Page 49 of Commitment Issues
Andrew’s glaring at me and Freddie’s staring, his mouth agape.
“Is that why you don’t want to come in?” Freddie says, “because you can’t swim?”
“No, he bloody well can’t, and he finds every excuse not to learn. For his birthday last year, I booked him a course of lessons with a private tutor at my health club. He turned up once. And don’t blame work commitments, because I spotted you having lunch during what should have been one of your sessions.”
“No, I can’t swim, but what’s the big deal? I can’t paraglide, either, or dance the tango. That doesn’t surprise anybody, so why should not being able to swim be different? It’s never bothered me so it shouldn’t bother anybody else.” I glower at Andrew.Thank you very much.
“See if you can persuade him, Freddie, perhaps use some of your considerable charms.” He runs his eyes down Freddie’s body and smiles, and a prickle of irritation sparks across my skin.
“Please don’t eye up my boyfriend, you’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow.” I’m trying to sound lighthearted and flippant, to shift the focus away from the fact that I can’t do something most seven-year-olds can. But there’s a bite to my voice. Silence settles on all three of us, and Freddie’s hand goes to the back of his neck, that nervous gesture of his that gives him away every time.
“You know what I mean,” I say to Andrew. “And I’m sorry I bunked off the rest of the swimming lessons.”
“I always knew you would, but it was worth a try. I’d better get back to Marcus and rub some suncream into that exquisite little body of his.”
Andrew lopes off up the beach and both Freddie and I watch him go.
“I could use many words to describe Marcus, but exquisite isn’t one of them.” I turn back to Freddie. “So, there’s my little secret dragged out into the open. Bloody Andrew.”
“I can’t ski. I tried it once but it scared the life out of me, and now every time I see more than a couple of inches of snow I get the heebie-jeebies and break out in a cold sweat. It’s no big deal, not in the grander scheme of things. Just like swimming.”
I gaze out to sea, feeling the familiar surge of envy, the way I always do when I see people enjoying themselves in the water.
“I like looking at it, and being near it, even being on it in a boat, but it scares the bloody life out of me. But it’s a life skill isn’t it? Like driving, or knowing CPR, or the Heimlich manoeuvre. All the things we should know. I’ve only mastered one of those and I suspect you can guess which one.”
I glance at Freddie, unsure what I’ll see in his eyes. With Gavin, it had always been an annoyance, as though what he considered a failing on my part was really some grand design to screw up whichever holiday we were on. I see none of that in Freddie’s face, instead he looks serious and thoughtful.
“I swim, most days if I can manage it. In fact, I swam for the university when I was an undergrad. I’m not offering to teach you, because I know that’s not what you want. But if you need the moral support then come in with me now. If at any point you’re uncomfortable, we’ll just get out.”
I don’t know what to say. It’s a simple offer of help, nothing more or less. There’s none of Gavin’s ill-tempered cajoling that always ended in a row, or Andrew’s well-meaning but heavy-handed efforts to resolve what he sees as a problem. If I say no, that’d be the end of it; there’d be no irritated sigh, or heavy glower thrown my way. If I say yes, if I grab his offer with both very shaky hands… I glance back at the sea and lick my lips.
“I…”
“It’s right to feel wary, even scared, of the water. It can be the most wonderful, joyous and caressing thing, but it can be cruel too and turn on you in an instant. But it’s calm, and I promise nothing bad’ll happen to you, not with me. Come on, come in with me. I won’t let you down.”
He holds his hand out to me, not just to lead me down to the water’s edge and beyond. No, he’s offering me his strength, and I know he’ll take my trust and keep it safe. It’s up to me whether to accept the offer that’s given so freely.
“Are you sure about this? I’m likely to flap my arms about and scream like a teenager.”
I’ve made a success of everything in my life, with the notable exception of my relationship with Gavin. A scholarship to one of the best public schools. A double first in my degree. A successful businessman by the time I was thirty. I’m not used to failing when I set out to do something. It’s why I bunked off all but one of the lessons Andrew booked for me.
“And I don’t have my water wings with me.” I say it as a joke, but heat flames in my face. The rubber bands, bright orange, deflated and abandoned somewhere in the back of a cupboard.
“You won’t need them, because I’m your water wing. But it’s up to you, I won’t push you either way.”
If I think about it, I won’t do it. I throw off my T-shirt and wriggle out of my shorts, revealing the plain black trunks I’m wearing beneath. I look out at the gorgeous, deep blue Mediterranean and my balls scurry up into my body and my cock shrinks.
Freddie takes my hand and leads the way. Up above in the clear blue sky, gulls wheel around and shriek, as though they’re laughing at me. My heart races out of control and a bead of sweat trickles down my backbone. We stand on the darker strip of wet, compacted sand at the water’s edge. A warm, gentle wave rolls in and laps around my bare feet. How can something that feels so good frighten me half to death?
The memory’s as sharp as a blade.
Standing on the edge of the local pool, lined up with the other kids from my class, all of us shivering, the stench of chlorine filling our nostrils. The hard, sudden shove from behind, losing balance, falling, and plunging headfirst into the cold water. Lungs filling, arms flapping, and the fear that drags me down and down. A lifeguard hauling me out, dumping me on the side, as I cry for my mum, the other kids sniggering and sneering all around me. I’m fifty-two, but as the sea laps around my feet I’m that seven-year-old kid again, shivering at the poolside.
Freddie gently squeezes my hand. “You’ve got nothing to fear. I won’t take you out of your depth. We’ll walk out to waist height and that’ll be it. I could say to you to take it slowly, but the best thing is to take a deep breath and walk until I say stop. A bit like pulling off a plaster, when you think about it. Just keep hold of my hand.”
He steps forward but I’m rooted to the spot, and he turns to look at me when I don’t move, leaving the decision to me whether to advance or retreat.
“I don’t think I can just march in.”
