Fiction

The Splash

Silently she slid into the cryst-o-mint water. It was cool as it crept slowly over her skin. She braced herself as it reached her shoulders. Then she reached out with her arms and glided, without a splash, across the top of the water. Slowly she dipped her face in and exhaled, sending bubbles to the surface.

She always did the first lap breaststroke. It seemed so civilised and she enjoyed the peacefulness of it. It also meant that she could watch the sun come up over the end of the pool. This morning it was piercing its way through a thick cover of cloud.

A cushion of mist hovered over the pool and she broke through it as she swam. Visions of snow monkeys in the mountains of Japan came to her. Through the water she watched her hands as tiny bubbles clung to her wedding ring. So that's what it would look like if it was adorned with jewels. No, it wasn’t her style. As she came towards the end of the pool her hands reached for the faded peeling tiles and she glided in to touch.

Why were pools always painted blue? she wondered. If they were blood red would she feel the same about getting in? Or black? She imagined swimming through black crystalline water. Would it splinter as you entered?

She turned and began a freestyle lap. She tried not to make a sound or a splash as she broke the surface of the water. Her legs would quite often just trail behind her as she forgot to kick. As her hands dragged past her body hundreds of tiny bubbles like crystal balls followed and floated on past her. Whee did they go? Did they make a noise when they burst?

She followed the blurred black line on the bottom of the pool. What if it didn’t stop at the end of the lane but go on forever? She could follow it out of town and down through the hills. Maybe all the way to the sea. As she neared the end of the pool she looked up and saw a dark figure. Damn. He was here.

He stood on the edge of the pool doing his deep breathing exercises, which were followed by shoulder stretches. He had on a pair of too-tight skimpy bathers, which would have looked good on someone half his age. They pushed his love handles up and out. He ran his hands though what was left of his hair and then slammed into the water with an explosive splash, sending shock waves out across the pool. Kicking violently, he thrashed his way to the end of the pool, like a crocodile on a feeding frenzy. She could hear him panting for breath as he reached the end, where he paused to gather his strength.

She began another lap. Another breaststroke lap. Slow and steady but so soothing. The sun had risen a fraction higher in the sky now and the silhouette of the local pub with its line of old chimneys was a piece of living art. She wondered about the men in days gone by who had rested in the pub and drunk ale from the wooden kegs, whilst outside the stable boys fed and watered their horses.

He came thrashing down the pool again. His wake swamped her, causing her to swallow a mouthful of the sharp chlorinated water. She gagged but kept swimming. At the edge he stood wheezing and bent as he sucked on his water bottle. She laughed to herself. Why did he need a water bottle? He was surrounded by the stuff.

The street lights flickered and went off. A flock of corellas, which had been startled by an engine somewhere in the distance, exploded into the sky with screeches and squawks. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. Today was going to be a scorcher. Already the clouds were breaking up and a brilliant blue was invading their territory.

And so they swam. She, slowly and silently, he thrashing and splashing. She could swim all day like this she thought. And that’s when it hit her. She giggled inside. She didn’t need to go to work today, it was her day off. And Mike had already left for the city so he wouldn’t be expecting her back home from the pool. She rolled over onto her back and kicked her legs, gliding silently up the length of the pool.

When the sun got too bright she turned sideways and, facing the wall, stretched her arm forward and, picked an apple and put it in the basket. She thought it would be possible to fall asleep swimming like this.

His chest was beginning to burn. He had emptied his water bottle two laps ago. He was still racing her to the end of the pool each lap but it was becoming harder and harder. It was taking him longer to recover and his arms were beginning to ache. He had to quit while he was ahead. He couldn’t bear the thought of her finishing a lap before him. He hauled himself up the steps and out of the pool. It hurt.

At first she didn’t realise he was gone. She was drinking pina coladas, from a fresh coconut, on a tropical isle somewhere in the Pacific. As she reached the edge she glanced up to see his shadowy bulk making its way up the hill. She waved to him as she turned and drifted off on her back with a quick short kick. A subtle splash broke the silence.