Chlorine
The pool occupied a flimsy half cylinder, like a polytunnel used to grow lettuce in winter. On the wall, a mural of palm trees and an immense pi?a colada seemed to jeer at the mossy brownness beyond the glass, now misted with condensation, its metal frame dotted with rust. No hibiscus or coconut oil, instead the smell was of old towels and chlorine, but at least they had it to themselves. In the pool, Anthony held on to the edge and idly splashed his legs while Cleo’s head protruded from a great meringue in the hot tub. ‘Come on in!’ she shouted.
Marnie shrugged off her dressing-grown and slapped along the pool’s edge, stiff-legged, flat-footed, the flayed soles of her feet too sensitive. If Conrad had stayed, perhaps they’d have pushed each other in, splashed about. Perhaps it was just as well he’d left. There’s a particular intimacy in seeing someone in their swimming costume, and the one she’d bought from Reception was solemn and modest, a swimming costume you could wear to a funeral, but even so she tugged at the bottom edge to pull it down further as she climbed into the foam.
‘What do you think of the luxury spa?’ said Cleo.
‘Club Tropicana. But with pints. I like this,’ said Marnie, patting at the suds, streaked with a tideline of unmentionable grey, like old snow. She closed her eyes, listened to the churn of the water pump and after a while …
‘I’m sorry Conrad had to go,’ said Cleo.
‘I don’t mind,’ said Marnie, crisp and casual.
‘Work, long drive and all that,’ said Cleo. ‘He said he loved meeting you.’ Marnie groaned. ‘He did! He told me!’
‘Hence the squeal of tyres.’
‘And he’s going to call you in London. He realised this wasn’t for him.’ Marnie said nothing, just pushed the foam away from her face. ‘So, how was it?’ asked Cleo, and Marnie told her about the rain, the mud, the climb.
‘But how was Michael?’ said Cleo.
‘He was nice. Quite quiet. I mean, we couldn’t talk much because the rain was so loud, and I was shouting and swearing at him, but he seemed like a nice man.’
‘He is a nice man,’ said Cleo.
‘He is,’ said Marnie, ‘very nice,’ and fell silent, because niceness was something that was both rare and also hard to talk about.
‘There’s a lot going on,’ said Cleo, meaningfully. ‘A lot.’
Marnie opened her eyes. ‘We didn’t really talk personally.’
‘You should. It would do him good to talk to someone, I think.’
‘About what?’ said Marnie.
‘But the thing is Anthony and me are heading home tomorrow morning,’ said Cleo, and Marnie pushed the foam into her face.
‘We’re meant to be walking for three days!’
‘But the rain, and it’s so far, and Anthony’s been invited to this paintball party—’
‘So what do I do? My ticket’s from Penrith on Tuesday!’
‘The hotel’s still booked. It’s very posh. Stay on!’
‘What – with a stranger?’
‘He’s not a stranger now. And it’s not like you’re sharing a room.’
‘I wanted to see you. I came to spend time with you!’
‘Okay, drive back to York with us. We’ll talk in the car.’
‘This is so typical, Cleo, you bully me into coming away—’
‘Hang on! “Bully”?’
‘Always “You need to get out more! You’re lonely! It’s time to get back on the horse—”’
‘That’s not bullying, that’s worrying.’
‘Well, stop, please, I beg you, stop worrying about me!’
‘Caring, then. You’re a brilliant woman. I think you’re a brilliant woman and it sends me crazy that you don’t … think more of yourself and get out there.’
‘Out where? Out here?’
‘Anywhere outside your flat! You never used to be like that. Friends say they don’t hear from you, they don’t see you, you’re always cancelling. It’s a long time since Neil …’
‘So why bring him up?’
‘Because he was so bad for you, so, so bad – he completely killed your confidence …’
‘Please, can you just … stop interfering?’
They lapsed into silence, listening to the motor. ‘Cleo, I’m very happy on my own. I mean, look!’ And here she scooped up a handful of the suds and placed them on her head. Cleo smiled but said nothing and their eyes drifted to the pool, where Anthony was swimming slow, easy lengths.
‘It was a mistake to bring him, I think. He gets very bored.’
Marnie felt another pulse of indignation and thought, Who cares what a kid wants? When she went on holiday with her parents, her boredom was taken for granted. But her case – that a kid’s opinion should count for less, his childhood should be more like her own – was a hard, mean line to argue in a hot tub. It was difficult, too, to sulk off when covered with foam but she did her best, dripping dirty suds, like a poorly rinsed roasting tin.
She was a good swimmer. In the marriage and its aftermath, she’d used water as a kind of punch-bag and, sure enough, after a few lengths of the pool, she began to feel better. Silly to spoil this last night in a sulk. Diving, skimming the pool’s bottom, she saw the back of Anthony’s skinny legs batting at the water and, touched by the sight, she swam in his direction, approaching underwater like a shark, grabbing his ankles. Even with her head underwater, she could hear his shriek.
‘Sorry! I’m sorry! I was just coming to say hi!’
Anthony, wide-eyed, was clutching at the pool’s edge.
‘What’s going on?’ Cleo shouted from the foam.
‘Nothing, I was just – it was a joke!’
‘You pulled me under!’
‘I did not! Don’t split on me, Anthony, I was saying hi. Just hi. It’s fine!’ she shouted across to Cleo, who resubmerged. Marnie pinched the water from her nose. ‘I saw you swimming earlier. You’re very good.’
‘I’m not. I’m really bad.’
‘Not at all. Show me! Show me your stroke.’
‘Too tired now.’
‘Okay. Don’t fancy the hot tub?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Hot tubs are for old people.’
She laughed. ‘No, you’re right. It’s because you’re not filthy and tense. Give it time.’ They were silent for a while, forearms resting along the edge of the pool. ‘Give it time.’ The awkwardness of open conversation with adults was something she took for granted, but it should be easier with children. They’d once been close, taking him for holidays in London after her divorce, and if anything had marred those occasions it was the parents’ presumption of envy, as if Cleo were loaning her a rare and much-loved toy to play with for a while, as long as she handed it back afterwards. She’d loved him without coveting him and had hoped that this would last, but soon he’d be deep into his teens and she’d be just another grown-up, ridiculous and embarrassing, someone to avoid at social events.
‘I’ve not been a very good godmother these last few years, have I?’ she said. ‘I think I got out of the habit of seeing people, your mum and dad and friends, and then it was hard to go back in, like starting a new school or something. Which is crazy, when you’re thirty-eight.’ Why was she saying this out loud? Anthony’s eyes stayed fixed ahead. ‘But I love seeing you growing up, everyone so proud. And if you ever want to call for a chat or come and stay in London again … I know the flat’s small but—’
‘Yeah. Okay, I’d like that,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I used to love it there, your flat.’
‘Oh. Well, great. Let’s do it! We can go to Forbidden Planet, go to the movies.’
‘Cool.’
She had a sudden sentimental urge to grab his head and kiss his lovely spotted brow, but he was already underwater and she felt his cool, skinny body brush against her legs as he pushed off, skimming the bottom all the way to the far end of the pool.