Swimming at Night: A Novel (4 page)

The funeral director had asked if Katie wished to choose an outfit for Mia to be buried in, but she had said no. It had seemed presumptuous to dress Mia, for whom fashion was something indefinable. She fell in love with clothes for their story, choosing a loose shift dress in a deep blue that reminded her of the sea, or picking a secondhand pair of heels because she liked to imagine the places they’d already walked.

On the night Mia died she had been wearing a pair of teal shorts. They had been arranged too high up her waist, not slung low over her hips as she would have worn them. Her feet were bare, a silver toe ring on each foot, her nails unpainted. On her top half she was wearing a cream vest over a turquoise string bikini. A delicate necklace strung with tiny white shells rested at her throat, a single pearl at its center. She looked too casual for death.

Katie had reached out and placed her hand on Mia’s forearm. It felt cold and leaden beneath her fingertips. Slowly, she traced her fingers towards Mia’s inner elbow where thin blue veins
crisscrossed, no longer carrying blood around her body. She drew her hand over the ridge of Mia’s biceps, across her shoulder, and along the smooth skin at the nape of her neck. She brushed the faint scar on her temple, a silver crescent, and then her palm rested finally against Mia’s cheek. She knew the back of Mia’s skull had been cracked open on impact, but there were no other marks on her body. Katie was disappointed: she had been hoping for a clue, something the authorities had missed that would prove Mia had died for a reason more bearable than suicide.

Carefully, she untucked Mia’s vest and rearranged her shorts so they rested on her hip bones. Then she leaned close to her ear. Her sister’s skin smelled unfamiliar: antiseptic and embalming lotion. She closed her eyes as she whispered, “I am so sorry.”

“Katie?” Ed was squeezing her hand, pulling her thoughts back to the funeral. “It’s you, now.”

He moved his hand to her elbow and helped her stand. Her legs felt light and insubstantial as she left the pew and drifted towards the lectern like a ghost. She tucked her tissue into her coat pocket and pulled from the other a square piece of card on which she’d noted a few sentences.

She glanced up. The church was full. People were standing three deep at the back. She saw old neighbors, friends of Mia’s from her school days, a group of Katie’s girlfriends who’d made the long journey from London. There were many people she didn’t recognize, too. A girl in a black woolen hat sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking. Two rows back, a thin young man blew his nose into a yellow handkerchief and then tucked it beneath his order of service. She knew that the circumstances of Mia’s death would be lingering in everyone’s thoughts, but she didn’t have the answers to address their questions. How could she when she didn’t know what to believe herself?

Katie gripped the lectern, cleared her throat twice, and then began. “While the authorities have made a gray area of Mia’s death, her life was a rainbow of color. As a sister, Mia was dazzling indigo, challenging me to look at the world from new perspectives and see its different shades. She was also the deep violet that drove all her actions straight from her heart, which made her passionate, spontaneous, and brave. As a friend she was vibrant orange, spirited, plucky, and on the lookout for adventure. As a daughter, I think our mum—” She struggled on that last word. Closing her eyes, she focused on swallowing the rising lump of emotion.

When she opened them, she could see Ed nodding at her, encouraging her on. She took a deep breath and began the sentence again. “As a daughter, I think our mum would have said Mia was love red, as she filled her with happiness, warmth, and laughter. She was also the sea green of the ocean, in which she spent her childhood splashing and tumbling through waves. Her laughter—infectious, giddy, and frequent—was brilliant yellow, a beam of sunlight falling on whoever she laughed with. And now that Mia has gone, for me only cool, empty blue remains in the space where her rainbow once danced.”

Katie left the card on the lectern and somehow her legs carried her back to Ed’s side.

*   *   *

The coffin had been lowered into the ground and the funeral party were returning to their cars when Katie saw him.

Finn looked different from the man she’d said good-bye to at the airport. His usually fair skin was bronzed, his hair lightened by the sun to a golden brown, and he looked older, too, having lost
the boyish softness in his cheeks. Finn’s family had been unable to get in contact with him until three days ago. He had boarded the first flight back to London and arrived yesterday. Flanked by two of his brothers, he glanced up and saw her. His eyes were bloodshot and the skin around his nose was red raw. He moved towards her warily.

“Katie—” he said, but faltered when he saw her expression.

Her voice came out as cold and flat as the sky. “You left her, Finn.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed. She saw that his lashes were damp. Beyond them a car door slammed and an engine started.

Katie was standing with her back to the stone archway at the rear of the church. She thrust her hands deep into her coat pockets. “You were supposed to be traveling
together
. What happened?”

The question seemed painful for him and he looked beyond her as he answered. “We had an argument. It should never have happened. Mia didn’t want to be in Australia—”

“So she went to Bali,” Katie finished. “Why?”

Finn’s left foot, in an unpolished black shoe, jigged up and down. She remembered the gesture; she’d once thought it was a mark of impatience but later understood it to be a sign of nervousness. “We’d met people who were going out there.”

“I just don’t understand any of it.” Katie’s hands were beginning to tremble in her pockets. She balled them into fists and lifted her chin. “Why was she on that cliff top?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t speak after Australia. She e-mailed once—”

“You didn’t think to tell anyone?” Her voice was growing louder and she was aware of glances being exchanged between Finn’s brothers, hanging back a few steps away.

He turned his palms towards the heavy gray sky, helpless under the fire of her questions. “I thought Mia would have said—”

“You should have stopped her!” A sharp gust whipped Katie’s hair in front of her face. She swiped it aside.

“She is headstrong,” he said. “You know that.”

“
Was
headstrong.
Was
. She’s dead!” The last word was the cold truth between them and the power of it pushed Katie on, anger rising like venom in her throat. “You promised me you’d look after her.”

“I know—”

“She trusted you, Finn. I trusted you!” She stepped forward, extended her arm, and slapped him, once, hard, on the left cheek.

Above, two seagulls screamed.

No one moved. Finn, shocked, held his face. Katie felt a smarting in her fingertips. After a moment it looked as if he was going to say something, but all that came out was a sob. She had never seen him cry before and was shocked at the way his face collapsed, as if the tears dragged all of his features downwards.

She watched, motionless, until she felt the firm pressure of Ed’s hand on her shoulder. He steered her away, moving towards an area near Mia’s grave where tributes had been laid. He didn’t mention what had just happened, but simply buttoned up his dark overcoat, and then began carefully picking up the tributes. One at a time, he read each message aloud.

Katie wasn’t listening. She was still thinking of the red handprint she’d left on Finn’s cheek, as if he’d been branded. She had never hit anyone before. Ed would later tell her that Finn was grieving, too, and she should have allowed him the chance to explain—but what was there to say? Mia was dead. If she didn’t blame Finn, she was only left with herself.

“This is unusual,” Ed commented. He was holding a single
flower; from its bloodred center three white petals swept outwards like fans. He passed it to Katie, who lightly fingered the velvet petals. It looked like a type of orchid and she brought it close to her face to smell it. The scent conjured up another place—somewhere sweet and warm, filled with fragrance and light.

When she looked up, Ed was holding the small card that came with the flower. “What is it?” she asked, noticing the change in his expression.

He said nothing, just handed the card to her.

Turning it over, she saw that the sender hadn’t included his or her name. There was only a single word on the card:
Sorry.

*   *   *

After the funeral there had been drinks at the village pub, where people huddled by the fire, stamping their feet to get the blood moving again. Katie stayed for an hour at most, making sure she thanked everyone who’d journeyed a long way, before quietly slipping out.

As she and Ed crossed the parking lot, someone called out, “You’re leaving?”

They both turned. It was Jess, her best friend, a girl who used to take Katie dancing to a bump-’n’-grind club in a dingy corner of their college town, but who now had a high-flying job as the sales director of a pharmaceutical company.

“Sorry, I know we’ve hardly talked, but . . . I . . . ”

“Katie,” Jess said, flicking her cigarette to the ground. “It’s okay.”

“Thanks for coming today. It means a lot. And thanks for your messages, too.” Jess had called every day since Mia’s death, leaving voicemails telling Katie how loved she was and passing on news and condolences from mutual friends. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I keep meaning to ring . . . but, well . . . ” Katie stalled, not
knowing how to explain. She was grateful to Jess—to all her friends—but she hadn’t felt ready to talk about Mia. Not yet.

“You’ve lost your sister. I understand.” Jess stepped forward and wrapped Katie in her arms. “No more apologies, okay? Just take your time. We’re all here for you when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” she sighed, breathing in the cigarette smoke that clung to Jess’s hair.

Jess squeezed Katie’s hands and then turned to Ed, wagging her finger. “You make sure you look after her, you hear?”

He smiled, putting an arm around Katie’s waist. “I intend to.”

It was Jess who’d introduced Katie to Ed at a riverboat party on the Thames. Katie had just come out of a relationship and wasn’t interested in rejoining the dating scene so soon. Yet Ed, with his handsome face, quick-witted banter, and devastating smile, managed to persuade her otherwise. They had slipped free of the party the moment the boat moored and went on to a bar where they shared a bottle of Merlot and talked and laughed until the place closed. Eighteen months later, Ed got down on one knee to offer her a diamond ring and a lifetime together. She found herself grinning and saying yes.

It was a long drive back to London, but Katie couldn’t stay in Cornwall with the sharp sea air and the waves that whispered with memories. In the apartment, she unzipped her black dress, which fell to the floor with a swoosh. She stepped from the dark puddle into a fleecy sweater and pair of jogging bottoms belonging to Mia. The hems trailed around her feet as she padded along the hall. She hesitated only a moment before entering Mia’s room.

Her sister’s backpack was propped against the bed. It had been flown back from Bali several days ago, but Katie hadn’t wanted to look through it before. Airport tags curled around its straps and strands of Indian leather were attached to each zip. There was a
badge on the front of a woman in a hula skirt, and a picture of a daisy had been doodled on a side pocket in thick black marker. She unbuckled it, loosened the drawstring, and reached inside.

Pushing her hand into the belly of the bag, she felt her way through various items, pulling out one at a time like a game of lucky dip. She tugged free a burnt-orange beach dress that smelled of jasmine laced with the holiday tang of sunscreen and salt. She smoothed out the creases and then set it on the bed. Carefully, Katie removed more items: a pair of Havaiana flip-flops with worn-down soles; a travel towel stuffed into a net bag; an iPod in a clear case; two novels by authors Katie hadn’t heard of; a slim flashlight gritted with sand; and a man’s sweater, with thumb holes in the sleeves. Finn’s?

She continued searching until her hand met something hard. Katie had been told that Mia’s travel journal had been located by the police, who had examined it, but found nothing that could be considered as evidence.

Mia had always kept journals. Katie found it disconcerting that her sister preferred to share her feelings on paper rather than in person. As a teenager Katie had found the temptation to read one irresistible. She had twice searched Mia’s room hoping to uncover information that only her journal would reveal, but, for all Mia’s clutter and disorganization, she was fastidious about hiding them.

Carefully, Katie slid the journal free. Glimmering sea-blue fabric was stretched across the cover and it felt heavy in her hands. She traced a finger down the spine and then opened it carefully, as if Mia’s words were butterflies that might flutter free into the air.

She turned the pages slowly, admiring her sister’s elegant handwriting. In some things, Mia was lackadaisical and careless—her wallet was a brick of receipts, and her books were dog-eared with doodles filling the margins—yet the handwriting in her journal was
graceful and refined. The entries were crafted around pencil sketches, handwritten notes, corners of maps, and fragments of memorabilia from places she’d visited. Each page was a work of art brimming with its own tale.

“Everything okay?” Ed was standing in the doorway to Mia’s room.

She nodded.

He glanced at the backpack. “You’re going through her things?”

“I’ve found her travel journal.”

He straightened, surprised. “I didn’t realize she kept one.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “Are you going to read it?”

“I think so. Yes. There’s so much I don’t know about her trip.”
And about her
, she thought. They’d barely spoken while Mia was away. She wondered when this distance had grown between them. They used to be close once, but not lately. She sighed. “Why did she go, Ed?”