Love Your Life(67)

“Hi,” I say. “I’m a friend of Matt’s. Ava.”

“Hello!” replies a beaming, athletic-looking woman with short curly hair. “I am Greta, Elsa’s cousin. This is Heike, Inge, and Sigrid.” She gestures to the older-looking woman. “My mother. We are visiting with our husbands, who will be joining us here shortly. We are conducting a short tour of the UK. A road trip.”

    “After staying here for a few days, we go to Stratford,” chimes in Heike. “I have never been to Stratford.” She puts on a bathing cap with a snap. “Ready to swim,” she adds cheerfully. “Bring it on.”

“You all speak really good English,” I say in admiration.

“No, no,” says Heike modestly. “We do our best, but we are sadly lacking.”

Is she kidding?

“There’s no way I could say ‘sadly lacking’ in German,” I say frankly. “Not a chance. So you win.”

All the women laugh, exchanging pleased looks with one another, and I feel a glow rising through me. They’re nice!

“The pool’s amazing,” I say, starting to take off my clothes.

“Yes!” says Greta cheerfully. “We’re looking forward to our swim. See you there.”

They all disappear out to the pool, and I take a swimsuit from a basket marked Guests. As I put it on, I’m actually smiling to myself, because this is so not what I expected of today. A lovely lazy afternoon in the pool with Matt’s extended family! There are sun beds to lie on, I’ve already noticed. Or maybe we’ll sit on the side, dangling our toes in the water, and chat about stuff. Maybe they can tell me what happened to Ronald.

But as I head out, no one’s lying on the sun beds, nor dangling their toes. All the women are swimming hard. Like, seriously. Front crawl. Back crawl. The whole pool is like some sort of Olympic training session. Even Sigrid is performing a professional-looking breaststroke, and she must be seventy, at least. Who are these people? As I stand, flabbergasted, Greta reaches the near end of the pool and smiles up at me.

    “It’s refreshing!” she says. “Come in!”

“Right.” I hesitate. “You’re all…really good swimmers.”

“We met through the swim team,” says Greta cheerfully. “Although our technique is not what it was!”

As she speaks, Heike thunders toward the edge of the pool, turns a somersault underwater, and streaks back in the opposite direction.

“Do you swim?” adds Greta politely.

“Well.” I swallow. “I mean, I can keep afloat….”

“Enjoy!” she says, and then pushes off into a deft front crawl.

I make my way cautiously down the steps into the water, which is colder than I expected, and try a few cautious breaststrokes. Then I hastily move out of the way of Inge, whose arms are like pistons in the water. Oh God, I can’t drift around with this lot thrashing up and down. It’s like the M1 in here. Maybe I’ll leave the swimming for now, I decide. Maybe I’ll try the steam room and the sauna. The relaxing stuff.

“Just going to the steam room!” I say to Greta, as she pauses at the end of the pool, and she nods cheerily. I grab a towel and pad over the tiled floor to the steam room, and as I enter, I can feel all my muscles unwinding. This is more like it. This is the life.

I close my eyes and let the steam engulf me. My head is spinning with all the weird moments of today, from the salmon dish used by Princess Margaret in 1982 to poor tearful Ronald. After a while I can almost feel myself nodding off. But my chin jerks up as I hear voices again. It’s Greta and the other women. They’re obviously out of the pool, and I can hear some booming male voices, too, which must be the husbands. I should go and say hello.

    It’s a good strategic move to be friendly with Greta, I’ve concluded. And indeed her whole group of mates. They seem very nice (far nicer than Elsa), and it’s a great way into the family. But as I emerge from the steam room, the pool area is empty. Where’ve they all gone? I look around—then notice two pairs of flip-flops outside the sauna door.

Of course! Well, even better. What could be more bonding than sharing a sauna together?

I wrap my towel around my body and cautiously open the sauna door, feeling a blast of heat hit me. I take a step inside—then stop in dumb horror.

They’re all in here. All the women, at least. They’re sitting on towels and looking up with friendly smiles—and they’re all naked. Naked. Stark naked. All I can see is breasts and stomachs and…Oh God.

What do I do now? What? Am I supposed to be naked too?

“Shut the door!” says Greta, gesturing at me, and before I can get my thoughts straight, I’m closing it.

“Sit down!” adds Heike, shifting up on the bench, her veiny breasts swaying as she does so.

No. Do not look at her breasts. Or her…

Oh God, stop. Don’t look. I hastily swing my eyes from Heike, to find myself peering at Inge’s pale nipples, which are at eye level. In horror, I whip my head away, to find myself regarding a mound of bushy pubic hair.

    No. Noooo.

OK. Keep calm. Basically, no line of sight is safe. So I will stare at the door. Yes. Sweat is already pouring down my face, which is nothing to do with the heat of the sauna. It’s sheer stress.