Family Swimsaver Ticket.
While the man at the cash desk was reaching down our locker key bracelets, Imogen and I stood back against the wall. I pointed to one of the framed photographs opposite.
âThat looks exactly like the Harries Cup.â
Imogen grinned. âYou really want to win it, donât you, Mel?â
âIâve wanted it for three years ,â I confessed. âThe first year, Toby Harrison beat me by a couple of metres. That was fair enough. Then, last year, Mum wouldnât even let me try.â
Imogen stared across at my mum. âWouldnât let you?â
âI did have flu,â I admitted. âBut still Iâm sure I could have done it. There was only Phoebe Tucker in the running, and I was a good five seconds faster than her over the whole three lengths. But this year sheâs too old to enter. So,â I said, flattening myself back against the wall to let a man with a pushchair get past, âin two weeksâ time, Mr Archibald Leroy, Councillor for Leisure Services, will be handing the Harries Cup to me .â
âNo, he wonât,â said Imogen.
âSorry?â
Iâd turned to stare at her, but just at that moment, Mum hurried over. âWhat a time that took! Letâs hope thereâs no more messing about, or it wonât have been worth coming.â She held out her cupped hands. âRight, then. Hand it all over. Money, watches, diamonds . . .â
She makes the same joke every week. I slid off my watch, and passed it across.
âAnd you, dear.â Mum turned to Imogen. âWhat about that necklace?â
Imogen patted it. âNo, really. Itâs all right. I always swim in it. The claspâs so stiff it never comes undone by accident.â
âIâm not sure thatâs wise,â Mum said. âItâs one thing wearing it in a school lesson, when everyone knows itâs yours. But this session is different.â
âAll right.â Imogen turned her back to me. âCan you get it undone, Mel?â
I struggled with the clasp. She was quite right, it was horribly stiff and difficult. But finally I managed to prise it open. The slim gold chain fell like a tiny living snake into my palm. It was so cold, it startled me. And though I was sure it was imagination, it seemed to stir of its own accord, even before I prodded it with my finger.
âWhat are those strange scratches on it?â Mum asked, opening her bag for me to spill the glittering loops of gold safely inside.
âMy mother says theyâre charms,â said Imogen. âThe wavy shapes stand for water, and the pointy ones for roots.â
âCurious,â said Mum, snapping her bag shut. âAnd much safer here with me than in those lockers.â She set off up the stairs for the café, and I turned to Imogen.
âWhy did you say that?â I demanded.
âAbout the roots and water?â
âNo,â I said. âAbout Councillor Leroy not being there to give me the Harries Cup.â
âI didnât say that. All I said wasââ
She stopped, and stared at me, appalled. I couldnât work out what was wrong with her. It wasnât quite like all the times before, when blood drained from her face. But she still looked horrified enough.
âOh, no!â she whispered, her eyes on me, huge and round.
âWhatâs up?â I asked her. âIs it bad news about Councillor Leroy? Is he going to die ?â
She shook her head and tried to pull herself together. But though she tried to answer sensibly, she still looked weird. Not scared, exactly. More sort of cagey. Shifty-looking, even.
âWhatâs going on?â I demanded. âImogen, whatâs going on?â
She took a breath and said firmly: âNothing. Nothing at all.â But she was still looking hunted, and, desperate to distract me, she glanced around.
âOh, look!â She pointed to the
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