Three Mothers

Isla

Isla

Isla waited outside the swimming pool for her Uber to arrive, scrolling through her phone. It never ceased to amaze her how many messages were sent on various WhatsApp groups during the ninety minutes she was at swim squad training; one group from school had managed to clock up seventy-seven comments in that time, most of them about the school ski trip that Isla wasn’t even going on because she didn’t want to miss a week of swimming.

Zipping up her coat in defence against the brisk March wind, she wished her mum had been able to collect her tonight. But Clio was having some sort of crisis about a maths test she’d failed to revise for, and her mum had texted earlier asking if Isla minded getting a cab this levening so she could stay at home and give Clio some moral support. Isla wondered about offering to help when she got back, but every time she’d made overtures in the past, Clio had rejected her with an air of derision. There were moments when the loss of Isla’s childhood friendship with Clio was like a physical ache, but her mum kept assuring her it was just a phase Clio was going through, that she’d come through it eventually. That they would be close again in the future. Isla wanted to believe it but sometimes – when Clio glared at her with that expression of contempt and resentment – she found it hard to trust that it might be true.

Her phone pinged, and she smiled as she opened a message from Callum.

Hey beautiful. How was training? Call me when you’re done. Cx

Before she could phone him, a large black SUV pulled into the lay-by beside her. Isla was aware of her body tensing, her hand reaching into her bag for her house keys, her fingers wrapping around them in pre-emptive self-defence.

The window of the car wound down, and Isla felt her body relax as Andrew Forrester smiled at her from the driver’s seat.

‘Hey. Are you okay?’

Isla nodded. ‘Just waiting for an Uber. It was supposed to be here five minutes ago but now it’s saying it’ll be another six minutes.’

Andrew gestured to the passenger seat. ‘Hop in. I’m heading home. I’ll drop you off.’

Isla glanced down at her phone, knew Callum would be waiting for her to call. She was on the verge of politely declining Andrew’s offer when another gust of wind snaked around her neck. Figuring she’d be home in fifteen minutes and could ring Callum then, she looked back into the car. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Course not. Come on, get in. It’s freezing out there.’

Scanning the road for oncoming traffic, Isla ran around to the passenger door, got in the car, cancelled the Uber. Andrew waited for her to fasten her belt before pulling out into the road and heading towards home.

‘Have you been swimming tonight?’

‘Yep.’

‘How many times a week are you training now?’

‘Six.’

‘God, that’s a lot. You must be phenomenally fit. At least you get Sunday off, I guess.’

Isla laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t. If I’m not competing at the weekend, there’s a two-hour training session on Sundays. I usually only get Mondays off.’ Isla thought about how much she loved swimming: the feeling of her body streamlined in the water, the adrenaline when she competed. And yet sometimes, her training schedule felt like a treadmill without a stop button, and there were days when she wished she could take a break – just for a week or two – so that it didn’t feel quite so relentless. But she knew she couldn’t take time off, not if she wanted to make the nationals. None of her competitors ever took a break, and Isla couldn’t afford to slip behind.

‘That’s so impressive. You must be really dedicated.’ Tapping a couple of buttons on the car’s digital screen, he increased the air temperature. ‘That okay? You’re still shivering.’

‘Great, thanks.’

For a few moments they drove in silence, Isla looking out of the window at parades of shops, blocks of flats, rows of terraced houses lining the main road.

‘Did you know I used to be a competitive swimmer, back in the day?’ Andrew glanced across at her before turning back to the road.

‘Really? Who did you swim for?’

‘My local club in Wiltshire. Swam for the county for a couple of years too. Only narrowly missed out on the nationals.’

‘I’m hoping to make the nationals later this year, but I don’t know if I’ll be good enough.’

Andrew smiled. ‘I’m sure you will. You clearly train exceptionally hard, and from what I hear, you’re an incredible athlete.’

Heat rose into Isla’s cheeks. ‘I’m not sure about that. But I do love it.’

‘Even the five a.m. starts?’

Isla laughed. ‘Okay, maybe not those in winter. But I do love training, and I really love competing. Even when I’ve had a really hard race, I always come out feeling energised.’

‘I know what you mean. There’s such a rush with competitions. Just knowing you’re pushing yourself to the limit is a huge buzz.’

‘That’s exactly what I always tell people, but I don’t think anyone really understands if they haven’t experienced it themselves. Callum says he has a similar thing with running.’

‘Callum?’

‘My boyfriend.’

‘Right, of course.’ Andrew swung into the outside lane as they crossed the bridge over the Thames. ‘How do you manage to stay on top of it all? Your work and swimming? Nathaniel doesn’t have half the commitments you have and yet he’s always complaining about not having enough free time.’

Isla thought about her weekly schedule: two early mornings and two evenings at the pool, Saturday and Sunday spent training or competing. Most lunchtimes running clubs for younger pupils: the debating club, the dissection club, the Young Medics Society. Staying on top of her homework. Finding time to hang out with Callum and her friends. Making sure she was always there for her mum when she needed her. Having the energy to deal with Clio’s strops. Sometimes, if Isla dwelled for too long on the various demands on her, she could feel something pressing down on her chest, had to breathe deeply against it. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. If you want a job done, ask a busy person? Isn’t that what people always say?’

Andrew laughed. ‘That’s definitely true. But it’s all very impressive. If only all young women could be like you.’

For the second time, Isla felt herself blush. She looked down, fiddled with the toggle on her swim bag.

Andrew’s Tesla pulled into her road and stopped outside her house.

‘Thanks for the lift.’

‘No worries. Any time. It was really nice to chat.’ Andrew smiled, locked eyes with her, and Isla was aware of a change in the atmosphere, a moment of temporary discomfort she could not quite decipher.

Opening the car door, she stepped out onto the pavement. ‘Thanks again.’

‘My pleasure. I’ll see you soon.’

Isla closed the car door, turned, walked along the garden path towards her house, her head suddenly light, vertiginous. Entering the hallway, she told herself it was just hunger, tiredness, that she would feel fine after some food and a good night’s sleep.

Isla shut the lid of her laptop, slid it into her bag.

‘Are you leaving?’ Callum looked up from his economics textbook, his voice a low whisper. On adjacent tables in the school library, fellow sixth formers worked in silence.

‘Yep, Paul’s focusing on my tumble turns tonight so I want to get some lengths in before he gets there.’

‘Cool. And you’re still okay to come to mine tomorrow night? Mum’s making a lasagne.’

‘Course. Right, I’d better get going. Call you later?’

Callum nodded. Isla picked up her bags, headed out of the library and into the quad, where the sky was a smudged grey, like pencil marks badly erased from a sheet of white paper.

‘Hey, Isla, wait up.’

Looking behind her, Isla saw Nathaniel running across the quad – awkward, ungainly – his long, skinny legs uncoordinated with the rest of his body. Isla felt herself tensing even as she pulled her lips into a smile. It was the third time today Nathaniel had stopped her en route from one part of the school to another, each reason for delaying her more spurious than the last.

‘What’s up?’

Nathaniel caught up with her, panted breathlessly. ‘I just wanted to ask if you knew when the maths homework was due?’

Isla swallowed her frustration. ‘Monday morning. Ms Rawlence said it at the end of the lesson.’

Nathaniel hauled his rucksack onto his back. ‘Right, sorry. I must not have been listening.’

There was an uncomfortable silence, and it was Isla who broke it. ‘I’d better go. I need to get to swimming.’

‘Course, yeah, right, sorry.’ Nathaniel’s words tripped over each other as though they couldn’t agree about the order in which they should emerge. ‘Can I tag along? I was only going to head home anyway.’

She allowed herself a beat. ‘It’s in the opposite direction.’

A deep shade of red coloured Nathaniel’s cheeks. ‘I just thought you might like some company.’ He looked down at the ground, pushed his shoe against the edge of the lawn.

Why don’t you just tell him you’re not interested?

Ignore him – he’ll soon get the message.

I don’t know why you put up with him following you around all the time .

He’s a weirdo .

Her friends’ comments circled on a loop inside her head. But it wasn’t as easy as that. She’d known Nathaniel her whole life. Their families had been entwined for as long as she could remember. Until about a year ago, when he’d started behaving creepily around her, they’d been really good friends. She couldn’t just tell him to get lost. ‘Thanks, but I need to clear my head before training. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned, walked across the quad and out of the school’s wrought-iron gates.

Heading towards the bus stop – still undecided whether to catch the bus or get an Uber – she thought about Callum, about training, about the mountain of homework she had to get through at the weekend. Sometimes it felt as though she were running to stand still; that however hard she worked, the goalposts were forever shifting, the expected levels of attainment ever increasing. She was aware of a constant thrum inside her – a need to do well, to maintain the perception that she was good at everything: academics, swimming, family, friendships, involvement in school life. She didn’t, in truth, know where the feeling came from: whether from her mum, or her teachers, or somewhere deep within herself that she didn’t really understand. All she knew was that it was there, like a constant, ambient noise that she couldn’t silence. Or perhaps she didn’t dare try.

A car horn beeped behind her, and she whipped her head around, expecting to see some of the idiots from the school rugby team who thought blaring car horns at women was entertaining. Her expectations adjusted as Andrew Forrester’s black Tesla pulled up beside her, the second time in ten days. For a moment, she thought perhaps Nathaniel was inside, perhaps Andrew had collected him from school and he’d asked if they could give Isla a lift. But looking through the open car window, she could see Andrew was alone.

‘Where are you off to? Need a lift?’

Isla shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine thanks. I’m going to order a cab to the pool.’

‘Don’t be silly – I can scoot you up there in fifteen minutes.’

Isla hesitated, thinking about the biology reading she’d intended to do en route. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’

‘It’s no trouble. And there’s something I want to talk to you about anyway. You’ll be doing me a favour. Hop in.’

Wavering momentarily, Isla opened the door, slid into the passenger seat, crammed her bags into the footwell.

‘How was your day?’ Andrew looked into the wing mirror, pulled out into the road.

‘Fine thanks. How was yours?’

‘Busy. And not over yet. I’ve still got a mountain to get through when I get home.’

He stopped at a red light, looked across at her for what felt an inordinately long time, and Isla was overcome by an intense, inexplicable feeling of self-consciousness. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, anyway?’

The lights changed to green, and Andrew pulled away, faster than the twenty-miles-per-hour speed limit. ‘I was just thinking about all the swimming I used to do, and realised I missed being involved in it.’

‘You want to start competing again?’

Andrew laughed. ‘Definitely not. I was thinking more about training to be a part-time coach. You’ve really inspired me.’

He turned to her, smiled, and it was there again: the feeling that he was studying her with disproportionate intensity. Disquiet skittered across her skin, and Isla forcibly dismissed the sensation, told herself she was being ridiculous. This was Andrew Forrester: Nathaniel and Jack’s dad, one of her mum’s best friends. He wouldn’t be looking at her in that way. ‘To be honest, I don’t really know much about that. Both my coaches are full-time instructors. I could ask them, if you like?’

Andrew shook his head. ‘No, don’t worry. I’ll do some research online. Do you think it’s a good idea though?’

‘I guess so, if you really want to. I think it’s quite a big commitment, though, even if you only do it as a volunteer. Would you have time?’ Isla thought about the conversations she often overheard between Nicole and her mum, Nicole bemoaning how hard Andrew worked and how little she saw of him during the week.

‘Probably not. But I’d like to get involved somehow. Maybe I could come and watch you compete one day, see you in action? From everything I hear, you’re pretty amazing.’

Isla felt herself blush. ‘I’m not sure about that. My coach says I need to do loads of work on my tumble turns.’

Andrew smiled. ‘Ah, I used to practise those for hours. It’s worth it in the end, though – even a fraction of a second can make all the difference. But I don’t need to tell you that.’

Pulling into the swimming pool car park, Andrew veered into a space at the far end, switched off the engine.

‘Thanks for the lift.’ Isla leaned forward to collect her bags from the footwell.

‘You’ve got something on you. Here, let me.’ Without waiting for a reply, Andrew reached out his hand, ran his fingers across the bare skin at the side of her neck.

Isla was aware of something stilling in the car, as though time were unmoving – as though she were unable to move – as though all noise, all movement, had evaporated. It was as if the tableau they were in had frozen – her in the passenger seat, Andrew’s hand skimming the surface of her flesh – a moment that lasted no more than a few seconds and yet felt unending.

‘Got it. It was just a little spider.’ Andrew rubbed his fingers together, flicked something onto the car floor.

For a moment, Isla said nothing, the imprint of Andrew’s fingers still warm on her skin, her feelings too confused to decipher. And then she pulled her bags onto her lap, hugged them tight to her chest. ‘I’d better go. I don’t want to be late.’ Her voice sounded strange in her ears, as though trying and failing to mimic normality.

‘Sure. Hope it’s a good training session.’

Opening the door, she stepped onto the asphalt. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

Andrew presented her with a wide, open smile. ‘Any time. I’ll see you soon.’

Shutting the car door, Isla swung her bags over her shoulder. As she walked away, towards the leisure centre entrance, she thought about what had just happened, tried to organise her feelings into some logical order. But the sensation of Andrew’s hand on her neck was still there, an act that had roused in her a response that felt muddled, confused. Dangerous.

Swiping her membership card against the turnstile, she headed for the changing room, unable to untangle the knot of conflicting feelings: part confusion, part disquiet, and something else to which she dared not give a name.

Isla sat on a stool at the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone, trying to avoid her mum’s questions.

‘Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart? You’ve been very quiet since you got home from training. Was everything okay at the pool?’

Isla forced a smile. ‘I’m fine. Just tired.’

It had been nearly three hours since the incident in the car with Andrew, and she had thought about little else since: the memory of the way he had looked at her, the recollection of his fingers on her skin. She’d said nothing about it to anyone: not to Callum when she’d spoken to him after training, not to her mum, not to any of her friends. She could not articulate why she was keeping it a secret: only that she knew she felt unable to share what had happened.

‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? There’s some sushi in the fridge. Or you could order in if there’s something you fancy.’

‘That’s not fair. I’m never allowed takeout on a weeknight.’ Clio appeared in the kitchen doorway, scowled, strode across the kitchen towards the fridge.

Their mum sighed. ‘That’s not true. You’re forever ordering in, even when I’ve made dinner.’

‘So? You made dinner tonight and you’re still saying Isla can order in. But why am I surprised? There’s always one rule for Isla and another rule for me.’ Clio yanked open the fridge door. ‘Am I allowed a can of San Pellegrino or are they all reserved for Isla?’

‘Clee...’ Isla glanced at their mum, at the lines pinching the corners of her eyes.

‘What?’ Clio glowered at her.

‘Just calm down, okay?’

‘I am calm. It would just be nice if for once you didn’t get all the preferential treatment around here.’

‘Clio, enough . Just stop it, please.’ Their mum’s voice bled fatigue.

‘Surprise, surprise. All I do is point out how unfair things are and somehow I’m the one in the wrong. As always.’ Clio turned and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

From Isla’s phone came a notification. Swiping it open, she found a WhatsApp from Andrew, the first solo message he’d ever sent her. They were both on the joint family thread dominated by her mum and Nicole making plans for various get-togethers, but Andrew had never messaged her alone before.

Hey. Great to chat earlier. Any time you need a lift, you know where I am. I want to do everything I can to support a future Olympian. x

Isla read the message, and then read it again, thoughts jostling for prominence in her head; one part of her brain telling her he was just being kind, that he probably felt sorry for her, that he was just trying to fill the chasm her dad’s death had left behind. But another part of her brain would not let her forget the way he had looked at her, the sensation of his hand on her neck.

‘Everything okay?’

Isla scrambled to switch off her screen, looked up from her phone. ‘Fine. Just Callum.’ The lie tripped from her tongue. Isla couldn’t remember the last time she’d told even the smallest fib to her mum. A voice in her head told her to undo it immediately, show her mum Andrew’s message, tell her what had happened. But something – she didn’t know what – stopped her.

She watched the tensing of her mum’s jaw, a Pavlovian response at the mention of Callum’s name.

‘Actually, I think I’ll head up to bed. I’m shattered after training and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

Standing up and kissing her mum goodnight, Isla headed out of the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, trying to ignore the sense that something significant had happened this evening that she just couldn’t allow herself to acknowledge.

Light drizzle fell from low clouds. Isla pulled her hood up over her head. Glancing left and right down the small residential cul-de-sac where she was waiting, half a mile’s walk from school, there was no sign yet of anyone approaching. Pulling out her phone to check the time, she saw she was still a few minutes early. She’d rushed out of school, made excuses to Callum and Meera about her need for a hasty exit. She’d told herself they were excuses, but deep down she knew what they were really: lies.

Opening her umbrella, she was unsure whether it was the rain or nerves making her shiver. For the past seventy-two hours, since the arrangement had been made, Isla had not been able to stop prevaricating; fretting that she was being foolish, that she was making a mistake, that she may come to regret it. But each time she’d been on the verge of cancelling, another message had arrived, and her fears seemed to evaporate.

An approaching car caused her to turn her head, and her stomach lurched as she saw the familiar black Model X pulling up at the kerb beside her. Isla opened the door and climbed inside.

‘You came.’ Andrew smiled, his expression calm and relaxed in contrast to Isla’s anxiety, and she could only nod in response as she fastened her seat belt. ‘I’m so glad. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. Are you okay?’

It was such an easy question and yet, to Isla, there was no obvious answer: just a chaos of feelings that refused to fit into any singular box. A part of her brain told her to say she’d made a mistake, she was sorry, she was going to head home and get on with her homework. But then she thought about all the messages between them over the past three weeks: how intoxicating it had been receiving them, sending them, how there had been moments when she’d felt that her communication with Andrew was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her.

The capacity to form words still eluded her so she merely nodded again, watched as Andrew put the car into gear, began their journey towards a pub half an hour away.

As they drove, Andrew began telling a story about a colleague at work; the kind of story that made her feel both grown-up and, at the same time, as though she were masquerading as an adult, trying it on for size, unsure whether it fitted. Isla’s thoughts wandered over the events of the past few weeks, the sequence of communications that had led to her being here, in the car of a man she’d known her whole life, embarking on what she knew – even though a part of her didn’t yet want to admit it – was a date.

She thought back to that first message three weeks ago, and to the second one that had arrived the next morning, a swimming meme that had made her laugh before she’d even got out of bed. She thought about the diving meme she had sent back almost immediately, and the succession of gifs they had sent each other during the course of that day.

She thought about how their messages had moved on to more personal questions, Andrew asking her about school, about training, about life more generally – her hopes, ambitions, fears and anxieties. How he had shared frustrations of his own about work, about the state of the world, about the stasis of his life and how he sometimes thought about shaking everything up, disrupting it all, throwing all the pieces into the air and seeing where they landed. It was so different from her interactions with Callum, who had never been keen on lengthy WhatsApp chats. Conversations with Callum tended to focus on school and homework, university applications and gossip about their classmates. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with that; she’d always loved talking with Callum. But those conversations felt small, somehow, compared to her interactions with Andrew. Small and less significant.

Within a few days, Isla had found herself anxiously awaiting Andrew’s next communication, willing it to arrive, experiencing a jolt of adrenaline whenever a new message appeared in the locked chats where she’d moved their thread so it was not easily detectable should her phone fall into the wrong hands. A part of her brain told her that this act alone was significant, that it should reveal to her the clandestine nature of their friendship; but another, reckless part of her resolutely ignored it. Nobody had ever communicated with her like this before. No adult had ever treated her like an equal in this way, had ever shared so much, so candidly, about their own life. Since Isla’s dad died, her mum had relied on her – emotionally, psychologically – but that didn’t make Isla feel equal, it didn’t make her feel like an adult. Often it made her feel as though she’d been awarded a responsibility she’d never even wanted.

And then, three nights ago, the message had arrived that changed everything. The message that exposed what she knew, deep down, was happening but which she had, until then, deliberately chosen to ignore.

Isla, I’m about to go out on a limb here, and I sincerely hope I don’t live to regret it. I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you pretty much all the time. I love our conversations on here. You’re funny and smart and wise beyond your years, and you understand me in a way I haven’t felt understood for a very long time. Our WhatsApp chats are the highlight of my day. I think – if I’m not mistaken – you may feel the same way. I suspect we both know this has gone beyond whatever it started out as. All I know is that I love talking with you, and I don’t want it to end. Would you be up for meeting, for talking face-to-face? I’d love to see you. A xx

Isla had read the message, heart thumping, had re-read it countless times, trying to decipher if there was any possible interpretation other than the obvious one. There had been almost an hour of procrastination: thinking, worrying, weighing up countless pros and cons.

And then, a second message from Andrew had appeared.

I really hope you’re studying or at training, and that’s the reason you’re not replying, not that I’ve freaked you out. If I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry – let’s draw a line, pretend it never happened, move on. I just really love talking to you and it would be great to meet up and do it in person. A x

Without allowing herself time to entertain doubts for a second longer, she had tapped out a reply, read it through only once before hitting the send button.

You haven’t freaked me out. To be honest, I don’t know what I feel right now, but it would definitely be good to meet up and talk it through. I x

That exchange had been only three days ago and yet, already, it felt like another lifetime.

‘Here we are.’ Andrew pulled into a pub car park on a narrow, rural lane. ‘All good?’

Isla nodded, her throat dry, conscious that she had been responding to Andrew’s questions for the past half an hour with only a fraction of her attention.

‘Wait a sec.’ Andrew reached into the back of the car, pulled a Tiffany box from his coat pocket and handed it to Isla. ‘Just a little something. I hope you like it.’

Isla watched, as if on automatic pilot, as her hand reached out to take the box. Inside was an infinity pendant on a silver chain.

‘I hope this isn’t going to sound corny, but I saw it and thought of you. You make me feel as though the world is full of infinite possibilities. Here, let me.’ Taking the box from her, he picked up the necklace and unclasped the chain with surprising dexterity. ‘Do you want to lift your hair up?’

Isla complied, wound her long, blonde hair around her fingers, held it in a temporary bun.

Lifting his arms, Andrew fastened the chain in place.

Isla sat motionless as his fingers grazed the nape of her neck, his breath skimming her clavicle, the heat of him drifting across her skin, aware that this was no ‘little something’. This was a gift loaded with meaning.

As he drew back from her, his eyes fixed on her face, and Isla found that she could not look away even if she wanted to.

And then he was leaning forward, his face moving closer until their lips were touching, and they were kissing, and it was both exciting and terrifying in equal measure. Her mind raced, a thousand different thoughts spinning through her brain that this was wrong, it was weird, he was too old, she was too young, she already had a boyfriend, she didn’t want to cheat on Callum, her mum would be appalled. She didn’t know how she had ended up here, in a car, kissing the husband of her mum’s best friend, a man she had known her entire life. And yet... even as each thought hurtled through her brain, they were no match for how exciting it felt, how electrifying, how much she wanted Andrew to continue doing what he was doing.

He pulled away, cupped a hand around her cheek. ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. She could still feel the sensation of Andrew’s lips against hers, still taste him, a sensation so different to when she kissed Callum. ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice surprised her, calmer than she felt.

Andrew kissed her again, gently, on the mouth. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting to do that. You’re so beautiful.’

His fingers stroked the back of her hand, and Isla felt as though her lungs did not have the capacity to hold all the air she needed.

‘Shall we go in, get a drink? I can’t keep you in a car park all evening.’

As Isla stepped out of the car and closed the door, Andrew walked towards her, took hold of her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers, and she was aware that, in this moment, her life was bisecting into two distinct parts: the safety of school, family, friends, Callum; and then this, something she could not yet define, could not comprehend. Something that felt both exhilarating and dangerous; something she both yearned for and yet feared. Something a part of her brain was telling her to stop, now, before it went any further, while her legs nonetheless continued to put one foot in front of the other, following the husband of her mother’s best friend – the father of her childhood playmate – towards the most reckless thing she had ever done.