she’ll often scratch and claw, and run away.

There was no one on our beach: too early for joggers or over-enthusiastic dog walkers. The tide was going out, sucking at the sand, rattling the loose stones, and the sea was the colour of wet denim. Above it, the palest lemon yellow stained the sky. We dropped the blanket and the towel on the rocks and stood at the edge of the water. Flora put her hand in mine.

“What’s the worst that could happen,” I said. She squeezed my fingers, and my heart was so full of love for her. She counted to three and we ran into the water, high-stepping through the wavelets, laughing and shrieking at the cold. And when the water was up to Flora’s thighs, we plunged forwards and under. The coldness, as ever, was thrilling, breathtaking, a shock to every nerve. We came up gasping, and Flora stuck her nose out of the water like a seal as she bobbed about in the waves. She’s a fine swimmer—strong shoulders, with an even stroke. Her swimming coach is already saying good things about her. Flora’s a different child in the water, calmer and more self-aware. No, that’s wrong: she becomes one with it, literally in her element. You should see her.

She says, “When Daddy watches me swim in the gala . . .” or “When I look up from the pool and see Daddy . . .” or “When I win the competition . . .” What shall I tell her, Gil? When are you coming home? She needs you; we need you.