Water Born by Rachel Ward Page A

aren’t we? To swim faster than last time. To try to be the best.
    Everyone was so friendly when I first joined. I felt like I was one of the girls. I suppose it was just that I was younger than them, a bit slower, no threat. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to slow down for anybody. Not Christie, or Nirmala or any of the others. If their fragile little egos don’t like it, that’s their problem.
    One last look in the mirror. The locket makes a bump under my costume. Instinctively I put my hand up to it.
    Found with Nicola .
    A shiver runs down my spine. What do those three words actually mean? What’s the story? I can’t risk rocking the boat any more at home, but I wish there was someone I could ask.
    â€˜Nic, you coming?’
    I look up. The changing room’s empty apart from Nirmala, who’s popped her head round the door to chase me up.
    â€˜Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Nirmala.’
    I scurry across the grey tiles, past the showers, and into the little lobby that leads to the pool. Harry’s the lifeguard today. He clocks me as I hurry in and I swear hewinks at me.
    â€˜Okay, girls, warm up,’ says Clive. ‘We’ll start the timed trials in twenty minutes.’
    I slip into the pool. I’ve been given the lane next to Christie. She’s already done one length and is swimming back towards me. This isn’t a race, I tell myself. Not yet. All I’ve got to do is swim at my own pace, stretch my arms and legs, warm up my muscles.
    I set off slowly, feeling the water with my first few strokes. I pass Christie midway along the pool. She’s in her lane, I’m in mine. She doesn’t acknowledge me, just powers along, expressionless. I can tell that she’s in the zone, focused. But I’m all over the place. I’m thinking about her, about the other girls. About the police. About Dad. About Sammi, the girl who drowned . . .
    Forget them. They’re not important .
    The voice is back.
    This is what matters. Here. Now .
    The voice is right. I need to let go. Let go of everything else.
    Some of the tension melts away from between my shoulders. I reach up and over and forward. I pull the water underneath me, rolling a little as my other arm goes up and over and forward.
    That’s better .
    I’m five or six metres from the end now, and suddenly I see a shape in the water beneath me. A knot forms in my stomach.
    Another swimmer near the bottom of the pool?
    Not swimming.
    Lying there.
    Pale.
    Lifeless.
    I turn my head and draw in a lungful of air. Then I jack-knife in the water and dive down. I can’t see him now. I must have swum past. I twist around, but the floor of the pool is clear. Above me I can see the other girls, ploughing their straight furrows at the surface. Down here, it’s just me.
    The boy – and I’m sure it was a boy – has gone.
    I float slowly back up and hold on to the side of the pool. I look all around, expecting to see a boy sitting at the side, or maybe padding towards the changing rooms. But he’s not there either. Dad’s up in the viewing gallery. Clive is at the shallow end, holding his clipboard, watching me. Harry is perched on the lifeguard’s post. He’s watching me, too. It’s his job to watch, isn’t it? So he must have seen him – the boy.
    I haul myself on to the side and get to my feet. I can feel Dad’s and Clive’s and Harry’s eyes on me as I walk round the pool.
    â€˜Harry? Did you see a boy just now?’
    He leans down and his blond hair flops in front of his eyes. He flicks it back and holds it in place with one hand.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜There was a boy in the pool. At the bottom. I thought he . . . I thought . . .’
    He shakes his head and smiles.
    â€˜There aren’t any other boys in here this morning, babe. You know that.’
    â€˜But I saw him. I—’
    He clambers down the steps. So now