Wild
‘Not swimming exactly,’ he said, ‘a dip. A plunge.’
She was sitting now. ‘Don’t do it!’
‘It’s Scandinavian. I have to get rid of this hangover. Go back to sleep.’
‘But if I sleep who’ll call the ambulance?’ He laughed, though the thought had crossed his mind. ‘Seriously, Michael, that’s melted snow.’ There was still a frosting of the stuff on the highest peaks, but he was already heading towards the tarn.
‘I think I can do it!’ he shouted, pulling his T-shirt off over his head. He’d read articles about this, the thrill, the cleansing power of the cold plunge, a liquid defibrillator for the heart, the mind, the blood, the libido. Sweating in the sun, it had seemed like a thrilling idea and the shorts were around his knees while he was still unlacing his boots, noting the way his stomach concertinaed when he bent over, adjusting it accordingly. ‘You might want to avert your eyes,’ he shouted, without turning, but if he tensed every muscle and kept his back to Marnie, he might be all right. Willing his shoulders broader, he piled his clothes on a boulder beneath his boots and attempted to stride purposefully over spikes of grass and sedge. At the water’s gravelled shore, he dabbled his fingers in the water.
‘Why are you doing that?’ shouted Marnie, laughter in her voice. ‘Do you think it might be warm?’
The sun was burning his shoulders but no amount of heat would make this anything other than excruciating, and even as his toes touched the water the blood was roaring in his ears, his heart rapping at his sternum in a rhythmic bad idea bad idea bad idea. The water was silver-tinged and viscous, like gin from an ice box, and he bent, scooped it up, dribbled it on to his neck and felt it burn, felt his bowels contract, as if they were clambering up into his ribcage, pursued by his genitals. So much for showing off. Bravado long gone, it was a perfect vignette of mid-life crisis and yet there was no way out of it now, no choice but to fall forwards into the acid bath. He could no longer feel his feet. What if they snapped off at the ankles? Behind him he could hear Marnie scrambling down the bank. Was she going to push him in? He would count to three then go before she had the chance. He exhaled, quick short breaths, one two three four five six seven …
‘This is so stupid,’ she said, and he turned and laughed. Marnie was standing beside him in black underwear, arms folded across her chest, shoulders hunched, her skin pale and mottled except for a bib of pink where she’d caught the sun. ‘I can’t let you die alone.’ He allowed himself only a schoolboy’s glance, but he thought that she looked magnificent. Instinctively he folded his arms too and attempted to tense every muscle in his body simultaneously.
‘Okay. So how do we do this?’ she asked.
‘I suppose we just count to three and go.’
‘I can’t dive.’
‘Just sort of fall forward, like a felled tree.’
‘Head under?’
‘I think so.’
‘So, completely submerged?’
‘Otherwise there’s no point. It’ll hurt but like a slap, just for a second.’
‘Slaps hurt for a long time. Also, I really don’t want to be slapped.’
‘But then it will feel amazing, high, like a drug.’
‘Couldn’t we try to find some drugs?’
‘This will be a natural high.’
‘Or a low, a natural low.’
‘Let’s find out.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
‘What is that bird? Over there, curved beak.’
‘Don’t change the subject, Marnie. Are you ready?’
Together, they counted, ‘One … two … three!’
Neither of them moved.
‘It’s a curlew,’ he said.
‘Okay, let’s go again,’ she said. ‘One … two … three.’
Again, neither of them moved.
‘I really can’t feel my toes now,’ she said.
‘Let’s get a little further out,’ he said, and they shuffled forward on stone feet until their ankles were submerged.
‘Okay, let’s go again. Ready?’
‘One … two …’
‘Count backwards.’
‘D’you think that’s the problem, the order of the numbers?’
‘It’s the only thing stopping me. Three, two, one and then we go.’
‘On “go”?’
‘Go on “go”.’
Together they chanted – ‘Three, two, one, go’ – but still they remained.
‘Okay, let’s not count at all,’ she said. ‘Let’s just go. Let’s just go together! Seize the moment. Let’s do it. Do it! Seize it!’ and she took his hand. ‘Are you ready? Now!’
‘Now!’
‘No … now!’
‘Let’s gooooooo … NOW!’
‘Okay, this time, no excuses. We go … now!’
‘Now!’
‘Now. No, now!’
‘I think we’re being too nice about it,’ she said, after a while. ‘I think we should just—’ and suddenly she tried to swing him around by his hand, twisting his wrist – ‘Ow!’ and he stumbled, jabbing the soles of his feet on the gravel but grabbing her other arm and pulling her towards him so that for a moment her whole body was pressed against his, her hand on his hip, laughing and shrieking. He felt iced water splash the back of his thighs, pure ice, so he lunged forward, taking her with him, his hand on her bra strap and then on her lower back, long enough to feel the softness above her hip, damp with sweat, his thigh between her legs and they stood there for a moment, braced against each other, his chin on her shoulder, like exhausted dancers. Once again, he had the sensation of being outside the moment, observing and judging and shaking his head, and wasn’t it better to be only inside? How was that achieved? ‘Don’t fight it, Michael,’ she whispered in his ear, her voice low and breathless. ‘You know you want it. It’ll be nice when you’re in, I promise,’ and he contemplated jumping in if only to staunch an erection. Another sudden lunge and he almost surrendered and let himself go, almost, almost.
But he pushed back, and now they were locked like deer with their antlers entangled. A second passed, another, with just the sound of their panting as they stood in four inches of water, foreheads touching, hands high on each other’s arms. ‘The art of sumo,’ she said, and he felt her breath on his face, her morning coffee, glanced down and thought of the word ‘bosom’, which made him laugh. He looked up saw that she was watching his face, smiling and—
‘Good morning!’
The voice came from the path and they looked up. Two white-haired walkers, a man and a woman, the couple who’d passed them yesterday, drunk from the pub. ‘Hello there!’ he shouted, letting go of Marnie.
‘Wee bit cold for a dip, don’t you think?’ The woman, that Scottish accent.
‘I want to,’ she said, curling over and folding her arms, ‘but he keeps stopping me.’
‘Well, rather you than me!’ laughed the man, and they walked on towards the summit, laughing good-naturedly, raising a stick goodbye while Marnie and Michael stood, suddenly self-aware like Adam and Eve.
‘I think,’ said Marnie, ‘that we have to accept the fact that neither of us is ever going into that water.’
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we should get dressed and pretend this didn’t happen.’
‘My honeymoon again!’ She smiled a little weakly, and he hobbled back to his pile. Marnie’s clothes were a little further off and he glanced as she walked away, rearranging her underwear, brushing at the back of her thighs with her fingertips, the kind of gesture he would remember forever. He felt a surge of something that quickened his heart, like the water but warm, and a few minutes later they were back on the path. ‘Well, that was exhilarating,’ she said.
‘Nothing gets the blood going,’ he said, ‘like the failure to do something.’
‘Remember,’ she said, ‘that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is chicken out,’ and he chose to believe that she was right.