Swimming Lessons(43)

Nan sobbed, a peculiar noise Flora couldn’t remember ever hearing before, although it was muffled as if Nan were holding her head in her hands. Suddenly the bathroom door was pushed open, knocking Flora backwards so she had to catch hold of the sink, just managing to keep upright. Richard stared at her and then tugged off a length of toilet roll and left, pulling the bathroom door shut behind him.

Flora tore off her own piece of toilet paper, wet it, and, looking in the mirror, scrubbed at the smudged mascara under her eyes. She stripped off her wet bikini and put on Ingrid’s pink dress, which she had left hanging on the back of the door, and went into the kitchen.

“I thought we could have dinner in the bedroom,” Nan said, as if nothing had happened. She glanced at what Flora was wearing and looked away without comment. “Then Dad won’t need to get out of bed.”


Gil was sitting up again, this time in his pyjamas, a pillow on his lap ready for his plate. The skin on his face that had taken the impact of the fall was now like a plum at its peak of ripeness—stretched tight, as if with one touch it would split open. The other side was waxy and yellow. Nan had made a quiche Lorraine.

“That was the dress I bought for your mother,” Gil said, reaching out a hand to touch it as Flora sat again on her mother’s side of the bed. “Years ago.”

“I keep telling her to take it off,” Nan said.

Gil rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

“I’ve worn it before, Daddy. Loads of times.”

He looked at her. “Have you? I never noticed.”

Nan served the food, picking the cucumber and tomatoes out of the salad for Flora and leaving a space around them on her plate. She chopped up Gil’s food so he could eat it with a fork.

“Martin said he would call in sometime,” Nan said. “See how you are.”

“Surprised he has the time with his golf and that bloody dog.”

“Martin has a dog?” Flora sat up. “What sort?”

“Small and too yappy,” Gil said.

“There’s a cupboard full of dog food in the kitchen,” Nan said.

“I was thinking of getting one as well,” Gil replied. “A bloody big dog. I might call her Barbara—or no, wait, Shirley.” Gil laughed.

“How about Charlotte?” Richard said.

“Or Simone?” Flora said.

“Carson?” Gil said.

Nan rolled her eyes.

“Harper?” Flora asked.

“Yes, Harper. Definitely Harper,” Gil said, laughing.

“But you don’t like dogs,” Nan said, watching Flora slice between the quiche’s egg mixture and the pastry.

“You’re not really going to get one, are you?” Flora said.

Gil leaned forwards to pat her hand, still laughing. “Sorry, Flo.”

She scraped off the eggy filling and pushed the pastry to the side of her plate. She could sense Nan’s disapproval without having to look up.

“So, you work in a bookshop,” Gil said to Richard. “Secondhand?”

“New, I’m afraid. It’s just temporary, until something better comes along.”

“What kind of temporary job lasts two years?” Flora said.

“I am surprised,” Gil said. “My youngest daughter being courted by a bookseller. It’s not often we see her holding a book unless it has drawings in it. There was a time when Flo was a great reader.”

“We’re not courting!” Flora snapped, and then under her breath, “It’s Nan you should be asking about that.”

“Although I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for,” Richard said. “Teaching, perhaps. Or maybe I’ll do a bit of travelling first.”

Flora stabbed a piece of cucumber with her fork.

“A very good idea,” Gil said. “Don’t let yourself get sidetracked by relationships or having children.”

“Daddy!” Flora said.

Richard looked flustered, but Gil continued, “Give yourself some time to work it out. There’s no need to settle down too young. How old are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Ah,” Gil said.

Flora sliced through the cucumber flesh in one smooth motion.

“I called the hospital about your book,” Nan said. “I spoke to someone in A&E and they put me through to the ward, and then I talked to someone in charge of ambulances and they suggested I call the lost property office. But when I rang again the woman on the switchboard said they didn’t have a lost property office. No book, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps it got left on the beach,” Flora said. She looked at Gil, whose eyes were watering. He blinked and the tears were sucked back in.

“I’ll check with Viv,” Nan said. “Maybe someone handed it in at the bookshop. But you’ve got plenty to be going on with here, haven’t you?” Her voice had taken on that singsong tone again of patronising encouragement.

“If I don’t go soon, this house will be more paper than wood.”

“Daddy.” Flora said, “Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“About going soon.” She put her knife and fork on top of her pastry—a child’s trick of hiding the food she didn’t want to eat.