Swimming at Night: A Novel (3 page)

Katie would have held on for longer, treasured every detail, had she known it would be the last time she’d feel her sister in her arms.

(London, October Last Year)

M
ia felt the soft cushion of her sister’s cheek pressed against hers as they held each other. She absorbed the curve of her chest, the slightness of her shoulders, the way Katie had to stand on the balls of her feet to reach.

Mia and Katie rarely hugged. There had been a time, as children, when they were entirely uninhibited with each other’s bodies—squeezing onto the same armchair with their hips pressed tight, plaiting thin sections of each other’s hair and securing bright beads at the ends, practicing flying angels on the sun-warmed sand with their fingers interlaced. She couldn’t say at what point that physical closeness was lost to her. Katie remained warmly tactile; she welcomed people with a hug or kiss, and had an inclusive way of reaching out mid-story to place her hand on someone’s arm.

The last time they had embraced like this must have been on the morning of their mother’s funeral, a year ago. Dressed in black, they had exchanged forthright words on the narrow landing of their
childhood home. Eventually it was Katie who had extended her arms when, in truth, the gesture should have been Mia’s. They had clasped each other and, in whispers broken with relief, a truce was made. But not maintained.

Now, as they held one another in the check-in area at Heathrow, Mia felt a tightening in her throat and the prick of tears beginning beneath her eyelids. She stiffened and let go. She wouldn’t look at Katie as she picked up her backpack and hoisted it over her shoulders, tugging her hair free from beneath it.

“So this is it,” Katie said.

“I suppose so.”

“Got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Passport? Tickets? Currency?”

“Everything.”

“And Finn’s meeting you shortly?”

“Yes.” Mia had arranged it so his and Katie’s paths wouldn’t have to cross. “Thanks for bringing me,” she added, touched that Katie had taken the day off work to do so. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to say good-bye properly.” Katie was dressed in a well-cut gray dress beneath a light caramel jacket. She slipped her hands into the wide pockets. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you recently.”

Her gaze slid to the floor; she’d been finding reasons to stay away.

“Mia,” she said, taking a small step forward. “I know it’s probably seemed like I’m not happy for you—about you traveling. It’s just hard. You leaving. That’s all.”

“I know.”

Katie reached out and took her hands. Her sister’s fingers were warm and dry from her pockets and her own felt clammy within
them. “I’m sorry if London hasn’t been right for you. I feel like I pushed you into it.” Katie twisted Mia’s silver thumb ring between her fingers as she said, “I just thought, after Mum, it would be good for us to stay together. I know you’ve been having a tough time lately—and I’m sorry if you haven’t felt like you could come to me.”

An oily slick of guilt slid down the back of Mia’s throat:
How could I come to you?

She thought back to the day she’d booked this trip. She had woken on their bathroom floor, her cheek pressed into the cool, tiled floor, which smelled of bleach. Her dress—a jade one of Katie’s—had twisted around her waist and her shoes had been abandoned, one beneath the sink, the other caught on the pedal of the bin.

Katie, wrapped in a soft blue towel, had been standing in the doorway. “Oh, Mia . . . ”

Mia’s head had throbbed and the sour taste of spirits furred the back of her throat. She had pushed herself upright and a bolt of pain clenched at her temples. Snapshots of her evening flashed in her mind: the low-lit red booth, the empty whisky glasses, the grungy beat of an R&B track, the musky tang of sweat in the air, another round, a cheer of male voices, a familiar face, the irrepressible desire for risk. She remembered slinging her bag over her shoulder, tipping the final whisky down her throat, and then weaving along a darkened corridor. The memory of what happened next was so fresh and laced with so much shame, that she knew she had to leave. Leave London. Leave her sister.

A passenger announcement boomed over the loudspeaker, bringing her back to the present.

Katie said, “I worry about you.”

Mia withdrew her hand, pretending to adjust her backpack straps. “I’ll be fine.”

They both turned as a middle-aged couple hurtled past, the man muttering, “Christ!” as he pushed a luggage trolley behind his wife, who was struggling to run in heels, her painted fingernails gripping a bundle of documents. The man glanced across at Katie. Even when rushing for planes, even when their wives were at their sides, men couldn’t help but look. They were drawn to her like bees to a honey pot, or like flies to shit as Mia had once said in anger. It wasn’t just Katie’s petite figure or honey-blonde hair, it was a warm confidence that breathed through her pores, saying
I know who I am.

Katie didn’t notice the admiring glance as her attention had been caught by someone else. Finn came loping towards them wearing his daily uniform of T-shirt, jeans, and Converse sneakers. A tattered army-green backpack hung easily off one shoulder.

Katie took a slight step backwards, aligning herself with Mia, and fed her hands deep into her pockets.

Finn’s gaze moved slowly over them both. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in an easy, wide smile. “The Greene sisters!” If there was any awkwardness on his part, he didn’t show it. “Coming with us, Katie?”

“I’ll be living the trip vicariously from all the e-mails Mia will be sending.”

Mia smiled. “Hint duly noted.”

An airport vehicle towing a row of luggage trolleys beeped as it rolled towards them, causing the three of them to bunch together.

“So how are things?” Finn asked Katie. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has. Everything is fine, thank you. Work’s busy. But good. And you? How are you?”

“Feeling pretty pleased about having a year off.”

“You both must be. It’s California first?”

“Yes, for a few weeks of coast-side cruising, and then on to Australia.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’m incredibly jealous.”

Is she?
Mia wondered.
Would she want this: wearing her life on her back and moving from place to place with no plans?

“Right,” Katie said, taking the car keys from her handbag. “I best get going.” She glanced at Finn, her face turning serious. “You will look after her, won’t you?”

“You know that’s like asking a goldfish to babysit a piranha.”

Her features softened a little. “Just bring her back safely.”

“I promise.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Take care.”

She nodded quickly, pressing her lips together. “You’ll call?” she said to Mia. “You’ve got your cell?”

“I’m not taking it.” Then, seeing Katie’s expression, she added, “It’s too expensive abroad.” But cost wasn’t the real reason: Mia didn’t want to be contactable.

“I’ve got mine if you need us,” Finn said. “You’ve got my number still?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

There was a brief silence between them all. Mia wondered what Katie would do with the rest of her day. Catch up with a friend over coffee? Go to the gym? Meet Ed for lunch? She realized she had no idea how her sister spent her time.

“Can you let me know when you’ve arrived?”

“Sure,” Mia replied, with a shrug she hadn’t intended. She wanted to tell Katie that she loved her, or say how much she’d miss her, but somehow she couldn’t find the words. It had always been that way for her. Instead, she lifted a hand in wave, then turned and left with Finn.

*   *   *

Pressing her nose against the window, she watched London disappearing beneath the white wings of the plane. They rose through a layer of cloud and suddenly the view was swallowed. She sank back in her seat, her heart rate gradually slowing. She had left.

On her lap rested her travel journal. She’d bought it at Camden Market from a stall that sold weather vanes, maps, and antique pocket watches. She’d been drawn to the sea-blue fabric that bound the cover and the thick cream pages that smelled like promises.

She opened it, clicked her pen against her collarbone, and wrote her first two lines.

People go traveling for two reasons: because they are searching for something, or because they are running from something. For me, it’s both.

She tucked the journal into the seat pocket alongside the laminated flight-safety procedures, and then closed her eyes.

*   *   *

As the plane descended over the Sierra Nevada range, Mia gazed at the clouds drifting below. They looked soft and inviting, and she imagined diving into them, being caught in their fleecy hold, and floating with the air currents.

“Not as comfy as they look,” Finn said, as if reading her mind.

Finn Adam Tyler was her best friend and had been since they’d met, age eleven, on the school bus. Four weeks ago she’d called him at work to tell him she was going traveling. She was sitting on the kitchen worktop, her heels dangling against the fridge door. When he answered, she said only, “I’ve got a plan.”

“What do I need?” he’d replied, a throwback to their teenage years when a plan, if conceived by one of them, had to be adhered to by the other.

She grinned. “Your passport, a resignation letter, a backpack, and a typhoid jab.”

There was a pause. Then, “Mia, what have you done?”

“Reserved two round-the-world tickets: America, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, Samoa, Vietnam, and Cambodia. The flights leave in four weeks. You coming?”

There was silence. It had hung between them long enough for her to wonder whether her impulsiveness had been a mistake, whether he’d say of course he couldn’t just up and leave his job.

“So this typhoid jab,” he’d said eventually, “is it in the arm or the ass?”

She looked at Finn now: his knees were pushed against the seat in front, a newspaper spread on his lap. The mousey curls of the schoolboy she’d known had now been cut short and rough stubble shadowed his chin.

At the end of their row a voluptuous woman with dangling gold earrings unclipped her seat belt and stepped into the aisle. She moved towards the toilets, gripping the backs of headrests for balance. Mia turned to Finn. “I need to talk to you.”

“If it’s about that last meal you didn’t get, I swear, I thought you wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

She smiled. “It’s something important.”

Finn folded the newspaper over and gave her his full attention.

A few rows in front the faint whimpering of a toddler started up.

Mia tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “This may sound odd,” she began uncertainly, “but after I booked our tickets, I
realized that there was another place I needed to visit on this trip.” She should have talked to Finn about it sooner, only she was afraid to voice the idea in case she set in motion something she wasn’t ready for. Sometimes she wasn’t aware that an idea was brewing until it suddenly popped into her mind and she acted upon it. “I’ve booked us an extra stop.”

“What?”

“After San Francisco, we’ve got a flight to Maui.”

“Maui?” He looked blank. “Why?”

“It’s where Mick lives.”

She waited a beat for him to place the name. It had been a long time since he’d heard it.

“Your dad?”

She nodded.

The whimpering child had found its stride and a captive audience; the crying grew louder and something was tossed into the aisle.

Finn was staring at her. “You haven’t talked about him in years. You want to see him?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“Has he . . . have you been in contact?”

She shook her head. “No. Neither of us.” Mick had left when she and Katie were young children, leaving their mother to bring up her two daughters alone.

“I don’t understand. Why now?”

It was a fair question, but one she wasn’t sure how to answer just yet. She shrugged. Ahead, she heard a taut whisper from the toddler’s parent: “That. Is. Enough.”

Finn ran the knuckle of his thumb under his chin, a habitual gesture when something was worrying him. “What does Katie think?”

“I haven’t told her.”

She could see Finn’s surprise and sensed he wanted to say more, but Mia turned to the window, ending the conversation.

She willed her thoughts to drift away with the clouds, knowing it wasn’t the only thing she was keeping from her sister.

(Cornwall/London, March)

K
atie sat pin straight on the church pew, her feet pressed together. Biting sea air crept through the cracks in the stained-glass windows and twisted beneath the heavy oak door. Her fingers were curled around a damp tissue, Ed’s hand resting on top. Eighteen months earlier had seen her seated in this same pew when they buried her mother, only then it had been Mia’s fingers linked through her own.

Her gaze was fixed on the coffin. Everything about it—the polished shine to the elm wood, the brass clasps keeping it sealed, the white lilies arranged on top—suddenly looked wrong. Why had she chosen to bury Mia beside their mother, when her sister had never once visited the grave? Wouldn’t cremation have been more suitable, her ashes dispersing on a breeze over a wild sea?
Why don’t I know what you’d have wanted?

It would have been almost impossible to conceive that Mia was inside the coffin had Katie not decided, two days ago, that she needed to see the body. Ed had been cautious on her behalf. “Are
you sure? We don’t know how she may look after the fall.” That’s what people were referring to it as:
the fall
, as if Mia had no more than slipped in the shower, or toppled off a stool.

She wouldn’t be dissuaded. Seeing Mia’s body would be agony, but to not see it would leave her with the smallest fraction of doubt—and if she allowed that doubt to grow over time to hope, she’d be in danger of deluding herself.

When Katie had stepped behind the heavy purple drape in the funeral parlor, she could have fooled herself that Mia was merely sleeping. Her willowy figure, the sweep of dark hair, the curve of her lips, looked as they always had. Yet the proof of death lay in Mia’s skin. After months of traveling she would have been deeply tanned, but death had left behind its ghostly pallor so that her skin appeared a strange insipid shade, like milk spilled over a dark floor.