The Art of Not Breathing(31)

“This new hobby of yours, it hasn’t got anything to do with that boy, has it? The one you were with at the party?”

“No,” I lie. I’m worried he’ll tell Dad and that Dad will ground me for the rest of my life.

I feel a slight rush at keeping something from Dillon. It’s like I have power. If he can have secrets, then so can I.

Later, while I’m in the bath, I hear Dillon grunting through pushups in one room, and my parents arguing in another.

“What should I do, Celia? Leave you in bed to rot?” The floor creaks as he paces up and down.

“It’s hard for me, Colin. You don’t understand how hard.” Her words are slurred.

“Bullshit. How hard is it to pick up the dry cleaning from two streets away? And how hard is it to buy a carton of milk?”

“I thought you’d get milk on your way home,” she replies.

I feel bad about drinking it all, but there was nothing else.

“I need that f*cking jacket for tomorrow!”

I wince when my father swears. It doesn’t suit him. I reach up and turn on the cold tap. The water thunders down by the side of my head and I start to shiver. When the whole bath is freezing cold, I roll onto my stomach, take a deep breath, and plunge my head down. My chest spasms, but I fight it and fight it, keeping myself under by pressing my hands into the side of the tub. After thirty seconds, the pain subsides. There are no groans or grunts, no arguments. I’m only thinking about one thing—soaring along the seabed in a silver wetsuit.





12



TAY DIVES DOWN INTO THE CLEAR WATER, AND I WATCH HIM glide with his arms locked together out front. He looks beautiful and elegant. I feel like a cumbersome whale in the water. We are at a place called Sandwich Cove, up the coast past Rosemarkie beach, where no one will find us. To get here, you either take a boat from Rosemarkie pier or you trek across fields and through brambles. The seabed here is made of rocks, not sand, which is why the water looks so clear. It has a reddish tint when you look into it.

“You make it look so easy,” I say when he resurfaces.

“That’s because it is easy.”

I put my mask on and try again. I struggle against the current for a few seconds, then bob back to the surface.

“Stop fighting the water and just go with it. You’ve got to let it take you.”

“But I can’t go down.”

“Who says anything about going down? As soon as you’re under, that’s it.”

Frustrated, I push away from him, slightly out to sea, and launch myself down to the bottom. It’s not that deep, but as soon as I get to the seabed I grab a rock and hold myself, belly down, on the floor. The seconds tick by. I brace myself for the memories to flood my mind. The rocks down here are jagged and dig into my hands, but I grip them tight. Some of them are covered in a wispy kind of seaweed that looks like parsley, not at all like the big bits of kelp along the shore and in the harbor. The parsley swishes about in the current. There are shells, too, stuck to the rocks, purple ones, black ones, and white speckled ones. The images don’t come, and I’m annoyed but also relieved. Down here, I’m not a loser. I’m also a lot lighter. I move my head from side to side, swishing my hair about. I pop a couple of bubbles from my mouth and watch them float up.

When I burst through the surface, Tay is there, clapping.

“Two minutes. You’re almost as good as me.”

We swim out a bit farther. I’m starting to get cold, but I don’t want to leave.

“What’s the deepest you’ve gone?”

Tay tilts his head back into the water. “I don’t know. Why is everyone so obsessed with how deep?”

“Isn’t that what it’s about?”

He lifts his head and flicks water in my face on purpose.

“No. Not at all. Come on—let’s dive.” He grabs my shoulder.

“How deep is it here?”

Tay sighs. “About twelve meters, but we’re not going to the bottom.”

From here I can see the lighthouse on the Point. I can just about make out small dots on the beach. Dolphin watchers.

“What about out there?” I ask, pointing toward the bit of water just away from the lighthouse, where Dillon used to swim, where the dolphins show off.

I feel Tay’s fingers tighten around my shoulder.

“Deeper,” he says. “There’s a drop-off. It goes to about forty-three meters.”

I shiver. “Ever been?”

“Nah, nothing to see down there. Right—enough talking. Let’s go under.”

The drop-off. The very bottom of the bay. I picture the seabed gently sloping away from the shore and then suddenly falling away. That’s where I need to go. That’s where Eddie would have gone.

“Elsie, come on.”

I notice I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out and tear my eyes away from the Point, refocusing my attention on Tay. It’s not that hard. I could look at him all day.

I take three deep breaths, like Tay does, then dive down. I kick and kick, but I seem to move only horizontally. I give up and wait on the surface for Tay. I watch his shadow dart about and count three minutes, and I don’t even know how long he was down before I started counting. When he surfaces, he looks like he’s been on some kind of magical experience. His eyes are glazed and shiny. He puts his arms around me and kisses me on the mouth. He tastes of salt.