Swim Until You Can't See Land (2 page)

‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say.

She doesn’t look well, not well at all. She gasps for breath, fumbles with the buttons on the collar of her blouse, blood pours down onto her hands but I don’t think she’s noticed she’s bleeding.

‘I’ll get that,’ I say and undo her top button. Her hands grab at mine, clammy and damp.

She’s wearing a silk scarf tied around her neck so I lift it, press it against the cut. The blood, warm and sticky, seeps into it, turns the pale silk dark.

Shit, what do I do? What the hell do I do?

Shirley’s the first aider, not me. Where is she?

The chlorine, the wet, the chill, it hits you all at once but it doesn’t matter. Because you’re straight into your stroke and the cold’s gone before you’re halfway down your first length.

I know how to work the water with my hands, with my feet. I know the shapes to make with my arms, my legs. Keyhole, figure of eight, breakout, pull through. My hands are paddles, the roll of my shoulders, the froth at my toes.

Push me on, propel me forward. Push me on, propel me forward.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

My hands shake as I squeeze the scarf. Blood oozes, dribbles between my knuckles.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be alright,’ I say, but my voice is different from how it normally sounds.

Her eyes roll backwards, eyelids fluttering. She looks worse now, if that’s even possible. There’s no colour in her face, drained away with the blood through her chin.

Shit, I think she’s dying. She’s dying and I’m just sitting here letting it happen. I need to do something. Come on, Hannah.

I let go of the scarf. My hands are covered in blood and I wipe them on the woman’s jacket before digging my mobile out of my jeans pocket.

999

‘Hello, you’re through to emergency services, what service do you require?’

My brain has stopped working. Service? What service do I require?

Ambulance, ambulance, ambulance, ambulance.

‘Sorry, ambulance, please.’

‘That’s alright. Can you tell me what’s happened and the address?’

‘It’s Shop Better, on the High Street in Kinross. I’m sorry, I can’t remember the exact number, next to the Post Office. An old woman’s collapsed, she’s bleeding.’

‘Is she breathing?’

The door opens.

Thank fuck for that.

It’s Shirley, back from Bayne’s with the filled rolls and the custard slices.

‘Hells bells, what’s happened?’ She drops the paper bag and box of cakes onto the floor.

‘She went all funny, then she just fell.’ 

‘Hello, can you hear me? Can you hear me? What’s your name?’ Shirley asks, as she grips the woman under the armpits and tries to prop her up against the counter.

‘Get an ambulance, Hannah, I think she might be having a heart attack or something. It’s not good, whatever the hell it is.’

I’m not sure Shirley should be saying stuff like that in front of the old woman, but I doubt she’s aware of what’s going on.

‘I’ve already done that,’ I say and hold the phone up to my ear again. The woman is still there asking questions.

‘There’s a first aider here now,’ I say. My hands are shaking so much I can’t hold the phone still. I hear the phrase ‘the ambulance is on its way’ and I hang up.

I’m out of breath and all I’ve done is make a phone call.

Shirley’s still trying to prop the woman up, but she’s lifeless and falls to one side.

‘She’s bloody heavy for such a wee thing,’ Shirley says, her face flushed, ‘pass me some aspirin, will you?’

‘What?’ I reply.

‘Aspirin.’

It’s not a sore head, Shirley, I feel like saying, but I grab a box from behind the counter, pass it to her. She pulls the foil packet out of the box, presses out a white aspirin.

‘Crunch and chew, crunch and chew.’

I think Shirley’s lost it. She’s trying to force the Aspirin into the woman’s mouth. My eyes are drawn to a circle of silver foil from the Aspirin packet which lingers in the air before landing in a pool of blood on the floor. It floats, rippling from side to side; the whole surface shimmers, even the blood has a glossy sheen to it.

‘Crunch and chew.’

I notice something lying to the side of the blood, grab Shirley’s arm.

‘Her teeth, Shirl.’

Shirley picks up the aspirin, now pink, which has fallen from the woman’s mouth, tries to pop it back in. The woman’s eyes are rolling in her head, backwards, forwards, side to side.

‘Her teeth fell out.’

‘What?’

‘Her false teeth fell out.’

‘Oh Jesus.’

‘Shall I get them, they’re just here?’

‘I think she’s stopped breathing, Hannah.’

Shirley grabs the woman by her ankles, pulls her forward until she lies flat. There’s a thud as the back of her head hits the floor.

Shirley sees me flinch.

‘That’s the least of her problems, tell them she’s stopped breathing.’

‘Tell who?’

‘The ambulance, where are they? They should be here by now.’

Cap tight against my skull, costume a size too small, slick against shaved skin. Bubbles rise to the surface from my nose, my mouth.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

The water slides off me, gathers like pearls on my nails, my bare skin. I’m impervious. Silky and varnished.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

Shirley starts to do
CPR
. My eyes are drawn to her tits as they bounce up and down.

‘One and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven…’

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

Breathe, come on, breathe. You can’t die, not here, not on the floor of Shirley’s shop.

Shirley lifts the woman’s blouse, uses it to clean her chin. I see her bra, her bare stomach; the skin saggy and stretch-marked, off-white like porridge. Shirley presses the woman’s nose, tilts her head back, blows into her mouth, then she’s bouncing again.

‘One and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight and nine…’

I try to stop it, but my brain keeps saying inappropriate things, things I’m ashamed to be thinking of at a time like this. Hell, at any time.

Shirley could do with a decent bra.

I never realised how big her tits were before.

I wonder if she did that to my dad?

Bounced up and down on him, her tits smacking him in the face.

Jesus, Hannah, stop it.

Her face is red, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead.

‘I   need  help  can  you  breathe for  me?’

I know it’s a horrible thing to think but I don’t want to go near that old woman. I don’t want to touch her. Her chin’s stained with blood, seeped into the wrinkles, paint filling in the cracks.

‘I don’t know how.’

‘I’ll  show  you.’

I shuffle forward so I’m on the other side of the woman.

‘Pinch   her  nose,  form  a  seal.’

I lean forward. She smells. It’s so strong, meaty.

I put my lips over her mouth, slowly, willing the ambulance to show. I try not to think about what I’m doing. Think about anything else, even Shirley doing Dad is preferable to this. Shirley’s tits, Shirley’s tits, Shirley’s tits.

The woman’s face is cold, clammy. I can taste salt. I close my eyes, blow, but I’m barely touching her, not forming the seal that Shirley’s so keen on. My hair’s covering her face, it makes it easier. I press down harder, blow again. Pretend I’m kissing a mermaid.

‘Well    done,  one    and   two  and    t h r e e  and    four   and    five   and   six…’

Shirley’s counting’s getting slower, her chest heaving.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

‘…twenty-six  and   twenty-seven  and  twenty-eight  and  twenty-nine  and   thirty.’

Mermaid kiss, mermaid kiss.

‘One    and   two  and   three  and    four…’

Dark tiles, T-shaped on the bottom of the pool tell me the wall’s coming. I don’t need the reminder though, I know exactly where I am.

I know the number of strokes, the number of breaths. I close my eyes and I still know where the wall is. I can’t gauge distance on dry land, but in the pool I have an inbuilt GPS system.

I stretch with my arm, a flash of red fingernails. Then my hand pulls me down, flips me over into a tumble turn. My feet plant on the wall, firm, no sliding on wet tiles. Knees bend, I thrust myself forward, arms out in front, head down. Streamline. A short breakout, hips undulating, dolphin kick, then I’m back into my stroke.

I hear the sirens, in the distance, then louder and louder as they approach the shop. An excuse to get away.

My legs may be wobbly but they want me as far away from this as possible. They propel me up and towards the door. I stumble, kick a packet of chewing gum as I go. It spins across the floor, hits the front door as I open it. I pick up the packet, fall out onto the pavement. Fresh air, glorious fresh air. I suck it in as I wave down the ambulance.

Two paramedics jump out, doors slam. They run past, nod at me but don’t stop to talk. I stick two bits of chewing gum in my mouth.

Crunch and chew. Crunch and chew.

I think I’m going to puke. I can feel warm saliva collect in my mouth, a pulse in my gut.

I lean against the shop window, inhale through my nose. I try to breathe the gum, let the mint cleanse me, push out the rich, metallic taste of the old woman. I don’t want to see what they’re doing to her in there. Using defibrillators. Making her back arch and legs quiver.

Shirley and Dad having sex, Shirley and Dad having sex, Shirley and Dad fucking.

My knees buckle and I sit down on the pavement. People walk past, stare at the ambulance, at me, try to peer in the shop window. Nosy bastards. I can see the kids from the High School, getting closer, closer. Girls and boys in blazers and ties and black shoes, pounding along the pavement towards me. Laughing and joking and bumping into each other. After their crisps and their Irn-Bru and their donuts and their ten pee mix-ups.

I spit the gum out into the gutter. Everything’s spinning and there’s black spots in front of my eyes. I think I might pass out. Shirley would never survive another cycle of
CPR
.

I close my eyes, lean forward and put my head between my knees. I don’t care that the kids are getting closer, that they can see me sitting on the pavement. If I keep my head down and my eyes shut, they’ll go straight past and it won’t matter.

I won’t see them, they won’t see me.

Like being underwater, everything muffled.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

With each length, I loosen off. Shoulders, hips, wrists, ankles, neck. Heart pumps. Lungs swell.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

I’ve got the lane to myself. Not many people can be bothered getting up this early to swim.

(late compared to when I used to get up)

The Daybreak Dip.

One of the reasons why I like this time so much. I’m free to power up and down the pool, nobody in my way as I count the metres before work.

400
m.

800
m.

1200
m.

I hear footsteps and hurried voices, then the ambulance doors slam. I jump as the sirens come on again, can see the blue flashing lights behind my closed eyelids. Was she dead? Did they just carry a dead body past me?

No, they wouldn’t bother with the sirens if she was dead.

The noise fades as the ambulance moves further away and I allow myself to break the surface of the water. Open my eyes, everything’s clear and in focus again. The kids are walking past me now, looking down at me, hesitating, staring in the shop window.

‘What happened?’

‘Did somebody die?’

‘That girl’s got blood on her.’

I get to my feet, force myself back inside the shop.

I glance at the clock as I turn to breathe.

Time to get out.

I finish the length, pull my goggles and cap off.

My hair flows out behind me as I float on my back, watch the rise and fall of my chest as my breathing slows, goes back to normal.

‘That you for today?’ Chris asks, still leaning against the wall, arms folded.

‘Yeah, need to get to work.’

‘I’m tired just watching you.’ He yawns, his eyes fill with tears and he wipes them away.