Page 82 of High Season
ONE WEEK BEFORE THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
The month that Josie taught Tamara to swim had stretched out like a long, late summer sunset. Achingly slow at first and then over quickly, like the sun dropping beneath the sea, day turning into night.
They hadn’t used the pool at the pink house. Josie’s mother had recently started her job as housekeeper, and had already warned Josie not to mix with the Drayton kids. She was nervous, Josie told Tamara, that Josie would say something to annoy or upset her mother’s new charges, something that would get back to Evelyn.
Tamara had her own reasons for wanting to stay away from the pink house. Her mum had recently split from her latest husband and was on the warpath. Tamara preferred to be out of the way as much as possible.
Instead, they met at the salt pool early most mornings, before it got busy. Tamara didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing her there—everyone she knew had their own pools, their own private places to swim. Here, Tamara could strap on the armbands Josie brought from the dive shop without feeling self-conscious. Josie could bellow out instructions, telling Tamara to kick harder, to tilt her head forward. Thetwo of them could float, Josie’s hand supporting Tamara, her touch gentle against her waist as she showed her how to keep her body flat and firm, the feel of her hand sending a strange electricity beneath the surface of Tamara’s skin.
On the day before Tamara returned to England, Josie brought her to a part of the beach she had never been to before. A rocky platform, the sea lapping up against it, the dark kind of blue that suggested immediate depth. A flight of rusting steps screwed into the rock, as if the entire ocean was Josie’s private swimming pool.
“Do you feel ready?” said Josie.
“Not really,” said Tamara.
Josie smiled and reached down to squeeze Tamara’s hand.
“Good,” she said. “That means that it’s the perfect time.”
Josie had gone in first. She swam a few meters out and trod water. Tamara could just make out her legs beneath the surface, the white of her skin as she kicked.
“Are you good?” she shouted.
Tamara was shivering, even though the morning was warm, only the faintest breath of autumn in the air. She nodded. Gave Josie a thumbs-up. Took a deep breath. Lowered her foot onto the ladder.
The water was so different from the calm, lukewarm salt pool. Immediately the chill of the sea took the air out of Tamara’s lungs. The swell of a wave lifted her, the spray against her face. Driving her back toward the rocks, salt in her mouth and eyes. A spark of panic in her gut, her legs scrabbling for the ground and finding only water beneath her.
She swallowed a mouthful of water and choked on it.
It was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She was going to drown out here, just like she’d always been scared that she would.
And then, just above the rise and fall of a wave, she saw a flash of white. Josie, bobbing in the distance. Waving, beckoning Tamara toward her. Tamara took in a gasp of air. Leaned her body forward, the way Josie had showed her to. Started to kick her legs.
It seemed to take a very long time to reach Josie. Tamara counted each kick, each hard, scissoring motion of her legs, each drag of herarms against the resistance of water. At first, she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Josie remained, a flash of skin, the bob of her ponytail, far away. Tamara lost sight of her behind a wave, and then when she emerged Josie was closer. Larger. Tamara kicked harder. Each stroke carried her toward Josie now. The waves seemed to level and slow. She could hear Josie’s voice, carrying on the wind. Cheering. Chanting her name.
She swam the final few strokes with salt in her eyes, her vision blurred. When she reached Josie, their limbs collided, and all Tamara could hear was Josie whooping. Tamara caught hold of her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, both kicking their legs frantically to stay afloat. Dragging each other down at the same time as they held each other up.
“You did it!” Josie said.
Tamara was laughing. There was seawater in her eyes, on her skin, in her mouth. She felt alive. Invincible.
This was how she would always remember them.
Tamara is leaning out of her bedroom window smoking when she hears Josie downstairs. The click of the front door, the murmur of voices.
“Yeah,” Josie is saying. “Yeah, I can come back tomorrow.”
She sounds tired. Tamara knows that she’s been taking care of Nina all day, ferrying her down to the beach, reading her picture books. Keeping her out of Evelyn and Harrison’s way.
For the last two summers, since their dad stopped inviting Blake to stay with him in Italy, Tamara and Josie have spent time together less frequently. The days down by the sea have thinned.
Their friendship has always been a secret, ever since those days at the salt pool. It had remained a guilty delight, knowing that their mothers wouldn’t approve—that Patricia would be on edge about it, and Evelyn would inevitably make some snide comment aboutthe Jackson girl,about how she was a bad influence. But recently, Tamara has found herself inventing other excuses. Early-morning swims andlate-night meetings have faded to occasional encounters when Josie is working at the house. Tamara has found herself wondering if their mothers are really the reason for her own desire for secrecy, or if there is something more that she is afraid to admit to. She does not like what this might say about her.
Tamara stubs out her cigarette and scrambles to her feet. She darts downstairs, out to the side of the house, where she knows that the garden exit will intersect Josie’s path up the hill. She emerges when Josie is still a few steps away, her spine hunched, eyes fixed down toward the ground.
“Hey,” Tamara says.
Josie’s head jerks up.
