Twenty-two years old
Sam
Edinburgh in August is surprisingly sunny.
I’m not sure why I expected it to be cold.
I’m just so used to it being cool when I come back to the UK that even a glimmer of sun feels like a shock to the system.
The city is beautiful too. All cobbled streets and huge buildings.
Old castles and quaint shops. Kath would love it here.
I kick myself. You don’t get to think about her.
The city’s also incredibly full of tourists. I’d forgotten about the Fringe. No wonder my dad found it so hard to get accommodation to watch me swim.
“You did really well,” Dad says as we sit down for breakfast on the morning of our day of planned sightseeing.
“Not really.” I survey the menu carefully. What do I want to eat? What has enough protein in it? I did a workout this morning in the hotel before meeting him. Not that he knows that. And not that I’d tell the coaches either. Definitely not on their approved plan.
“Not winning a gold in an individual event doesn’t make it a bad meet,” my dad tells me, not yet picking up his own menu. “You know that, right?”
“Everyone expects me to win golds.” I don’t look up, continuing to contemplate the options.
“Well, that’s on them, not on you. If I told you aged ten that you would have won two silver medals and a bronze at a European Championship, you’d have been ecstatic. It is phenomenal, Sam.”
I make a non-committal sound as the waiter comes over and I order myself a tea.
I never used to be a big tea drinker, but since being in Florida, I’ve started drinking decaf tea almost religiously.
Maybe it’s something to do with reminding me of home.
Austin would definitely be psychoanalysing my thoughts right now.
“Your mum loved decaf tea,” Dad tells me as the waiter leaves. “Used to drink buckets of the stuff.”
OK. Austin would be having a field day.
“I remember,” I mumble. “How’s work? What have you been up to?”
He looks at me a few moments longer before accepting my change of topic. As we eat he tells me about some of the new junior officers he works with, the changing structure of the force, their constant battles to try and improve the carpet in their break room.
“I saw the Fords for dinner last week,” he tells me.
“Sounds fun.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything else. I’m equal parts desperate to know about what they’re up to, but I also don’t want to talk about them. We lapse back into silence.
“Kath’s well,” my dad tells me after he finishes his eggs. He’s looking at me carefully again. As though I might bolt.
“Good.” I pour another cup of tea. The cobblestones outside the café suddenly become even more fascinating. As does that very intense pigeon drama happening by the bins. One of them might be planning a coup.
“She’s in her last year of university now. Wants to come back to London when she qualifies,” Dad continues.
“That would be nice.”
I pull out my phone to get a map up. Distraction is key.
“She has a boyfriend. A guy called Theo. Another medic. I haven’t met him, but Sue says he’s lovely.”
I freeze. I didn’t know that. Josh never brought it up.
You wanted this, I remind myself, even as my hand clenches painfully around my phone.
This is exactly why you don’t speak anymore.
Because you wanted her to get to live her own life.
And another medic. Perfect for her. Probably just as high achieving.
Not someone who can’t even win, can’t even show all the people who sacrificed things for him that he was worth those sacrifices.
“I’m happy for her.” I add another lump of sugar to my tea. I guess it’s one of those mornings. The words taste like ash in my mouth. Not because I’m not happy for her—all I’ve ever wanted is for Kath to be happy—but because I still miss her every day. Time hasn’t made that wound any less painful.
“Are you?” Dad says. The pair of us don’t really talk about our feelings. That was always the relationship I had with my mum.
“Yep.” I finish my tea too quickly, and it burns my throat. “OK, are you ready to go?”
He surveys me over his orange juice before nodding. “What’s the plan then?” he asks. “Where shall we visit first?”
“Someone recommended walking up Arthur’s Seat. Then maybe we could go to the castle.”
He nods, and we pay the bill before heading out.
Our day together is nice. We talk a bit more about my swimming schedule, but I leave out all the extra workouts.
As he puffs up the hill, our conversation comes in bursts, and I take every opportunity to tease him about getting old.
The pair of us sit at the top and admire the view of the city below before walking back down.
Later, back in the centre of town, I force him to buy some novelty socks at a shop on a cobbled side street.
By the time he drops me off at the airport to start my arduous journey from Edinburgh Airport back to Florida, with multiple layovers en route, I’ve almost forgotten the conversation from this morning.
“I know you won’t want to hear this,” Dad tells me as he pulls me in for a hug, “but I’m as proud of you when you win nothing as when you win a gold, and your mum would be too. As long as you’re happy and doing what you love, I’ll be happy too.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I squeeze him tight. I wish I could believe him.
“You do know that, right?”
“Of course.” But I know I don’t sound convincing.
As I sit at the airport gates flicking through my phone, it’s almost instinct to open the last text from Kath.
“You got this, Champ” reads the one from my last race. My thumb hovers over the phone, and I fight the urge to reply, to say all the things I want to say: Thank you. I read all these messages. I still think about you every day.
But I don’t do any of that. Instead, I sigh and close the message.