which could contort his features into joy or distress depending on what happened next.
What happened next was that she picked him up and threw him as far as she could. He shrieked with delight, just like the Italian man’s little girl. It was as simple as that.
‘Again! Again!’ he squealed, wading back to her, and they did it again. He had forgotten to be wary of her, and Gail felt secure enough to cope with the possibility of his remembering. It wouldn’t last, but she was happy, incredibly happy, treating herself to dose after dose of infectious excitement.
Eventually when she was too exhausted to toss him anymore she did some more swimming, and this time he held on to her, pulled through the water at first by his hands on her ankle, then by his arms around her neck. His weight was the most satisfying physical sensation she could ever remember having.
She couldn’t get over how easy physical intimacy was in the water. They were more buoyant; if they moved towards each other they were together so suddenly that there was nothing to do about it but accept. Also the water was a reassuring medium between them – she could even embrace him, his legs wrapped around her waist, and the water would keep their bodies discrete and a little unreal, just enough to make it possible. An embrace in the empty air out there in the real world would be so much more difficult. How could you start it out there, with nothing helping you towards the other person, and how could you end it, with no medium to ease you apart, only the awkward unclenching of decision? She remembered their previous outings together, which had been visits to the movies mostly. Gail had sat there in the dark next to Anthony, wondering if she could get away with laying her arm along the top of his seat so that when he sat back he might feel it there around his shoulders. She remembered the mingled taste of Methadone and choc-top ice cream, and the gigantic images of robots, monsters and explosions whose reflected light flickered on the face of her son.
Never again , she thought. It’s the pool from now on .
But already there was a problem.
The familiar pain in her guts had come.
‘We have to get out soon,’ she said to Anthony, but he played on as if he had water in his ears.
‘We have to get out now,’ she said a few moments later, as the pain screwed deeper.
‘Oh please, not yet Mum!’
Hearing it, she realised she would do anything, anything for that last word.
‘OK, you stay for a while,’ she said. ‘But I have to get out now. I’ll come back and watch you from the edge.’
He seemed happy with that, so she climbed up the little steel ladder out of the pool. The unheated air felt freezing. Her shorts stuck heavily to her goose-pimpled flesh, and underneath her sodden tank top her nipples tightened painfully. She hobbled to where she had left her clothes, scooped them up and rushed to the changing room.
Her body temperature seemed to be dropping at the rate of one degree per second, and she undressed in a clumsy frenzy. The vision of Anthony floating face down in the water slotted into her mind again; he looked dead, as only a dead child can look.
The well-fleshed woman, the serious swimmer, was in the changing room too, observing Gail’s anxiousness with mild curiosity as she stepped backwards into a steaming shower. Her pubic hair was thick and black; she was probably wondering why Gail had none. Really , thought Gail, now that I’m off the game I should stop shaving it, let it grow …
Every twenty seconds or so Gail hurried to the door of the changing room, towel wrapped around her, to make sure her boy was still alive. Then she would hurry back inside and dry herself some more. Her skinny limbs seemed to slip through the fabric of the towel untouched, remaining cold and wet no matter how much she rubbed. There was water in the hollows of her collarbones, water running down the hardened lines of her arms and legs. The pain in her
What happened next was that she picked him up and threw him as far as she could. He shrieked with delight, just like the Italian man’s little girl. It was as simple as that.
‘Again! Again!’ he squealed, wading back to her, and they did it again. He had forgotten to be wary of her, and Gail felt secure enough to cope with the possibility of his remembering. It wouldn’t last, but she was happy, incredibly happy, treating herself to dose after dose of infectious excitement.
Eventually when she was too exhausted to toss him anymore she did some more swimming, and this time he held on to her, pulled through the water at first by his hands on her ankle, then by his arms around her neck. His weight was the most satisfying physical sensation she could ever remember having.
She couldn’t get over how easy physical intimacy was in the water. They were more buoyant; if they moved towards each other they were together so suddenly that there was nothing to do about it but accept. Also the water was a reassuring medium between them – she could even embrace him, his legs wrapped around her waist, and the water would keep their bodies discrete and a little unreal, just enough to make it possible. An embrace in the empty air out there in the real world would be so much more difficult. How could you start it out there, with nothing helping you towards the other person, and how could you end it, with no medium to ease you apart, only the awkward unclenching of decision? She remembered their previous outings together, which had been visits to the movies mostly. Gail had sat there in the dark next to Anthony, wondering if she could get away with laying her arm along the top of his seat so that when he sat back he might feel it there around his shoulders. She remembered the mingled taste of Methadone and choc-top ice cream, and the gigantic images of robots, monsters and explosions whose reflected light flickered on the face of her son.
Never again , she thought. It’s the pool from now on .
But already there was a problem.
The familiar pain in her guts had come.
‘We have to get out soon,’ she said to Anthony, but he played on as if he had water in his ears.
‘We have to get out now,’ she said a few moments later, as the pain screwed deeper.
‘Oh please, not yet Mum!’
Hearing it, she realised she would do anything, anything for that last word.
‘OK, you stay for a while,’ she said. ‘But I have to get out now. I’ll come back and watch you from the edge.’
He seemed happy with that, so she climbed up the little steel ladder out of the pool. The unheated air felt freezing. Her shorts stuck heavily to her goose-pimpled flesh, and underneath her sodden tank top her nipples tightened painfully. She hobbled to where she had left her clothes, scooped them up and rushed to the changing room.
Her body temperature seemed to be dropping at the rate of one degree per second, and she undressed in a clumsy frenzy. The vision of Anthony floating face down in the water slotted into her mind again; he looked dead, as only a dead child can look.
The well-fleshed woman, the serious swimmer, was in the changing room too, observing Gail’s anxiousness with mild curiosity as she stepped backwards into a steaming shower. Her pubic hair was thick and black; she was probably wondering why Gail had none. Really , thought Gail, now that I’m off the game I should stop shaving it, let it grow …
Every twenty seconds or so Gail hurried to the door of the changing room, towel wrapped around her, to make sure her boy was still alive. Then she would hurry back inside and dry herself some more. Her skinny limbs seemed to slip through the fabric of the towel untouched, remaining cold and wet no matter how much she rubbed. There was water in the hollows of her collarbones, water running down the hardened lines of her arms and legs. The pain in her
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