Page 51 - WTP Vol. V #5

some reason had not developed. Had they known, perhaps they could have coaxed it into life. It was not for the lack of wanting that Marjorie had not had a baby—she had even made little clothes, and painstakingly hand embroidered a cot quilt from her wedding dress. She said it would become an heirloom. It upsets Don when Marjorie uses her friends’ anecdotes about their grandchildren in conversation. They are like virtual grandchildren, no more real than his own occasional imagining of his possible grown-up children out somewhere in the world.
“He doesn’t feel that he should
sit down in this room, taking advantage of someone else’s private space.”
The pregnant woman struggles up the pool steps and waddles to the changing room. Little trick- les of water run down her skin to join the water on the pool surround. She pauses and holds her belly, wincing slightly, then walks as quickly as she can to the changing room.
thought that was what the consultant meant, that she is doing well.
~
The relay swimmer is now doing a butterfly stroke, her shoulders lifting out of the water, like a small powerful boat coursing the waves. Don imagines how she would react to him should he meet her in a social context. Maybe she would find him attractive. He still gets checked out by younger women. They look at him with questions in their eyes. That annoys Marjorie. She tells him off for ogling them, for making them feel uncom- fortable. He liked it when Marjorie used to attract second glances from other men, but that has not happened for years.
Ten awkward lengths, and he is still cold. He longs for a hot drink—and, for heaven’s sake, something to eat. Marjorie insisted on going swimming directly after her check-up. She always took them swimming on Tuesday, although he’d suggested Christmas shopping to take her mind off things. Who have we got to buy presents for? They’d left early after a skimpy breakfast. Mar- jorie had given the consultant such a beaming smile when he complimented her on her health improvements. But at least she is all right—Don
He attempts another length of crawl, but some- (continued on next page)42
They had driven in silence from the hospital, Mar- jorie driving frustratingly slowly through the sleet. Ever since his ban, she has to drive, doing it as if from a set of instructions, using the Highway Code the way she might consult one of her diet food books, measuring and weighing everything. She doesn’t have a clue where she’s going and relies on him to direct her. She can hardly take the simplest journey without him beside her. But, nor can he get very far without Marjorie to drive him; he’s lost the knack with public transport.
He flips over onto his back to ease his neck. The windows of the leisure centre restaurant overlook the pool, with floor to ceiling glass. He comforts himself with the thought of the warm surround- ings, the prospect of food. He can see people at the window tables, eating. A woman in a white overall pauses and looks down. Above everything, the pool’s glass roof arches towards the steel sky, and rods of ice drop dizzyingly from infinity. He shivers, and attempts a more energetic half-crawl to warm up, clumsily dodging the shoals of chat- tering women. Once, he could have swum the length of the pool completely underwater.