Chapter 13
The pounding in Phoebe’s head has eased to a background ache and she feels more awake than she has in a long time, as if the water has given her a jolt of caffeine.
‘I can see why you come here,’ she says to the other women as they drift downstream together, leaves and petals floating on the surface of the water alongside them. ‘This is fantastic.’ From their position in the water, Phoebe can see the riverbank up close, spotting the violets and wild garlic dotted about in the tangle of brambles. Reeds and puffs of cow parsley wave slightly back and forth in the breeze.
‘I think I might be addicted,’ says Sandra as she rolls onto her back for a moment and floats, head tilted towards the sky.
‘I can think of worse addictions.’
At first, the water had felt bitingly cold, despite the warmth in the morning sun. But after a few vigorous strokes of breaststroke, she had got used to the temperature, her breathing returning to normal and her body relaxing. It appears to have had the same effect on the other women too. Even Hester, who had been so tense and shy on dry land, seems softer, the frown slipping away from her face.
Phoebe follows Sandra’s lead and twists onto her back, the four of them floating and looking up at the trees.
Phoebe can spot patches of blue sky and white clouds through gaps in the leaves.
‘Is it just me, or does that cloud look like a penis?’ she says suddenly, breaking the silence and making the other women laugh.
‘Hey, I was just thinking it looked like a cute rabbit,’ says Jazz. ‘You’ve ruined it for me now!’
What would Max think if she could see her now? Not just having skipped her usual morning paperwork but swimming and laughing in a river with strangers. Not that she wants to think about Max right now.
A loud noise from upstream makes the women turn to look behind them. Thwack. Swoosh. Thwack. Swoosh. The sound grows louder and, as it does, the stillness of the river is disturbed, ripples spreading in all directions. Birds scatter from the surrounding trees in a flurry of feathers.
‘Quick, swim to the side!’ shouts Sandra.
A narrow rowing boat appears around the corner, a bent figure facing the other direction, muscled arms firmly pulling the oars. The rower lets out grunts of exertion as the boat zips along the water, heading straight towards them. Panicked, Phoebe does her best to manoeuvre herself out of the way, but it’s been years since she last swam and she feels as though her arms are dragging through honey.
‘Hey!’ cries the lifeguard, standing up from her chair and blowing her whistle. ‘Swimmers in the water!’
The rower twists to look over his shoulder, his eyebrows rising in surprise. By now, Sandra and the others have made it over towards the reeds and out of the way, but Phoebe is still directly in the path of the boat. ‘Watch out!’ the rower shouts back in a deep, slightly accented voice, digging the oars down into the water and sending droplets everywhere.
‘Shit!’ She is trying to swim but barely getting anywhere, the current that she’d hardly noticed before now pushing her backwards. ‘I’m not moving! Why am I not moving?’ She kicks harder.
‘Here, take my hand,’ shouts Sandra, who has grabbed hold of a tree branch to anchor herself and is reaching out her arm. Phoebe grabs her hand and is pulled out of the way just in time.
The boat slows, spray erupting in the air.
‘You need to be more careful!’ says the lifeguard crossly. ‘This is a well-known swimming spot. Rowers and kayakers are welcome, but you must be careful, there could have been a serious accident.’
Now that Phoebe is out of the way of the boat, she catches her breath, readjusting her swimsuit so she’s not flashing anyone. People talk about not wanting to be found dead in dirty underwear, but the thought of her body being dragged up onto the riverbank in a swimsuit that makes her look like she’s a wannabe auditioning for a remake of Baywatch is frankly just as chilling.
The streamlined boat has stopped now, the oars resting limply in the water. The rower checks his watch, pressing a button that looks like some sort of timer before looking up.
Up close, the man looks younger than Phoebe initially thought, perhaps a little older than her, with just a few flecks of grey scattered about his dark brown hair, which is short at the sides but thick and curly on top, damp with either sweat or river water. He’s dressed in skintight Lycra and there’s a fine glimmer of sweat glistening on his tanned forehead, which is currently creased into a frown. His shoulders are broad, but the rest of his physique is slim, which is just as well because the boat is incredibly narrow. Phoebe can’t imagine she’d fit inside, certainly not without capsizing it.
‘Other people use this river too, you know,’ snaps Sandra, her hand still wrapped protectively around Phoebe’s arm.
The rower looks around as though only just taking in his surroundings. His chest rises and falls rapidly.
‘Sorry.’ But he doesn’t sound at all sorry.
‘Well, next time be more careful,’ says the lifeguard. ‘There’s space for all of us here at the river if everyone is considerate.’
The rower glances down at his watch again. Sandra lets go of Phoebe’s arm and together they swim around the boat and back towards the bank. Once they are out of the way, the rower picks up his oars, digging them smoothly into the water. In a few strokes, he has disappeared around the river bend and the water is still again.
‘Are you OK, Phoebe?’ asks Jazz, Hester watching on with a concerned expression.
‘Yeah, I’m fine thanks,’ she replies, summoning a smile despite her still-racing pulse. ‘No limbs lost. Only my dignity, and who needs that, eh? I think I lost that as soon as I wrestled myself into this bloody swimsuit.’
‘Right, I think that’s enough excitement for one morning,’ says Sandra, heading up the bank, Phoebe and the others following behind.
Once they’re on dry land, Phoebe rubs herself vigorously with the towel to warm up.
‘Oh wow, I hadn’t noticed your other tattoos, I thought they were just on your arms,’ says Jazz as she pulls a large hooded towel over her head.
‘Yeah, I might run out of space soon,’ Phoebe laughs, glancing down at her bare legs. They are absolutely covered in tattoos, mostly delicate line drawings of plants and flowers. ‘I know they’re not to everyone’s taste, but I love them.’ Getting a new tattoo gives her a similar rush to a ride on her motorbike. When so much of her life feels heavy, there’s a lightness to decorating her skin just for the joy and beauty of it. And maybe there’s something about the pain of it too. She got one of her tattoos – a rose on her left ankle – when Phoebe first lost a patient to suicide. Roses were Laura’s favourite flower. She was twenty-two.
When she applied for her first nursing job, she’d been nervous that having so many visible tattoos might put off an employer but when she’d gently raised it in the interview, the head nurse hadn’t flinched. ‘Does having tattoos impact your ability to take blood and fit cannulas?’
‘Um, no,’ Phoebe had replied.
‘Then I don’t give two hoots about your tattoos.’
It’s nice to think that some attitudes have changed. She’s pretty certain that the response might have been different a few years ago.
‘I’ve always wanted to get one,’ says Jazz hesitantly. ‘But it feels like a big commitment …’
‘If you want one, you should just go for it. Life’s too short not to.’
Phoebe’s job has taught her that much.
‘You’d look great with a tattoo,’ she adds and Jazz smiles warmly.
Thinking about work makes Phoebe dig quickly for her phone in her pile of clothes, checking the time. Shit. She’s running late.
‘God, I better go,’ she says, pulling her jeans onto her still-damp legs.
‘But you’ll miss out on the best part of these swims,’ says Sandra as she tugs down her swimming costume, not seeming to care one bit about flashing everyone at the river, and then pulls on her bra.
‘And what’s that?’
Hester points to the Kingfisher Café and Book Barge. ‘They do a great cup of tea.’
‘I’d love to, but I’ve really got to get to work.’
She realises suddenly that she hasn’t even found out what these three women do, or told them about her job. Hester looks like she might be still at school, but what about the others? In the water, it felt as though their outside lives didn’t matter. As she swam, she wasn’t a nurse, she was just Phoebe.
‘OK, but we’ll see you again soon, I hope?’ says Sandra.
Phoebe grabs her helmet and clips her feet back into her boots, her mind already racing with the day’s appointments and her worries for each of her patients. It feels as though the swim in the river was a brief holiday and she has come crashing back to reality. Her first appointment of the day is with a new patient. She absolutely can’t be late.
‘Sounds great!’ she says brightly. ‘It was so nice to meet you all and thanks again for getting me in the water!’ But even as she says it, she isn’t sure if she’ll really make it back. As much as she enjoyed the swim, she can’t escape the reality of her responsibilities. She might have set them down on the riverbank for a while, but they are back again now, weighing heavily on her shoulders.
She waves a hasty goodbye and then races off across the meadow.
As soon as she climbs onto her motorbike and speeds off in the direction of her first patient, she leaves Just Phoebe behind, ready to become Nurse Harrison again.