Читать книгу: «Just As You Are», страница 3

And I felt disappointed by that. Not disappointed like I’d felt with Norse God – because that had been nothing. But disappointed because I liked Nick, in a way that I probably shouldn’t. I liked him more than any of the guys I’d been on awkward dating app first dates with. I liked him enough to want to see him again. I liked him in a way that made me not care about what I ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ do, because I knew what I wanted right in this moment – to be with him, to sleep with him, to stay here, and wake up next to him.

As if reading my mind, he waited until I had dried off, and wrapped the towel around my body. ‘Do you want to stay?’

I nodded.

He led me down the white-tiled hallway to his bedroom. Without saying a word, he leaned down and lifted me up – effortlessly – his muscles flexing, he slid me onto the bed. I’d always dreamed of an amazing man, a sexy, wild version of me, a beach hut somewhere, but nothing like this.

Was this happening? My stomach fluttered and I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his face towards me. He kissed me again, passionately. ‘I like it when you do that,’ he said.

He traced his lips over my lips, then my cheek, following the line of my neck down the right side, leaving soft kisses that gave me goosebumps, then licking in long strokes, and finally tiny bites. He tugged gently on my hair, then a little stronger, pulling my head back, and exposing my neck to his kisses.

He moved his hands to cup my breasts. I arched my back, and he sucked my right nipple in his mouth. I moaned with intensity, all other thoughts immediately leaving my head.

‘I thought you’d be the noisy type.’ He licked between my breasts and looked up at me.

‘Do you like noisy?’ I asked coyly, letting my fingers float across his perfect chest and abs, honed to perfection, smooth and taut.

‘God,’ he moaned, ‘I love it.’

I’d always dreamed of a summer fling, but nothing like this.

I curled my legs around his back, locking my ankles, pulling him closer to me. Without thinking, I leaned forward, licked his neck, then whispered in his ear, ‘I want you.’

His hot breath was on my chin, on my neck, as he ground into me. Our bodies rocked against each other. He grabbed onto my thighs where he was holding me, so hard, that he left fingerprints. I scratched my fingernails down his back. The pain and pleasure pushed us both over the edge in a large shudder. He groaned and fell into me, gently placing me back on the bed, kissing my lips gently.

We stayed there for a minute, not moving.

‘I did not know this was going to happen,’ I said, panting from the effort.

‘Why are you panting? I did all the work!’ He laughed.

I swatted his arm. ‘I was doing a lot of hip action there too, buddy. It takes yoga classes to get that flexible.’

He leaned back and looked into my eyes. ‘That was amazing.’

‘Sleep time?’ I asked, suddenly exhausted and wanting to feel his warm body pressed against me all night.

‘Sleep time,’ he said, kissing me gently on the tip of my nose. ‘My bed is king size. It’s comfy, I promise.’

He tossed me a T-shirt and shorts from the top of the wicker basket. ‘I only wore them earlier today for ten minutes – they’re clean.’

When I put them on, they smelled of him slightly, his minty aftershave. I collapsed onto the bed and yawned again, almost slipping instantly into sleep.

Nick crawled on the bed next to me, one arm around me, tucking my hair away from my face. I wanted him to kiss me, but before I could do anything, I fell asleep feeling his soft warm breath tickling my skin and listening to the sounds of the ocean in the distance.

Chapter 3

‘Good morning, sleepy,’ Nick said, standing there, his perfect body in perfect boxers, smiling, an orange juice in his hand. ‘Do you want coffee?’

I nodded limply, because everything seemed to hurt my head.

‘Hangovers,’ he’d said, ‘are the version of adult nightmares that you can’t wake up from.’

We laughed and delicately tried to eat toast and sip water. Then we spent an hour laying next to each other, our arms and legs touching, intertwined, chatting about places we wanted to visit, and places we’d loved, and our favourite books, and music – all the things that you loved discovering about another person. And there was no doubt about it, Nick was a nerd, a poetry nerd at that. He liked Yeats, but mostly E.E. Cummings. I knew that he liked his coffee extra black, extra shot. That he visited him mum every second Saturday. That he would move to Canada if he could, to the west coast.

Finally, I knew I had to get up and go back to my hotel, to shower, and sleep, and feel human again. I mused about how to say goodbye without making it uncomfortable or strange. Of course, I wanted to see him again, but I had no idea if he felt the same way. For a moment I stood awkwardly in my black dress, my shoes in my hand, looking around his room. Did we swap numbers, or email addresses, or something? Or maybe we just kissed … and said goodbye like mature adults and went on with our lives.

‘How about a seafood lunch later?’ Nick said casually, pulling on a T-shirt after a quick shower. ‘I’m flying back tonight, but I could see you before three o’clock.’ He paused. ‘Only if you want?’

Sure,’ I replied excitedly. He wants to see me again.

‘My number is 04—’

‘Wait. My phone is out of battery and there’s no way I’ll remember that.’ I laughed but then it hurt my head a little, so I stopped. ‘Ouch.’

‘Poor you. OK here’s my number.’ He said quickly scribbling it on a piece of paper and handing it to me. ‘Text me where and when, and I’ll be there.’

‘Great,’ I said and pocketed it, giving him a long hug before slipping out the front door.

Outside, I walked quickly back across the sandy beach where just hours ago I’d been naked. The sun was up and blinding already at this early hour, there was no breeze, and the humidity sat heavy in the air. I was sweating in seconds as I trudged through the sand, step by step. I wandered down a road and then left along a small beach cove. Where was my hotel? And, where was I? Feeling confused and disorientated, I’d turned down a few streets and walked for a while, before realising they were dead ends. Was I even going the right way?

After the longest, hottest walk I’d found I’d taken a wrong turn, and had to backtrack twenty long, hot minutes before I arrived at the hotel, feeling like a limp dishrag.

Slipping into my deliciously cool room, I showered and took a quick power nap. When I got up, I’d looked at the crumpled piece of paper on my bed with Nick’s phone number. I read the numbers aloud 0402 773 944. Before I could second guess myself, I texted him Hey you, hope your head is feeling better. My hotel apparently does a great seafood lunch. Freshwaters, at 1pm? And then I’d put his number in my purse, and called down to reception to book a table near the pool for two.

Excited, I jumped in the shower again and spent an hour getting ready. I put on my sea-green maxi dress and sandals and I styled my hair straight and then spent a lot of extra time giving it beach waves. By the time I was finished it was just past 1 p.m., so I grabbed my phone and purse and took the lift to Freshwaters. The waiter seated me at one of the best tables right next to the pool, and the sun was shining so brightly, I had to wear sunglasses. I ordered two glasses of sauvignon blanc, because I knew he liked really crisp, dry white wines. I laughed, then, because I already knew what he liked and didn’t like. I picked up the menu and planned what we’d eat for lunch. We’d start with the calamari rings – fried to perfection – then grilled Yasawa lobster to share. I’d have the panko fried mussels, because for some reason he doesn’t like mussels, and he could have the Fiji crab, as long as he promised to save me a bite, or two. Or maybe we’d just splurge and order two of them to be sure.

I grinned. It felt strangely like I was waiting for a boyfriend. Not a boyfriend, my boyfriend. And I liked it.

I checked my phone, but he hadn’t responded. He’s coming though, I reassured myself, he seemed excited to see me again. I ate a bit of the complimentary sourdough bread, my teeth sinking into the warm crust, and invented a list of reasons he was ten minutes late. He’s trying to find the place. He decided to walk and took a wrong turn. He’s not sure what shirt to wear.

The poor waiter kept on trying to take my order, as the restaurant filled up, and I kept on saying could you wait a bit longer please. I swallowed a sip of wine and watched all the other happy couples ordering platters of seafood. I quickly sent him a text. Hey there, are we still on for lunch? I checked my phone – yes it had signal, yes international roaming was switched on.

I tried texting Tansy – I’m in Fiji! Tell me if you get this, possible issues with phone. And I’d sent a quick photo of the sun, the pool, the palm trees. And she’d written straight back – AMAZING! Can’t wait to see you xxx.

After another five minutes, I looked at the second glass of wine I’d ordered, and I realized it was possible he wasn’t late. A strange, queasy feeling churned in my stomach. Had he stood me up?

But there had to be a reason. He had fallen asleep, yes that was it. We’d been up most of the night. Or maybe he was packing and the time had gotten away from him. Because he had been so lovely last night, he was a good guy, wasn’t he? As the waiter closed in on me, his notepad ready for my entrée order, I picked up my phone, closed my eyes and thought, just do it. I found his number, saved under ‘Naked Nick’, and pressed ‘call’. I put the phone to my ear and felt like I was going to faint. What if he answered and didn’t want to talk to me? What if it was someone else’s number?

I waited for the ring tone, but there was nothing. All I could hear was a beep beep beep and a robotic voice saying ‘this number is not connected. Please check the number and dial again’.

I checked the number, and then looked at the piece of paper he’d written it on. Had I got the number wrong? I tried it again, this time punching in the numbers, one by one. But it was the same robotic voiced response.

Oh God. I felt a flame of embarrassment wash over me. He’d given me a wrong number, and I was sat here, at bloody Freshwaters, dressed up like a ham at Christmas, and completely by myself like an absolute idiot. I turned around, suddenly paranoid, as if I was about to catch him hiding in the bushes laughing at me. But the only people in the bushes were kids jumping into the pool, and all around me people looking at each other in a lovey-dovey couple way.

He wasn’t coming.

I felt like I was going to cry, but I couldn’t cry by myself at a table in a frou-frou restaurant. I tried to keep a shred of dignity, but I could feel the tears brimming and the lump in my throat, as I called the waiter over, apologized, told him my friend wasn’t coming and asked him to charge the wine to my room.

Thank God for large sunglasses. On the way back to my room, I could feel the hot tears at my eyes. He’d given me a fake number. He’d lied. What else had he lied about? Everything? If he wasn’t into me, he was a great actor, and that had been as Oscar-worthy performance.

Suddenly I wasn’t the bright, self-confident girl I had convinced myself I was after all these years away. I was me, seven years ago, standing in a white dress at the end of the aisle and someone was whispering to me those three haunting words.

He’s not coming.

Chapter 4

Murray and I met in university. I was doing a bunch of classes including anthropology, art and psychology, trying to figure out what I really wanted to do. He was a straight-A economics and computer studies student. Our paths would never have crossed had I not needed a tutor. I was taking Psychology 101 and needed desperate help with computer statistics. A friend suggested Murray would help me out, so I texted him immediately.

When we met over coffee to discuss tutoring, he was so geeky I knew he was going to make the perfect coach. He dressed in too-loose jeans. He was slightly pudgy. He walked self-consciously. He didn’t look at anyone directly when he first met them because he was too shy.

I felt totally relaxed in his company. I didn’t bother wearing make-up and I said what I thought. After a few months of weekly catch-ups, we became more like friends, and started meeting for coffee before tutoring, going to the movies afterwards, which turned into dinner, which turned into long drives down to the beach, where we talked about everything. He’d never had a girlfriend before, and so I was surprised when he kissed me at first. Besides, it was comfortable and good. We fitted together so easily. And we made each other really quite happy. I was the energy and fire, and he was the solid anchor – that seemed to balance us.

He was practical and calm, he taught me the best ways to save, about interest rates and how to accumulate Flybuys points (until then I’d had no idea what that even was). I got him dancing for the first time. We took a trip to New Zealand, and went on a fast speedboat. Although the entire time he kept saying how risky it was, afterwards he was as exhilarated as a little kid on Christmas morning.

Two years later, he proposed at the top of Centre Point Tower after a dinner of oysters and Champagne. It was terribly clichéd, but he looked so sweet in a dinner jacket, on one knee, that I said yes. Part of me was excited, and part of me was terrified. I knew I loved him, but …

But. It’s a horrible word to use, especially when you’re talking about someone you should be happy with, for ever after.

But. We had completely different ideas for our future. I talked about doing a worldwide trip then buying a small place near the woods with a large veggie patch within walking distance to the cute local store.

Murray was focusing on getting his first role in an international tech company, and climbing the ladder. He talked about things like security, and stocks, and mortgages, and planning where we’d go when he got long-service leave after twelve years.

I dreamt about a cottage with an apple orchard. An apple orchard! Who doesn’t want one of those? And maybe renting a place in Tuscany for a year, or the French countryside, or living like locals on a sleepy Greek island. He dreamt about a nice suburban house, on the Sydney busline. Ugh, I thought, who wants one of those?

I wanted to do up an old van or bus, put a bed in it, and travel around New Zealand. He wanted a 4WD for all the kids we were supposed to be having, except I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. Ever.

I couldn’t see the life he wanted becoming mine. And neither could he see the life I pictured becoming his. His felt too fixed to me, too vanilla. And mine felt unstable to him, too spontaneous. We pushed back the wedding date. Twice.

Finally, we talked about saving enough to buy our suburban house and the country cottage, and, even though that felt big, we said in small voices, we can do this. We booked a wedding date, in the early spring, and this time we committed to it.

A few nights before the wedding, Murray turned over in bed and held me really close and kept saying, ‘It’s OK, it’s OK.’ I didn’t know if it was him or me he was comforting, but for the first time I felt a distance between us. My best friend, Tansy, already married, told me it was just cold feet. Perfectly normal. Everyone went through it.

The night before our wedding, I was packing the final parts of my over-priced wedding underwear, preparing to stay at Maggie’s house. Before I left, Murray held up his three-piece tux to show me. We didn’t believe in fate jinxing us – but maybe we should have. He was so proud that he’d lost weight to fit into it. He asked what I thought, and I said he’d look amazing. He was looking at me strangely, and he kept asking, ‘What’s wrong, Em? What’s wrong?’

I said nothing. That I was fine. Excited. But then I felt wetness run down my cheek. I was crying. But they were tears of happiness, weren’t they?

I told myself it was nothing. I kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Tears of happiness.’

The next day was our wedding day. I was standing in a small makeshift marquee next to a colourful spring garden. Dressed in white. My hair in soft waves, half pinned up, a crown of flowers. Soft blush make-up. A long lace dress, a sea-green sash around my waist to match my eyes. I held a bunch of wild pink roses, tied with string. We’d chosen soft pink peonies, bunched, at the end of each row. The aisle had no carpet, and instead was just flushed with white petals.

The sun was out, and it was a gorgeous spring day. The celebrant was waiting at the end of the garden, peering at her watch and trying not to make it look obvious. Murray was late. People in the congregation were waving their programmes in front of their faces, like fans. My mum was pacing, muttering under her breath, ‘Where is he? Where is he?’

I stuck my head out of the marquee. The string quartet had finished ‘Pachelbel’s Canon in D’ and they glanced across at me. I made a circling motion with my hand, a play it again sign. They nodded, and picked up their instruments. The guests started looking around because it was very obvious that something wasn’t right, or, really, that someone hadn’t turned up yet. I bet everyone thought it would be me. Because it was never Murray. Murray was never late.

‘Give me my phone,’ I’d said to someone. ‘Where is my phone? I’ll call him. He’s in traffic, maybe there are roadworks down on the M2. Or the M4.’ I was babbling about roads, and traffic lights, and where they were doing roadworks, and someone had my phone in their hands, and I was reaching for it, and still talking about the M7 or M2, and trying to figure out what road he would be taking to get here.

Then someone was whispering, ‘He’s not coming.’ He’s not coming.

***

Someone got me in a car. Someone took my dress off. Someone covered me in a blanket because I was shaking. Someone made sure I ate something. Someone put me in the shower. Lay with me through the night, while I tried to sleep. Someone kept bringing me tissues, and a million hands patted me on the back. For the first few days everything was a blur.

When I finally got out of bed, Tansy helped me throw that awful bad-juju dress in the garbage bin. Mum helped me get money back on the honeymoon to Europe. I couldn’t have done any of those things myself. Maggie wanted to know if she could clock him. Amy said she’d slash his tyres. God, I love my friends. They were all I had, when my world fell apart for a while.

He texted me. I’m sorry.

And a few days later I managed to respond. OK.

He texted me. I hope you’re OK, and that you find what you really want.

I didn’t know how to take that. Was he right? I thought I knew what I wanted, but then … maybe I didn’t. For days I thought about his text and what it meant. Murray was someone who was born knowing exactly what he wanted. In all likelihood, his head probably popped out of the birth canal and, before the rest of his body was out, he was saying, ‘I want a white-picket-fenced house in the city, on the busline and a stable job for life! Pronto, people!’ I mean, he was genius-level smart, so it’s completely possible that he could talk on entry to this world.

Deep down, I felt guilty that I couldn’t be the wife he wanted me to be. Why didn’t I want to settle down and have kids and live in a nice house? Who wouldn’t want that? I thought maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I remember Murray had once shown me pictures of great houses we could buy in a newly developed suburb that were only forty minutes from the city in peak hour. He’d had a look of excitement in his eyes. For me it felt as exciting as a root canal.

A few days later, Murray texted again, asking if we could meet. I read his text over and over for days. In the end, I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t hear what he had to say.

All I knew was I had to leave – immediately. I felt a strange mix of self-loathing and guilt and anger, at Murray, but also at myself. I was unsure why I didn’t seem to want to fall into domestic bliss like everyone around me. Plus, everywhere reminded me of Murray, and I couldn’t be around the places we used to visit. Where we had coffee. Held hands. Got engaged. Planned a future. I had to get out of Australia, and not look back.

***

I arrived, relaxed and sun-kissed, at Sydney airport after sunset, where Mum and Dad were anxiously waiting. Mum gave me an extra-hard hug.

‘Hi Mum, it’s good to see you.’

Before she could utter a word, I raised my hand and said, ‘No, I didn’t meet anyone. But I took a cooking class and can make a mean lemony fish. Plus, I wove this basket.’

I held up a slightly wonky reed basket that the customs guys had ummmed about before finally letting me keep it.

‘I wasn’t going to ask that,’ Mum said.

I shared a look with Dad.

‘I wasn’t,’ Mum insisted.

Dad said, ‘Lorna,’ in a warning tone, then turned to me. ‘Hey, sweetie.’ We hugged.

‘Yes Lorna, listen to your husband.’ I said smiling gratefully at Dad. I’d taken to calling her Lorna when I was fifteen just to annoy her. When I’m irritated, it comes back out – like now, since I was feeling a bit weary that I hadn’t even stepped out of the airport, and already the Relationship Rant was beginning.

‘I mean, but did you meet anyone? Perhaps any kind of special someone?’ my mum asked, leading both of us out of the airport, marching ahead. ‘I think we’re parked over here, Ted.’

I thought about Nick for a second. ‘No one special, Mum.’

To make matters worse, she didn’t get the hint, and I had her smiling at me over the parking machine, suggesting it was time to start dating.

‘I can’t just start it, Mum. It’s not a car engine, or a board game.’

‘Well, try that on-the-line meeting thing perhaps?’

‘Online dating?’ I screwed up my nose. ‘No, thanks. It just doesn’t seem natural. Organic. Who picks out a date from a series of photos like one would pick a jumper out of a catalogue?’

‘Well, I got this top on-the-line,’ Mum said, pointing to her silky pink T-shirt. I had meant to ask where she got it and tell her not to go shopping there again. It looked strange, almost like PVC, too shiny and a little too tight, too.

‘Online,’ I corrected her again, stuffing the money in the ticket machine.

‘Just give it a go,’ she said, nodding. ‘You never know.’ She paused while my dad heaved my backpack into the boot of the car in the parking lot. ‘Ted, don’t put it in that way!’ Dad leaned in, and turned the backpack the other way. Mum nodded and slammed the boot.

‘Now, Ted, take the trolley back to the trolley bay. Why are you just staring into space like that?’ She waved her hand in front of his face. Then turned to look at me. ‘Did you know Bec has a new baby?’

‘Yeah, I saw. But how do you know that?’

She waved her hand as if I’d asked something silly. ‘Facebook, dear.’

‘But they’re not your friends on Facebook. Are they?’

‘No, but they’re your friends. I think they call it face-stalking.’

‘Have you liked one of their photos by accident?’ Oh, God, I felt mortified. How could I explain that? ‘Oh, sorry, guys, that was just my grandkid-wanting mother wanting me to have a life like yours. Please excuse her.’

‘No, of course not! Dear, give me some credit.’ She paused. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’

‘Mum, please don’t do that again.’

‘Doesn’t everyone in this day and age?’ she said casually, getting into the car.

She talked non-stop as Dad drove us out of the airport and pulled onto the highway for the hour’s trip home to Sydney’s North Shore. For the entire journey I managed to get in about twenty words, and the rest of the time I heard about the Chus (our neighbours) putting in a pool, whether or not the Sinclairs (other neighbours) were having marital problems, and something about a grey cat that kept finding its way into our yard and mewing for food at the back door.

When I got home, it was 11 p.m., too late to do anything but fall straight into my old, comfy bed.

***

The next morning Mum dragged me out of bed to go to the pool.

‘I’m still jet-lagged,’ I mumbled into Mr Bear.

‘You’ll love it, Emma, it’s good for your physique.’ She looked at the empty bowl on my dresser, and raised her eyebrows. ‘Ice cream? In bed?’

‘Actually, it was yoghurt.’ It wasn’t. It was ice cream.

Mum stripped back the covers then clapped her hands, ‘Right, up you get!’ When I didn’t move, she reminded me, ‘Betty’s been asking about you ever since you left.’

‘Betty?’ My ears picked up. ‘She’s still alive?’

‘Yes, Emma,’ Mum sighed. ‘She’s only in her early seventies.’

‘OK, OK, I’m coming.’ I stumbled out of bed, threw my swimming costume and towel in a bag. The truth is, I love aqua aerobics, even though I’m decades younger than everyone else. Before I left for London, I went every Saturday to the local pool with Betty and the gang.

In the pool change room I changed into the old swimming costume I’d found in the bottom of my closet. It was chic black Speedo, size fourteen, with a large print on the front that read in white letters ‘HAWAII’. I got the right side strap on, but the left side just wouldn’t stretch. I caught sight of myself in the bright changeroom mirrors and realised something terrible: it didn’t fit. Damn.

Under these horrid lights, my pale thighs appeared clotted with cellulite. But when I stepped out of the lights, the cellulite didn’t disappear as I’d thought (hoped) it would. My belly, which had always been somewhat flat, had a roll and a mound of pudge, that I’d never noticed in London, being dressed in jeans and jackets most of the year. My arms were undefined, and, when I held them up, the lagging skin where my triceps should have been, moved with a three-second delay, as though it was perpetually trying to keep up.

My dark blonde hair, long and wavy in the best of conditions, was now frizzy with humidity and escaping like a prisoner from my ponytail, my green eyes looked dull and sunken into my face and, to make matters worse, my chin had broken out in a heap of whiteheads since I’d got back. I looked like a very large, hungover version of Kate Winslet.

Had I looked like this in Fiji? During my night with Nick? I felt horrified … surely not. But it had been less than a week and so I guessed I really had looked like this.

‘Oh God, it doesn’t fit any more.’

‘Hmmm, yes.’ She was looking me up and down. ‘It doesn’t.’

I sat on the wooden benches feeling deflated. I stared at her trim figure; her string-bean legs were smaller than my arms. How did I even come from her?

‘Well, Emma, that’s why we’re here. So you can exercise your way to a tight tum and bum!’

‘You sound like one of those annoying motivational personal trainers,’ I said glumly.

Lorna laughed. ‘Funny you should say that. I’m thinking of getting my certificate.’

My mouth dropped open. ‘You’re going to be a personal trainer?’

‘Well.’ She looked at herself in the mirror and flounced her blonde shoulder-length hair. ‘Why not? Ted’s so busy in that damn garden, he may as well live in it. I want to do something for me.’

She fished around for fifty dollars in her purse and put it in my hand. ‘Now go and get yourself a new costume from the shop upstairs.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

The class had almost started by the time I slipped into the pool wearing a new black costume and pool-regulated swimming cap. But they’d run out of the normal swimming caps, and so I’d had to buy a new petal-covered old-woman’s swimming cap, in a soft baby pink. It made me think of Nick. His hands. His kisses. But that was in the past, Emma, I told myself. Stop thinking about Fiji!

Tina, the class instructor, was getting everyone to do eggbeater legs and arms.

‘Emma!’ a raspy voice called from the other petal caps.

‘Betty!’ I exclaimed, swimming over to her.

‘How was your trip?’ she said breathlessly, keeping her wrinkled face above the water. Some grey curls had escaped out of the side of her pink petal hat and were wet and plastered across her forehead.

‘Great!’

‘Got any goss for this old girl?’

‘Well, I learnt how to do the American two-step. I celebrated the Mexican dance of the dead. And I’m very good at telling an enchilada from a burrito.’

She laughed and I could see the gold fillings in her teeth. Her robust arms and legs pumped hard, moving her thick body up and down in the water.

Tina blew her whistle, and we started running clockwise in a circle, creating a whirlpool.

‘How was London?’ Betty spluttered.

‘Grey!’ I spat out a mouthful of chlorinated water.

She laughed. ‘You are a little pale.’

‘And fat.’ I grunted.

‘Nothing like some indoor exercise for that!’ She winked.

Tina blew her whistle again. We turned against the whirlpool current and went anti-clockwise. For the next hour, it took all my effort to keep my head above the surface.

I was absolutely exhausted by the end of the class; I needed to float a little on my back before my shaky legs could kick me to the edge of the pool. And even then, it took me five attempts before I could pull myself out of the water.