Swimming Upstream

13

The wind whipped at my scarf and I hugged my anorak tightly round my shoulders as I skipped through Smithfield past the blue wrought iron gates to the meat market and out into the square. The sky seemed very bright. It looked as if it was going to snow. When I reached the King's Arms and pushed open the door, Catherine and Zara were already there, sitting up at the bar.

Zara swung round. She was wearing her tea cosy hat. “Well?” she said, expectantly.

I grinned, and raised my eyebrows.

“You got it!” Zara jumped off her stool and picked me up, wrapping her arms round my waist and lifting me off the ground.

“When do you start?” asked Catherine.

“End of January. I'll have to work out my notice.” I sat down next to her. The barman wandered over and I ordered three tequilas. I handed out the shots and the lime.

“That's so great,” said Catherine, licking salt off her wrist and grimacing as we slammed. I couldn’t help noticing her new false tooth every time I looked at her, and it made me feel like hugging her every time.

The door opened and Tim came in with Shelley, one of the nurses who lived with Zara and Tim.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked.

“Lizzie's new job, at City FM. Come on,” said Zara. “Sit down.”

I ordered another five tequilas.

“I'll get these. Congratulations,” said Tim, kissing me on the cheek. “So what is it?”

“I am a planner-stroke-researcher, working across two programmes again, but it’ll be prime-time - Breakfast and Mid-morning and it’s, well, “It’s City FM,”” I said, mimicking the catchphrase, in my best Broadcasting voice. Tim and Zara both sang the City FM jingle. I laughed. “So, I’ll be doing a bit of everything, writing material for scripts, bulletins and links, interviewing, some reporting but also presenting and production. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

Tim put his arm round me and raised his glass. “Three cheers for Lizzie. Down the hatch,” he said in a BBC voice. We all tipped our heads back and cheered when we'd finished.

“And guess what?” said Catherine. “I've found a really experienced drama tutor in Highbury and she's going to give me some coaching and help with auditions in exchange for helping her out at home.”

“Another drink,” said Tim, waving at the barman. Five more tequilas appeared on the bar beside us. “To Lizzie and Catherine,” said Shelley. We all slammed in unison.

The tequila worked its way up into my face. I felt warm and a little breathless, and glowing inside; I felt happy. After a while I extracted myself from the mass of arms and beer glasses and stools and went to the toilets. A log fire was crackling and popping in the inglenook fireplace and Christmas decorations adorned the walls and the top of the bar. Thick sparkling snakes of silver and green tinsel were wound around the china plates and horseshoes, and huge puffy scarlet crepe paper bells and smaller golden globes were hanging from the ceiling, interlaced with shiny cut-out paper-chains. And by the bar were my friends. I hung back for a moment in the doorway to take a mental snapshot, something I could bring out again to remind me, when I was down, that I was not alone, after all.

Zara followed me into the toilets and jumped up onto the ledge by the sink.

“I’ve finished with Joel,” she said. “It’s over. For good this time.”

“Joel?” I said. “You mean that’s still on? I thought you were seeing James?”

“Yeah. James. Good idea,” said Zara. “I should stick with him.”

“I’m confused.”

“Well, Joel came back. Sort of. After I started seeing James. And I really like him, you know.”

“Who?”

“Joel. But there's no point,” she said. “He doesn't want me.” Her eyes started welling up and she rubbed at them with her fists.

“Oh Zara, what's happened?” I asked her.

She sighed. “I went round to his place last Friday. He wouldn't even let me over the doorstep. Just said ‘Not now, Zara,’ and waved his hand like I was some kind of annoying fly buzzing round his head that he couldn't get rid of. Said he was entertaining.”

“Well, maybe he was,” I said. “Maybe it was work people. You're supposed to be a secret, after all.”

Zara looked me straight in the eye. “Lizzie, he was wearing a walkman.”

“A walkman?” I said.

“He had a walkman on, and earphones round his neck.” She shrugged. “He didn't have anyone there. He's just decided it's all too easy again. He just gets off on me liking him. He's having an ego trip at my expense. Every time I walk away and get on with my life he tries to pull me back, again.”

“That's not very nice,” I said.

“No, it's not,” she agreed. “Anyway, I don't care. Really. It won't work. Not any more.”

I could see how hard she was trying to convince herself

“Never mind,” I said, and hugged her. “Maybe you should swear off men for a while.”

Zara looked at me as though I were mad. “You’ve got to be joking,” she said. “I need to call James. That’s what I need to do.”

Later, back at the house, we decided to have a meal together on Christmas Eve before we all went off to our parents' the following morning.

“I've had it with standing around in overcrowded pubs, waiting half an hour to get served and getting chatted up by dodgy guys,” said Shelley.

“Yeah,” Zara agreed. “Been there, seen it, done that.”

“Come on Zara,” said Tim. “You like dodgy guys.”

Zara thumped him on the arm.

We arranged to invite Uncle Silbert. “He's never going to agree,” said Tim. “How will we get him here?”

“In Lizzie’s car,” said Zara.

“I think we should borrow a wheelchair,” said Tim.

“Unless we have it at his place,” Shelley said.

“There's nothing there,” I said. “We'd have to take a table and chairs.”

“And I don't even know if the cooker works properly,” said Zara.

The front door opened and Clare, Tim’s girlfriend, came in. “What's all this?” she said, looking at me.

“We're organising Christmas Eve,” I said. “Round here.”

She shrugged. “I won't be here.” She went off upstairs. Tim jumped up and ran after her.

“I need to go home,” I said. “I've got to go to work tomorrow. And there’s a resignation letter I need to write.”

I shook Catherine, who was asleep on the settee. She waved her arm and rolled onto her stomach.

“Let her stay there,” said Shelley. “I'll wake her in the morning.” She kissed me and went upstairs.

“It's been a great day,” I said to Zara. I put my arms around her.

She hugged me back. “I wish you didn't have to go.”

“I know,” I said. “I'm going to feel rubbish tomorrow. But it'll all be worth it to see Phil's face when I tell him I'm leaving, that I've found something better than anything he could possibly offer.”

“Enjoy,” she said. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

I walked a little unsteadily down the street. White flakes appeared under the glare of a streetlight. I looked up and saw that it was beginning to snow. As I passed a small playground I heard the rusty creaking of a swing and stopped to peer over the hedge, wondering who could be in there at this time of night. The playground was empty, and everything was still except for one swing, which was moving slowly backwards and forwards, its metal ropes clinking like chain-mail. There was no-one on it and no-one in sight. Entranced, I pushed open the gate and entered the playground. I felt a rush of adrenalin as I slowly crossed the grass to the tarmaced play area, a combination of excitement and fear. As I passed the climbing frame and neared the swing, it stopped moving, slowing down gradually as if someone had jumped off. I breathed in sharply and stopped in my tracks. Then, tentatively, shaking a little, but with resolve, I walked over to the swing next to it and sat down.

The swing next to me remained unmoving, its seat parallel to the ground. I stared out onto the playing field where the snow was trying to settle over the grass, brightly lit round the edges by the nearby streetlights, but dark and shadowy in the middle. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw, slowly emerging from the grass several feet in front of me, the figure of a man in a dark grey duffle coat and a bright green scarf his wavy auburn hair tumbling over his forehead and his shoulders hunched against the cold as he made his way across the park and towards the open gate. Then, half way across the field he stopped and crouched down to gather up a handful of snow, which he rounded into a snowball. When he stood up and lifted his arm to throw it I saw who it was. For an instant, he remained standing with his arm in the air, his grin impish and his eyebrows raised enquiringly.

“Throw it,” I whispered. “I'm not scared.”

He threw his head back and laughed. He dropped the snowball and carried on towards the gate.

“Stop. Wait,” I yelled after him, leaping off the swing and running across the field towards him. He didn't seem to hear me. He reached the gate and stepped out onto the pavement.

“Don't go!” I shouted after him, my heart thumping against my chest. “Please, come back!” My voice seemed to echo around the empty playground. I ran out through the gateway and looked up and down the snow-covered street. A car drove past. There was no-one in sight. I sighed, dug my hands into my pockets, and headed for the tube station.

Uncle Silbert was all ready to go, sitting in the wheelchair that Zara had borrowed from the hospital. He was wearing a red jumper. The sleeves were a little too short, and quite a lot of his bony arm was sticking out at the bottom. He looked tired. I kissed him on the cheek and helped Zara with his bag, while she wheeled him out to the lift.

“Is he okay?” I mouthed at Zara from behind the wheelchair. She raised her hand and waved it to indicate “so-so”.

When we reached the house, the aroma of turkey was wafting out from the kitchen, where Shelley and Tim were busy rushing back and forth with plates and saucepans full of vegetables. They had already decorated the table with a white sheet for a tablecloth and there were sprigs of holly and multicoloured crackers beside each placemat.

“It all looks lovely,” I said. I put the wine I'd brought in the fridge.

Tim turned to me and smiled, his cheeks glowing from the wine and the heat from the stove. “There's already a bottle open,” he said. “Dive in.”

Zara helped Uncle Silbert into a chair behind the table and I poured everyone drinks. Zara pulled a cracker with Uncle Silbert and put his paper hat on. He looked a bit disorientated.

“Are you all right?” I asked him, patting his hand across the table.

“It’s good to be here, Elizabeth,” he said.

I smiled. Nobody called me that but I didn’t correct him. I thought it lent me a certain gravitas, made me sound like someone important, like the queen. “It’s good to see you too.”

“I think I need my medication, though,” he said. “And a stiff brandy, maybe.”

“Coming right up.” I went and fetched him his bag and a drink.

“You shouldn't really be drinking, you know, not with your medication,” Zara reprimanded him.

“Oh come on, it's Christmas. Let him enjoy himself,” said Tim, coming over with a bowl of Brussels sprouts. “What harm's it going to do?”

“Well, actually…” Zara and Tim began a debate about Uncle Silbert’s medication and its potential side effects.

“Here.” I gave Uncle Silbert his drink and sat down beside him. “Cheers,” I raised my glass to his.

“A votre sante, Elizabeth. I’m very pleased to hear about your new job.”

“You speak French?”

“Indeed. You?”

“Yes. I mean, I used to. I studied for a year after my A-levels but I haven’t really used it since. I was meant to study in Paris, spend a year there.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“That’s a good question. I fell in love, I suppose.”

“Ah, love,” said Uncle Silbert, pensively. “Well, that’s a different kind of journey.”

“I guess.”

“They say it broadens the mind.”

I was confused. “You mean travel?”

Uncle Silbert smiled and said nothing.

“Or do you mean love?” I persisted.

“What do you think?”

I stopped and looked at him with a smile on my face. His body was old and tired. But his eyes were bright, penetrating. They were truly windows into his soul. “I think,” I said slowly, “that I’ve wasted a lot of time.”

“Ah,” said Uncle Silbert. “But have you? What do you hope to gain by travelling that you couldn’t gain through love?”

I thought about that for a moment. “Freedom?” I said, realising that I had framed that as a question.

There was a knock at the door. I went to open it. It was Catherine.

“What happened to you?” I asked her, as she squeezed in through the doorway with a carrier bag full of parcels.

“Martin phoned,” she said.

I sighed, pointedly. “What did he want?”

“To wish me a merry Christmas,” she said.

“And?”

She paused and looked down at her feet. She put the carrier bag down on the floor. “To meet me for a drink.”

“A drink?” I echoed. “You went for a drink with him?”

“Well, it is Christmas,” she said, defensively. “He was in town anyway. It was just a drink.”

I shrugged. “It's up to you,” I said. “It's your life.” I turned and headed back up the hallway towards the kitchen.

Shelley was carving the turkey with an electric knife. Bits of meat were flying off in all directions, and Tim and Zara were yelling at her. She stopped and let Zara take over. Catherine and I sat down and passed the plates and vegetables around. There were mashed and roast potatoes, Brussels sprouts and roast parsnips, and Tim had made bread sauce and sage and onion stuffing all mixed up together because there weren't enough roasting tins.

Throughout the meal we sang Christmas carols in four part harmonies. Tim sang the baritone and Zara sang soprano, then they swapped around, which had us all in fits of laughter. Uncle Silbert sat there glassy eyed, watching us, like a proud father.

When we'd finished we opened our presents. Zara had painted me a miniature watercolour of the sea and the sky with different shades of blue, and silver stars.

“I know blue is your favourite colour,” she said.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “And those stars look as if they can really talk.” I winked at Zara and she grinned back at me.

Catherine had bought me a wok.

“Wok's new,” said Tim.

“Catherine,” I protested, holding it up and laughing. “You know I can't cook anything but pasta.”

“I know,” she said. “It's for reheating your Chinese takeaways.”

Tim left the room. As he went I caught his eye and he beckoned to me to go after him. Intrigued, I got up and followed him up to his room. I felt happily flushed; the wine and the turkey were combining soporifically. I leaned dreamily against the banister. Tim disappeared inside and came back to the doorway, where he handed me a small package wrapped in tissue paper.

“I didn't want to give you this in front of everyone.” He grinned at me shyly and went into the bathroom and shut the door. I opened up the package. Inside was a beautiful silver necklace with a tiny Saint Christopher pendant.

“The patron saint of travellers,” I said to myself, shaking my head. I was touched. It was an almost identical replica of one I'd had and lost many years ago.

“Tim.” I knocked on the bathroom door, and he opened it.

“It's beautiful,” I said.

He looked pleased, and took it from me and put it round my neck, doing up the clasp behind me.

“Thank you,” I said, and stood up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He stood woodenly, un-responding, in front of me for a moment, but as I moved away he suddenly put both arms around me, pulled me back to him behind the bathroom door and kissed me on the mouth. His lips were soft and warm, and I found myself responding. He kicked the door shut behind us and then he pushed my mouth open with his. I sank weakly against him; I couldn't move. I hadn't been kissed like this in a very long time. Tim moved his hand up my back and pressed against me, sending shivers down my spine. I pulled away.

“We mustn’t,” I said breathlessly.

“Don't stop,” said Tim, pulling me back. “Don't stop now.”

“What about Clare?” I said.

Tim didn’t answer. He leaned into me and put his lips on mine.

At that moment the door was pushed open, and we both lost our balance and fell backwards into the bath.

“Hello,” said Zara, who was holding a glass of wine. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tim.

“Good,” she said, to both of us, and tipped herself over into the bath on top of us.

“Zara,” I wailed, laughing. “You're spilling red wine all over us.”

“Oops,” said Zara. “If we don't get that off quickly it'll stain.” And, amid screams of protest from me and Tim, she leaned over and switched on the shower.

Downstairs, all was quiet. Both Catherine and Uncle Silbert had fallen asleep. Shelley was stacking dishes and glasses up by the sink.

“What happened to you?” she said, as we all walked in with wet hair. I was wearing one of Tim's t-shirts.

Zara picked up a tea towel. “Lizzie and Tim were -”

I shot her a warning glance.

“- spilling red wine,” she finished, cryptically.

Shelley looked confused. “Red wine?” she repeated.

“We've all had a bath,” said Tim.

Shelley leaned back against the sink and gave a vague, uncomprehending smile.

“It was wet,” I added, for something to say.

“I think Uncle Silbert needs to go to bed,” said Zara.

Zara and Shelley put Uncle Silbert to bed in Tim's room, while Tim made up a bed for himself on the sofa.

“Where am I sleeping?” said Catherine sleepily from the doorway.

“In Zara's bed with me and Zara,” I said.

“Okay. I'm going up,” she said. “I'm bushed.”

Tim came in with a glass of whisky in each hand. He gave one to me.

“I'm worried about her,” I said, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the sofa. “She sleeps such a lot.”

“She's drunk,” said Tim. “And maybe a bit depressed,” he added. He sat down on the floor next to me.

“Depressed? She's not depressed,” I protested. “She's happier than she's ever been. She's got her acting classes, her work at the theatre, and she's free of that… “

“That,” said Tim. “Is the problem. She's not very good at being on her own. Not everyone is as strong as you, Lizzie.”

“I'm not that strong,” I said. “Everyone just thinks I am.”

“That's because that's what you show them.”

“I have my moments of weakness.”

Tim paused. “Is that all it was,” he asked quietly. “A moment of weakness?”

I drained my glass and made a move to get up. Tim put his hand on my arm.

“Don't go,” he said.

“I can't do this,” I said. “I'm confused. And besides, you're with Clare.”

“Yeah, like we're always together,” said Tim, sarcastically.

“Well, you have to sort that out,” I said. “I'm not going to be her stand-in.”

“You're not,” he said, almost angrily. “You know that's not how it is.”

I turned to face him. I knew that he was right. That wasn’t how it was at all. I was being disingenuous, using Clare as an excuse. It was glaringly obvious that Tim had feelings for me and that it would matter very little to Clare if I did begin to take her place in Tim’s life. She already had one foot out of the door; it was only a matter of time before she left completely.

But while it would be so easy just to give in to being loved, held, made to feel alive again, I couldn’t tell for how long I would need this, or, more to the point, how long I would need this from Tim. It didn’t matter to Tim that I wasn’t Clare. That much was clear. But no matter how hard I wanted it, or wished for it to be true, I knew I couldn’t love him. Because he wasn’t Larsen.

I bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight Tim,” I said.

As I moved away I saw the look in his eyes, the way he was gazing at me, and it took all the strength I had in my aching body to drag myself out of the door and up the stairs to where the girls were sleeping.