Bad Dreams (14 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M
iss Rorty held the whistle between her teeth and looked down the line.

Eight of us on our starting blocks. And me already shivering because, to get the right one, I'd had to take my place ages before.

‘Ready?'

She raised an eyebrow because I wasn't in my usual stance. But finally, after about a billion years, she blew the whistle.

I lost the first two seconds then and there.

You try it. Try a racing dive, flinging yourself out over the water, stretching so thin you cut air. Then try it with one hand clamped to your hip to stop a slinky, cunning gold chain wriggling out of your swimsuit and landing on the tiles to shriek ‘
Stolen!
' at everyone and shame you for ever.

You'd have played safe like I did, and done a bellyflop too.

But in the huge, embarrassing splash of it, I did at least manage to hook out the chain. I couldn't do my usual strong spading through the water with it grasped in my hand. So it took time even to pull ahead of four particular pairs of feet I've never seen in front of me in my life, and reach the deep end. By then, at least, I'd even managed to pass the slower of the twins. But Toby and Surina were well ahead. And even Josh Murphy was thundering along at a good pace.

But I still had to do my stupid tumble turn. It might sound mad, but what was mostly in my mind was the thought of poor Miss Rorty who'd spent so much time training and encouraging me, and knew how important this race had become, and how much I wanted to win it. I knew she'd be standing at the edge, filled with dismay, wondering what on earth had happened to her best swimmer. First, that dreadfully clumsy starting dive; then the ham-fisted way I was ploughing through the water with one hand firmly clenched. And, now, coming up, the worst tumble turn she could imagine.

But there was no way round it. Instead of tucking up my legs and twisting fast to kick off straight and hard the way I'd come, I was about to waste even more time swimming down to the bottom.

To drop the necklace down the drain, where it would lie till, in the next water change, it would be swept into the sewers and out to sea.

Out of our lives for ever. Just like in the books.

And now the pool end was within my reach. Gathering myself into a ball, I tumbled perfectly, as I've been taught, and practised for so many hours. And, though it sounds crazy, even as I was doing it, I felt the necklace stir in my hand as if . . .

I have to say it. As if it
knew
.

And then the battle started. All round me there blew up that storm of bubbles I'd sensed before. At first, I thought they must be mine. I thought I must be letting out my breath – too fast, too soon.

But it was nothing to do with me. It was the necklace. Even in all that cool water, the thing was scalding my fingers. Twisting and burning, trying to distract me, trying to make me let it go –
anything
rather than let itself be fed through one of the tiny squares of the drain grille and dropped out of sight for ever. That spiteful little chain of gold put up the worst fight. The water churned so fiercely I could barely see. My right hand burned so badly that, if I'd had breath to spare, I would have yelped.

But I was suddenly furious. It was so
unfair
. I'd trained for months to win the Harries Cup. I didn't ask Imogen Tate to come to our school. I didn't ask Mr Hooper to put her next to me – in fact I as good as begged him
not
to!

And just because I'd tried to fit in with what everyone wanted – be friendly, not hide in my books, get interested in real life for a change – everything had gone sour. And even swimming, the only other thing I liked and was good at, was being spoiled.

You can't talk under water. You lose your air in one large, glistening flood of bubbles. But if I could, I would have said it over again to Imogen's horrible necklace.

‘Don't think you're going to beat
me
. Because you
won't
!'

Instead, I put my energy into one last enormous pull through the water. Clutching the chain, I swam down through the blizzard of angry bubbles till there, at last, I saw the drain.

And slammed my hand down flat. I didn't trust the necklace not to wriggle off. I rubbed the links of it over the grille till suddenly I felt the coils vanishing beneath my fingers as it went down. Now, under the flat of my palm, I could feel nothing but the clasp, a hard metallic lump still stubbornly clinging to the grille edge. And that's when I had to make the worst decision of my life.

‘Come on!' I tried to tell myself. ‘That's it. You've done it. Swim back up, quick. There's still a chance. You could still do it. You could still win the Harries Cup.'

But that old clasp was hanging on. And I knew why. Oh, I'd swim off, thinking I'd done the job and Imogen was safe. But the necklace would beat me. The clasp would cling on to the grille till evening session – Intermediate Diving. One after another for an hour, Miss Pollard's pupils would be plunging down. Someone was bound to spot it. I could hear them now.

‘Miss Pollard! Miss Pollard! Look what I've found trapped in the drain. It must belong to someone in the gala.'

She'd reach down to take it. ‘It looks quite valuable. I'd better drop it by the school tomorrow.'

No need to guess the rest. By break time, it would be back round Imogen's neck, strangling her life.

Professor Blackstaffe would have put it plainly enough.

Acup's a cup. It might be made to matter in a book. But it's not serious. Not like real life.

So I just did it – used up my very last spare second or two prising that hateful, stubborn little clasp off the drain grille, and pushing it through. I'd run out of air. My lungs were on fire. But I still stayed to watch it sink – down, down, resentfully, till it was out of sight.

And then, at last, I let myself push away, up like an arrow. Breaking the surface, I took the very deepest breath, and stormed off after the others. I don't think I've ever in my life swum any faster. I pounded along, meeting the others coming back the other way for their third and last length.

I turned just as Surina reached the half-way mark. It was a brilliant tumble – fast and strong. I knew at least Miss Rorty would be pleased to see I hadn't let her training down in front of everyone. It was my best turn ever.

I slid through the water like a needle through silk. First I saw Surina's toes, and then her knees, and then, since she was tiring, with one last great heave, I spun ahead. I took my next breath on the other side, to check the enemy. And, to my surprise, saw I'd left the other twin behind as well, and one more pull would bring me up to Toby.

I'm a machine in water when I'm pounding hard. Miss Rorty says it's like watching pistons in the engine of a great ship, or valves in a power station. I pulled on and on. And if the Harries Cup had only been a race one metre longer, there is not a shred of doubt I would have won it.

As it was, I lost.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
hey were all there for me, I'll give them that. Miss Rorty wrapped a towel round me so fast that only she and I knew when she pressed the corner of it to my face, she wasn't blotting my hair at all, only stemming my tears of rage and frustration.

Toby didn't crow. All he said was, ‘Jeez, that was close! Just two more seconds, Mel, and you'd have done it.'

Mr Hooper came up and hugged me even before he shook Toby's hand. Then he grinned ruefully. ‘Oh, blimey. Now we're going to have to exhume poor Mrs Harries so she can change the age rules on her Cup race.'

And Maria said she saw Councillor Leroy whispering to his wife before she slipped out for a moment. And that it wasn't just a mistake that the brand new award – Best Overall Swimmer – had been left off the programme. She says the pool keeps fat round medals like the one he gave to me behind the counter as spares in case of dead heats in competitions.