Plan B was too scary to think about right then.
But that swimsuit kept whispering to me. It chased me through my dreams. It fed me one dread-inducing scenario after another. What if I panicked, belly-flopped, choked, threw up in the pool, ended up having to be rescued by the lifeguard? I could cope with the inevitable national humiliation – after all, I’d faced worse. But could Joey? Should he have to, only a few weeks after the Gladiators trial? And what about the race? The Larks were counting on me. The campaign was counting on me.
Swimming came to me as naturally as breathing. I knew that, even after such a long time, I could manage a respectable time compared to most. But I wasn’t most. And with a bit of training I could do the girls proud. Give the crowd something to feel good about, and hopefully take more notice when I gave my little speech about the PoolPal.
And, more to the point, until I knew for a fact that I could get back in the water without having a coronary, that foul beast I called my anxiety would remain in my head, lording it over me while wearing an even more miniature sky-blue swimsuit.
So. Here I was. Bag packed. Heart thumping. Off to the Brooksby Leisure Centre public swim.
With a spontaneous detour to enlist my support network on the way.
Nathan couldn’t have looked more surprised when he opened the door and found me standing there. Since New Year’s Day we’d seen each other at training, and Joey’s events, but while things had been friendly, it was clear I had been firmly placed back in the client-zone. Maybe after an entire day out, Nathan figured I didn’t need his help any more. But I still had a major hurdle to overcome, and he was the best man for the job. Which was of course the only reason I was here. It had nothing to do with how much I’d thought about him, wondered if we’d be friends again, missed him…
‘Amy. Hi. Had we… planned something?’
‘No. I kind of made up my mind and had to go and do it right then. Only halfway there I realised I could really do with some support. Just in case.’
‘Right.’
‘Are you busy? I mean, I could come back another time. We’ve weeks to go. I just, well, it’s been a momentous few days. I’m on a sort of roll, and the swimsuit keeps taunting me. I’ve started this massive project for a technology company. It’s my first one as a senior writer, and instead of writing a brilliant bid, all I can think about is whether or not I’m going to mess it all up on the day and let everyone down, when I was the one who volunteered to swim and started this whole campaign for little Tate, and they’ve really got their hopes up, like everyone’s counting on me, and it’s been a long time, but some weird and not good memories about people all counting on me winning a race have resurrected themselves like memory zombies and while I know it’s hardly the same, a local triathlon compared to the Olympics, it seems to matter more, when it means so much to Mel and Tate. And this’ll be the first time Joey’s seen me swim, so I want him to be proud of me and the least I can do after everything, so many times of not being there and letting him down, is to make him proud. And, well…’ I managed to stop and take a juddery breath. ‘I think he’s going to be disappointed if I don’t win.’
Nathan glanced behind him, then back.
‘I really need to know if I can win.’
He ran one hand through his hair, brow furrowed.
‘I at least have to try.’
‘Nate?’
Oh crap.Crap!
A woman’s voice, from inside the house.
A woman. Inside Nathan’s house.
A woman who now slithered into view, caressing a glass of wine, deep red to match her pouting lips. My brain did a lightning quick comparison of her slinky charcoal jumpsuit with plunging neckline, her trendy black bob, ridiculously toned arms, versus my faded jeans and yellow hoodie, hair blown every which way from the winter wind.
I lost.
‘Is everything okay?’ She smiled then, ruining my automatic categorisation of a beautiful, sophisticated woman with perfect make-up as a snooty bitch.
‘Uh. Yes,’ Nathan and I both answered at the same time, which made things seem even more awkward.
‘Amy’s… a client.’
‘Yes! Yes, I’m a client. I, um, needed a bit of advice about the next stage of my programme. It’s fine, sorry. I shouldn’t have come. What are phones for, after all! Anyway, I’m so sorry to have interrupted you. I’ll go. Sorry.’ I attempted to force my lumbering limbs into an about turn.
‘No, wait. One second.’ Nathan closed the door partially shut, with me outside it. I couldn’t make out his soft murmurings, but his guest had no such qualms.
‘What about clients never coming to a trainer’s house? The rule about not telling them where you live?’
Ugh. This was hideous.
‘She doesn’t seem it to me.’
Oh, great. She thought I was some infatuated stalker. Wait –was I an infatuated stalker?
