Page 23 of Ask Another Day

‘If the divorce goes ahead, what will your name be?’

If Lucy was surprised by the turn in conversation, she didn’t show it. ‘Calvert,’ she offered quietly.

‘Sorry, was that insensitive?’

‘No, not at all. I just haven’t said it for such a long time.’

‘It’s a good surname. Sounds chivalrous. I bet you’ve got some knights in your family history.’

Lucy rubbed her eyes and laughed.

‘What?’ Holly asked, checking her watch. She really needed to get going, but she could spare another minute or two to find out what was so amusing.

‘Nothing, Holly. You always manage to cheer me up - simply by being you.’

‘I’ll take that as the compliment I’m sure you intended it to be. Have fun opening up,’ she crooned as she turned to make her way back outside to Owen and his promise of something new today.

*

During the drive to the leisure centre, Holly had come to the conclusion that this something new was unlikely to be something good, but Owen was right on two counts. First, she had been doing well in their lessons. Years ago, she’d been able to swim - she hadn’t been a great swimmer, but she’d been able to do a half decent front crawl for ten metres, on a good day. Until Maggie Montgomery kicked her in the back during their Year 4 Swimming Gala. To nine year old Holly, that impact had felt like she’d been kicked in the back with the force of a flanker for Whitby Rugby Club. She’d gone under and had swallowed lungfuls of chlorinated water. The teenage lifeguard had been forced to jump into the pool and drag her out. She could still remember the muted shouts of her mum as she’d clambered over the plastic seats in the viewing gallery to get to her.

Vividly, she also recalled the despondent look on the lifeguard’s face when he’d realised the watch he’d been wearing was not waterproof. Even though none of it had been her fault, she’d felt so guilty he’d ruined his watch in rescuing her. That fateful afternoon had been the last time she’d entered any body of water since - other than a bath. The following school year her teacher, the cantankerous Mr Fincham, had despaired at her. Each week, during their term of swimming lessons, he’d berated her when she’d sobbed and refused to get in the water. He had tried a variety of tactics to make her join in, but each one had failed. It quickly became apparent he couldn’t comprehend she was truly terrified - had just assumed she was being difficult or wanted all the attention that her constant refusals brought. But it was as far from that as possible. She’d felt so small when he shouted and accused her of faking her fear. If she could have got in the water, she’d have done it - if only to stop his weekly scolding.

When he’d finally given up and announced she was unteachable, in front of the whole class, the final nail in her swimming coffin had been hammered firmly into place. She’d buried that coffin deep, mourned for it each time she’d looked on as friends and family had fun in the water. She’d made her peace with it - until she’d won these lessons with Owen. And that brought her to the second reason he was right. Owen was a great teacher; kind, patient, and observant. He looked for the little signs she was struggling and adjusted their lessons accordingly. When she broke it down like that, she knew, deep down, she trusted him in the water.

*

On Holly’s arrival at the pool, when she saw the small slide that had been attached to the edge of the training pool, she wasn’t so committed to that trust anymore.

‘What the hell is that?’ she asked, pointing at the red monstrosity clamped onto the tiled edge of the pool.

‘It’s a slide, Hols,’ he replied, matter of factly.

‘I know it’s a bloody slide - what is it doing attached to the training pool?’

‘It’s a technique I’ve used with–’ he stopped himself.

‘No, carry on, Owen. I don’t think anything you can say can make this worse. You use it with small children don’t you, young children… ergo it must be what I need.’

‘I was going to say, I use it with,’ he reached for the right words, ‘reluctant swimmers.’

‘Liar. You were definitely going to say children, Owen.’ She walked over to the slide and gave it a shake, checking how firmly it was attached to the pool. When she was placated that it was at least securely attached, she stepped away from it and turned back to Owen.

Instead of attempting to defend himself a second time, he smiled at her. ‘Give it a try. For me?’

Gently taking her hand in his, he led her to the steps of the red slide, and positioned her in front of them. ‘Wait for me to get in the water, and then slide in.’

She took a fortifying breath, as she watched him ease himself into the pool. As the muscles in his biceps flexed from the movement she allowed herself to ogle a little. He really was gorgeous; she let the distraction wash over her.

‘Come on, trust me. I’ve got you.’

And because she knew he did have her, she stepped onto the slide and slipped down the short shiny shoot into the warm water below.

As her bottom hit the surface of the water, and she started to go under, a scream readied itself in her throat. But Owen’s strong arms gripped her at the waist and her head didn’t go under. She gasped out a laugh.

‘Oh my God,’ she breathed out, adrenaline coursing through her as the water steadied itself against her body.

He leant in so he could whisper, ‘I really wish you were saying that, in that breathless voice, for another reason.’