Swimming Upstream Read online

  “And I had a pink dress.”

  “It had a kitten on the front. You loved that dress.”

  “Was the kitten white? And furry? When you stroked it?”

  “Yes.” My mother smiled.

  “And I remember, dad was a postman, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. But you knew that.”

  “You told me that. But I didn’t have any memories of my own of him dressed like that, in his uniform. Until now, that is. It’s just a tiny picture of him in my head, though, just a tiny picture of this big man in a postman’s uniform, that’s all I’ve got. I can’t remember him.”

  “He was very handsome. He had your lovely red hair.”

  “It’s auburn, mum.”

  “Auburn, then.”

  “And I remember the ambulance coming. And there was no-one there. Just me and the ambulance.”

  My mother’s face tightened. “I was there. I was there as soon as the ambulance arrived, Lizzie. I know it was awful, you seeing him die like that. But I didn’t know until I heard the siren…it was nothing we could have helped…”

  “I’m not saying it was, I just -”

  “You always went to the end of the garden to wait for him to come home at the end of his round…you waited for him, you sat on the gate and waited for him, every day. And that one time…well, you just stayed there, you didn’t come and get anyone. You just stayed there, standing in the street and that’s where we found you. You must have been in shock…”

  “The car came too quickly,” I said.

  My mum looked at me for a moment as if she had seen a ghost. “That’s what you said. ‘The car came too quickly.’ Those are just the words you used. That’s all you said. All you would say.” She reached out her hand and touched my arm. A tear slid down her cheek.

  “I remember the street,” I said. “I remember his uniform. I remember the ambulance. I even remember the words. But I just can’t seem to remember him.”

  “It was a long time ago.” My mum put her arms around me for a moment and we were still. She leaned her head against my shoulder. Then she stood up and picked up the soup bowl. I noticed her wiping her face with the sleeve of her cardigan as she turned. “Get some rest,” she said. “You’re tired.”

  I nodded.

  After she had gone I picked up ‘The Water Babies’ and read it from cover to cover.

  The following day I felt much better and decided to go for a drive and a walk. There was a forest nearby that I remembered visiting as a child. I ate a big breakfast and soaked for a long time in a hot steamy bath. I hadn't brought anything with me except the pyjamas that I had been wearing when I arrived, but my mum offered me free reign of her wardrobe. I settled for a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a black polar neck jumper. I looked like a cat burglar but I didn’t care. I was just glad to be well again. I found a pair of Wellington boots in a cupboard that my mum had bought in a jumble sale and that were two sizes too big for both of us. My mum offered me the use of her car.

  “Lizzie,” she called, as I left. “Here’s something you might want to think about.”

  “What?”

  “You know my old friend, Lynne?”

  “The paediatrician? The one who lives in London? Hampstead, isn’t it?”

  “Marylebone. Baker Street. Except that she’s just been offered a job in Edinburgh. It’s only a two year contract, a locum position. But I think she wants someone to look after her flat for a bit.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, anyone. But she’d be happy for you to take it, I am sure.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a long way to and from work.”

  “Just a thought.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  As I drove through the Essex countryside looking for the forest I realised that I was near Dunmow, heading towards Takeley, the village where we'd once lived. I smiled as I recognised the post office and the sweet shop. I turned right at the pub on the corner and drove past my junior school with the climbing frame and the house where we'd bought lettuces and tomatoes in summer, then halted in confusion and horror at a roundabout I'd never seen before. The house was gone, so was the neighbouring caravan site and Lesley Mead's house, whose barn we used to play in. The barn was also gone. And Mrs McCormick's garden, and the wall we used to climb over, and the apples we used to pinch (only it wasn't really stealing; it was called scrumping).

  Instead, spread before me and glimmering like the Emerald City, was London's third airport. I looked at the road signs that had sprung up like weeds in my absence, and guessed that I must have lived somewhere in the region of the departure lounge.

  The road ended there. There was nothing left to do but leave. I stood in my mum's wellies on the oily tarmac and watched a plane that was heading down the runway and taking off in the distance. When it was lost beyond the horizon, I got back into the car and drove south towards the river.

  It was late afternoon. I parked beside the lock and sat for a while, looking through the windscreen at the water rippling gently in the breeze. The sun was low but the clouds had disappeared and the tops of the fir trees stretching into infinity beyond the river were tipped with an amber hue. I climbed out of the car and locked the door. I crossed the little wooden bridge to a dirt track on the opposite bank. I reached out to touch the shrubs that flanked the pathway and the edge of the forest where willows and poplars loomed up through the undergrowth, camouflaging the birds that whistled and twittered invisibly around me. I trailed my hand over thistles and catkins and squeezed the tip of a snow-white cornucopia, which dutifully popped out of its bud and landed at my feet. I felt a sudden pang inside me at the sheer beauty of it all, combined with a newfound nostalgia for a feeling I'd loved and long forgotten, the kind of feeling you're left with after all the best flying dreams. My mother’s wellies were rubbing at the back of my legs and I could feel my socks had worked their way down and bunched up under the arches of my feet, like they used to do when I was a kid. The ground was dry and the path by the river covered in a springy layer of mossy turf. I squatted down and yanked off one boot and then the other, and pushed them under a bush.

  It was only a few months since my life had begun to change forever. But it felt like forever, an aeon ago, in my head. I'd floated along for so long, with everything just happening to me, but now I had come to a fork, where several branches led off into uncharted waters. I needed to make some decisions. But I didn't know how, or what to do for the best. What I really needed, I told myself, was a big hand to come out of the sky and point me in the right direction.

  I peered into the water and studied my murky reflection, looking back up at me. A twig bobbed backwards and forwards over my nose. I looked confused. Was Greg right? I wondered. Did I really sell myself short? Was I really that good at what I did? And why did I need Greg to point it out? I had always cared far too much what other people said about me. I'd always seen myself as a reflection of what everyone else saw when they looked at me, or at least what I thought they saw.

  I thought, I must be giving away a lot of power.

  For a moment I stood on the bank and looked deep into the water. It was unusually clear, so clear that you almost couldn't see where the rushes began and the water ended. I could just make out the silhouette of a lone minnow as it fought its way determinedly through the tangled weeds and up the river.

  I turned and followed, padding in my socks over a carpet of springy moss.

  7

  I moved house on a Sunday in late July. On the Saturday, Catherine came over to help me pack. We stood in my tiny kitchen drinking tea while Catherine went through my cupboards.

  “You mean you’re not taking any of this?” she asked, opening and shutting the pine cupboard doors and peering inside.

  I shook my head. “No. Let them have it. I don’t care. And anyway, Lynne’s got stuff.”

  “But you won’t be there forever. You’ll need plates, and cups and cutlery at some point. And saucepans,” she sa
id, clanging two pans together as she pulled them out of the cupboard. “Hey, this is a good frying pan. You can’t leave this.”

  “It’s a wok. And I can’t cook anyway.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll get it all new. Or from a boot sale or something. It’s no big deal.”

  Catherine shrugged. “I’d take the lot.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” I laughed. “You say that but you’re soft really. And anyway, it’s his stuff too. How do we decide who gets what? Two knives, two forks and one saucepan each? I don’t want to seem petty.”

  “Petty? You’re hardly that. He’s throwing you out of your home. You’re taking it really well.”

  “He’s not throwing me out. He’s buying me out.”

  “Whatever.” Catherine sipped her tea. “I can’t believe he got her pregnant that quickly.”

  “It was an accident, apparently.”

  “For him, maybe. I bet she did it on purpose. I bet he still loves you.”

  “Who knows? But one thing’s for certain, he’s made the decision for us both. There’s no going back now; it’s too late. They’ve got a connection, now, forever, whatever happens in the future they will always have their child. It’s over for me and him. It’s time to move on.”

  Catherine nodded. She levered herself up so that she was sitting on the work surface and poured more tea from the pot next to her. “What about the teapot?” She grinned.

  “No.”

  “Go on. Take the teapot.”

  “No!” I laughed.

  Catherine pulled a face and stuck her bottom lip out. “I can’t believe you’re leaving. I’ve only just found you again and now you’re going. What am I going to do without you?”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’ll be back. I’m still going to be working here. I’ll be coming back here almost every day. And you can come and stay.”

  Catherine looked doubtful.

  “Can’t you?” I persisted.

  “Sure.” Catherine picked up a piece of bubble wrap and with her thumb and forefinger started to burst the bubbles, one by one. I jumped up onto the work surface opposite.

  “That’s if he’ll let you, you mean,” I added.

  Catherine looked up, crossly. “Of course he’ll let me. He’s okay, you know. I know he can be a bit moody sometimes but he’s been through a lot. He had dreams. They got smashed when he had that accident.”

  “I know. But…”

  “He’s never quite got over that, not being able to compete any more. And sometimes it frustrates him, that’s all. But he’s a good person. He helps other people. You should see how he is with the kids on the junior swimming team. Really caring. And he loves me. I’m sure of that.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “What, you don’t believe me?” Catherine pushed her hair out of her eye and frowned. “You don’t think he loves me?”

  I sighed. “I’m sure he does love you. Why wouldn’t he? You’re gorgeous.”

  “But?”

  “Well…”

  “Go on.” Catherine spoke gently as she always did, but I could tell she was getting angry. “Say it, Lizzie. Say what’s on your mind.”

  When people say that they never actually mean it. The last thing Catherine really wanted was to hear what was on my mind. “Nothing,” I said. “It’s nothing. I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.”

  “When I first met him I had nothing,” Catherine continued, ignoring me. “I was living like a student, in a shared house, in a rough part of London. And I was on the dole…”

  “You had just finished drama school. You were looking for acting work.”

  “But I wasn’t getting any! At least, I wasn’t getting paid for anything I did. I was just bumming around. Martin sorted my life out, showed me that I needed to work, helped me get a job...”

  “You hate your work, Catherine. You’re a trained actress and you’ve settled for being a secretary.”

  “I’m a PA, not a secretary. And I don’t hate it. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being a secretary, Lizzie. Not everyone has to be a high flier like you.”

  I sighed. Here we go again, I thought. Where have I heard this before? “No they don’t,” I said. “And no, of course there’s nothing wrong with being a secretary if you want to be a secretary. Or a PA. It’s a good job. If that’s what your goal is. But it’s not yours.”

  “It’s not what I want to do for ever, no, but…”

  “When was the last time you performed?”

  “I’m looking into that. I am applying for parts. But it’s tricky, because you can’t tour when you’re working and there’s a lot of competition for the local theatre parts. Anyway, we’re getting off the point. The point is that Martin has done a lot for me. I had nothing when I met him, now I’ve got a man who loves me, a home, a job…”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, putting my hands up.

  Catherine looked up at me. “When you are in a relationship there have to be some compromises, you know.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked her. “That I’m uncompromising? That I should have tried harder with Larsen, given up more for him?”

  “No. I’m not saying that. That’s you and Larsen. That’s different. You wanted different things. But this is what I want. Martin. Me. A life together.” She paused and neither of us spoke for a moment or two. “Look, I know you didn’t get a very good welcome when you came over that time, but he was just worried, that’s all. He came back late at night and I wasn’t there. He didn’t know where I was. And that was my fault for not leaving a note…”

  “You weren’t expecting him back till the following day! Why would you leave a note?”

  “Well, that doesn’t alter the fact that he was worried. Anything could have happened to me.”

  “He knew you were going out with me,” I argued. “That’s what you told me.”

  “Not till that late, though!”

  I sighed.

  “Look Lizzie, I don’t know what you’ve got against him. It wasn’t personal, him shutting the door on you like that. He likes you. When I told him I was coming over today to help you pack he offered to come and help too, straight away.”

  I sighed again, lost for words.

  “I said we could manage - and he had to go to work, so he couldn’t come, not really, but he offered all the same and was even willing to get his shift covered. To help you. I told him he didn’t need to, but he wanted to, that’s the point.”

  The doorbell rang. I jumped down, grateful for the interruption, and went to answer it, moving a box of books to one side with my toe as I walked through the living room. Catherine followed me, padding softly across the carpet behind me. I felt upset and uncomfortable. I didn’t want my mistrust of Martin to drive a wedge between us, but I knew that Catherine sensed it and it was hard not to speak my mind. Until it was spoken about, the wedge was there in any event; it was hard to be close to a person when there was something you couldn’t talk about, especially something as important as the man she was going to marry.

  I opened the door. Martin stood on the doorstep, smiling.

  “Oh, hello,” I said. “Are you looking for Catherine? She’s here.”

  “I’ve brought some more boxes,” said Martin, nodding towards the car. “They’re flat packed but I can soon put a few together.”

  “Thank you,” I stood aside to let him in. “I don’t think I need any more, though. I haven’t got much more packing to do.”

  “She’s hardly taking anything,” said Catherine.

  “Don’t blame her,” said Martin, standing in my living room and looking around him. “Clean slate. Best thing.”

  I followed Martin’s gaze round the room at the apple-white walls and the half empty bookshelves, down to the magnolia and fawn flecked carpet and across to the red corduroy Habitat sofa that Larsen’s mother had given us when we first moved in. At the black leather wingback armchair Larsen had found in an antiqu
es shop on Mill Road one afternoon and had dragged all the way home, with Doug. And at the oak coffee table that we had splashed out on at Clement Jocelyn when I had first got my job at GCFM. I had removed Jude’s painting that had hung over the gas fire and had slid it down behind the sofa. That was one thing that was definitely not coming with me. “I don’t have that much that’s just mine,” I muttered.

  Martin slid an arm round Catherine’s waist, pulled her to him and kissed her full on the lips. “Hello baby,” he said. “Pleased to see me?”

  Catherine looked up at him adoringly. “Yes,” she said. “But what happened to your shift? I thought you were working till four?”

  “They didn’t need me today, after all. Closed the pool. Some kind of problem with the heaters. Had to get the engineers in.” Martin kissed her again. Catherine put her arms round his neck and kissed him back.

  I averted my eyes and picked up a roll of sellotape that was sitting on the coffee table and began picking away at it to find the end. I hated sellotape. It didn’t matter how many times you found the end, all it took was one snip of the scissors and it was lost again, your fingernails ruined. I lowered myself to the ground in front of the box of books and kneeled on the carpet.

  “So, I thought I could help.” Martin said. “Where do you girls want me? Kitchen? Bathroom? Bedroom?”

  “All of those,” said Catherine in a sexy, but loud, whisper.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin slap Catherine on the bottom. She let out a squeal. I located the end of the roll, and pulled a strip of tape with a loud screech. Both Catherine and Martin stopped grabbing at each other and watched as I taped up the box of books.

  “It’s all done. Really. Like I said, I don’t have much.” I wrote “BOOKS” on the box with a marker pen, which was a bit pointless really since I didn’t have any other box to mistake it for.

  “When are you leaving?” asked Martin. “You want me to start loading up?”

  “Tomorrow. First thing. I suppose you could put these in the boot if you don’t mind. The rest can wait till the morning.”

  “No problem. Here.” Martin bent down beside me and picked up the box. He followed me out to the car. I opened the boot and took out my map and my swimming bag to make room for the books. As I turned, my goggles fell out of my bag onto the pavement. Martin and I both bent down at the same time to pick them up. Our heads collided and we both crouched on the pavement for a brief moment, looking at each other awkwardly. I rubbed my head.