Swim Until You Can't See Land (22 page)

She took the photo expecting to see a dog. Instead she saw a young girl and a woman. The photo peeling at the corners, warm from Marek’s body heat.

‘Is this your family?’ She asked.

‘I was too late. We were planning to leave Poland, but I was too late. I came home from work and the gate was open. I don’t know where they are.’ His voice broke and he coughed, turned away and drank once more from his hipflask.

‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry.’

Sabine laid a hand on his arm. His jumper was damp, the wool cool and itchy. She looked out to sea again, the seal had gone.

‘That is why I take people like you to France,’ he said and shook her hand away.

Marièle’s father had closed the blackout curtains and lit a candle. The wireless seemed to crackle in time with the flicker of the flame. She couldn’t keep her eyes from the dripping wax.

THIS IS THE BBC HOME SERVICE.

HERE IS THE NEWS AND THIS IS

ALVAR LIDELL READING IT.

Marièle’s father leant forward and turned the volume up.

The candle stood on top of the piano. Marièle watched the shadows it cast on the wall, the floating dust motes, her mind wandering from what was being broadcast on the wireless. One of the last times all four of them had been together, they’d sat like this, listening to the
BBC
broadcast. When it had finished, they’d turned off the wireless and George had played the piano while they sang along.

‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ (Till the Boys Come Home)

Lili Marlene

Over three years now since they’d got the telegram about George. God, where had the time gone? Three years and the war still going on.

The Seafox drifted just off the coast of France. It was dark, but Sabine could hear the sea hitting land somewhere in the distance.

Aleksy held a torch, flashed a message.

.. / .- -- / ... .- -... .. -. . / ...- .- .-.. --- .. ...

They waited, scanning the darkness in front of them. And then Sabine saw it. A light flashing back at them.

.. / .- -- / ... .- -... .. -. . / ...- .- .-.. --- .. ...

Aleksy put the torch down.

‘Not long now,’ said Marek.

YOU’RE LISTENING TO THE BBC WORLD SERVICE

AND NOW THE PERSONAL MESSAGES BULLETIN.

Marièle’s father turned down the volume.

‘Leave it,’ said Mama. ‘I like to listen to these.’

‘They don’t mean anything to us.’

‘Ça m’est égal,
I don’t care.’

Her father raised an eyebrow at Marièle, turned up the volume.

REBECCA IS TAKING THE TRAIN TO LONDON.

THE APPLE CRUMBLE IS PIPING HOT.

THE ELEPHANT NEEDS A DRINK

‘I’m going to make supper,’ Mama said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

‘What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to listen to this?’

‘I’m going to make supper.’

Marièle stood to help, but Mama waved her back into her seat. 

‘Non, non, it’s your last evening at home, you sit there.’

Marièle felt the heaviness of her last night with them, knew Mama and Father felt it too.

JANET HAS MADE A FRUIT CAKE

THE CAT IS WEARING A BLUE RIBBON

‘Some sort of code, I suppose,’ Father said and puffed on his pipe.

‘I don’t know, it certainly sounds like that. Nonsense, isn’t it?’

Father nodded. She listened to the phut, phut, phut as he sucked on his pipe.

THE DOG BURIED THE BONE IN THE PARK

‘Probably for those top brass chaps you ferry around London,’ Father said.

‘I would imagine so, but they don’t tell us anything.’

JOHN IS TAKING LOUISE TO THE PICTURES

Her father put down his pipe, reached across, put his hand on hers.

‘George was right, Marie. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll never forgive myself for fighting with him that night.’

‘It didn’t mean anything, it was just a silly argument.’

‘Promise me you’ll be careful, when you go back.’ His breath was smoky, smelt of tobacco.

She nodded, saw the tears in his eyes and couldn’t reply. Her throat was tight, squeezing her voice down, down, down. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, when Mama came back into the room carrying a pot of tea
.

Marek raised a hand. Sabine listened. She could hear it, above the sound of the sea lapping against the felucca, the sound of another boat approaching. The oars as they slapped the top of the water.

Marek whistled and someone whistled back.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Piotr said. ‘It’s all going to plan.’

‘
Bonjour
,’ Aleksy called as the rowboat came into view.

There were three men aboard, one rowing, another sat in the stern while the third stood in the bow. It pulled up alongside the felucca.

‘And I thought the Seafox was small,’ Sabine said to Marek.

One of the men threw a rope to Aleksy, who caught it, wound it in a figure of eight, pulled the rowboat in until it bobbed against the side of the Seafox. Piotr and Aleksy lifted the cargo, passed it to the men on the rowboat, who handed over a few packages in return.

‘I hope you have some food in there,’ said Aleksy, as he traded boxes of supplies.

‘Better food than you had coming over, I’m sure,’ replied the man standing in the row boat.

‘I take it you’re Sabine,’ he held out a hand. Sabine leant over the side of the felucca and shook it. It was softer than she’d expected. He was dressed in a brown leather jacket and had a scarf tied round his neck.

‘
En fait, quel âge avez-vous
?’ he asked.

‘It’s not polite to ask a woman her age. Monsieur Sylvan, I presume?’

‘I’m Alex, that’s Sebastian,’ he pointed to the man who had been rowing the boat, ‘and that’s Roy, but no point getting to know him. You two are swapping.’

‘What was that?’ Roy said, standing. The boat wobbled underneath him and he grabbed onto Alex to steady himself.

‘They will take you home,’ said Alex.

‘Smashing, thanks for everything.’ Roy replied.

‘
De rien
.’

Roy shook his head, looked at Sabine.

‘Keep speaking in bloody French, I haven’t got a clue what they’re on about, this could be a boat to Timbuktu for all I know.’

‘You’re fine,’ she replied.

‘First thing I do when I get back, is learn some bloody French.’

Marek held out a hand, helped Roy climb up into the felucca.

‘Some trade this is,’ Marek said, ‘I hand over this lovely
mademoiselle
and we get this in return.’

Sabine looked around the felucca. Just her left now.

‘Thank you, Marek.’

Marek nodded. He took her hand, squeezed it between both his own. Rougher than Alex’s had been.

‘
Powodzenia
, stay safe,’ he said. ‘You take care of this one, Alex.’

Her hand felt cold and empty when he let go and she wished he was still holding her.   ‘Goodbye,’ said Piotr and waved to her, ‘
powodzenia
.’

Aleksy untied the rope, threw it to Alex, and Sebastian began to row away from the felucca.

Marek held up a hand. Sabine kept her eyes on it until it disappeared into the darkness.

‘
Bienvenue en France
.’

April
2008

All Going Wrong For Wright

Swimmer forced to pull out of Olympic trials

Olympic hopeful Hannah Wright has been forced to pull out of the British Championships, which will take place in Sheffield later this month. Hannah, who currently holds the British record for both the 50m and the 100m Butterfly, has been suffering from a shoulder injury and is unable to compete at the trials.

‘I’m really upset that I’m not able to defend my British titles,’ said Hannah, ‘but it’s taking longer than I’d hoped to shake off this injury. I’m still hopeful that I’ll make the team for the Beijing Olympics.’

15

R u free 2day? Do u want 2 meet up? x

I still cant believe what happened. It was amazin! xx

U r gorgeous, the sexiest girl Iv ever met X

Do u want 2 do something 2nite? xx

R u ignoring me? X

What have I done wrong? Why wont u reply? X

I scroll down the inbox in my mobile, delete messages as I go. Wish I could delete Calum as easily.

I’m such a bitch to think like that, but he just won’t leave me alone. Texting, trying to call me. I’ve been ignoring my phone for the last couple of days in the hope that he’ll take the hint.

It’s a joy to get back in the pool. My shoulder’s still niggling, but I can deal with it. The benefits of a swim outweigh any pain at the moment. Just half an hour to myself, away from Calum’s constant texting, Dad’s worried looks across the living room, Shirley’s questions.

Are you okay?

You look a bit pale.

Has something happened?

You know you can talk to me if you’re worried or upset. 

You’re due some annual leave, why don’t you take a few days off this week?

Thank fuck for annual leave. I can take my time in the pool, no rushing, no clock watching.

I treat myself to a shivery bite when I’m out, a hot chocolate and a Twix from the vending machine. I’m on holiday after all. I sit at one of the plastic tables in the café, stir the frothy cream into my hot chocolate as I watch the old women going into the pool for the over-
50
s Aquafit class.

Did Marièle ever go? Have any of them noticed she’s missing?

I dunk a finger of Twix in my drink, suck at the chocolate and caramel before biting through soggy biscuit.

The women in the pool have all linked arms and are walking round and round in circles. The instructor on the poolside shouts at them to change direction every so often. The water in the centre of them swirls and whirlpools.

I finish my Twix, gulp down the powdery dregs of my drink. As I stand to throw the empty wrapper in the bin, I spot him through the window.

Calum.

He’s sitting on the pavement next to my locked-up bike.

Fuck sake, what does he want?

It’s all schoolboy angst and drama. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but it was a shag, that’s all. And one I wish hadn’t happened.

The pool windows are tinted so I can watch him without him realising. He’s sitting on the kerb, picking at the ground with a stick. His schoolbag lies next to him. I fluctuate between pity and anger. If I was sixteen again then yes, I would definitely be flattered by all the attention. But I’m not, and I’ve got a feeling he wouldn’t be so interested in me if I was sixteen. I can’t believe he’s so besotted after one fumble in the back room.

I sit back down, try to work out an escape plan.

The over-
50
s are lying on their backs, arms at their sides, using their hands to scull, to try and keep them on the surface of the water. A couple of them manage to stay prone, but most of them sink in the middle.

I could leave my bike? Sneak round the back of the pool and walk home?

Or I could just hang around here, wait for him to give up and go away?

Come on, Hannah, stop being an idiot.

I’m the grown up, he’s the schoolboy, isn’t that what I keep telling myself?

I sling my bag over my shoulder, head outside.

Chris is at the door having a fag.

‘You’re late today, aren’t you?’ He asks.

‘Yeah, got a few days off work, so I’m not rushing about.’

‘Doing anything exciting?’

‘Nah, not really.’

Calum clocks us, gets to his feet. I’m such a bitch, but I know he’s watching us, so I put on a bit of an act. Pretend to be really engrossed in Chris’s chat, laugh at his jokes, even though he’s talking utter pish and I’m not really listening.

Calum looks properly hurt when I eventually walk towards him. I feel rotten, regret acting like that. 

I had sex with him, I should be grown up enough to deal with the fallout.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What choice do I have? You keep ignoring me.’

My pity dissolves again, replaced by the pissed-off part of me. I ignore him, unlock my bike, let my hair fall in front of my face to avoid eye contact. How can I have been so intimate with him a few days ago and now feel this awkward around him?

‘Are you just going to keep on ignoring me then?’ He asks.

I unwind the chain from the frame of my bike.

‘You just sleep with me and that’s it?’