Page 88 - The Midnight Library
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                   She  won  races  in  local  and  then  national  compet itions,  but  as  she  reached

                fieen it became too much. e daily swims, length aer length aer length.
                   ‘I had to quit.’
                   Mrs  Elm  nodded.  ‘And  the  bond  you’d  developed  with  your  dad  frayed
                and almost snapped completely.’

                   ‘Pretty much.’
                   She  pictured  her  father’s  face,  in  the   car,  on  a  drizzle-scratched  Sunday
                morning  outside  Bedford  Leisure  Centre,  as  she  told  him  she  didn’t  want  to
                swim  in  competitions  any  more.  at  look  of  disappointment  and  profound

                frustration.
                   ‘But   you   could   make     a   success   of   your   life,’   he   had   said.   Yes.   She
                remembered       it   now.   ‘You’re   never   going   to   be   a   pop   star,   but   this   is
                something real. It’s right in front of you. If you keep training, you’ll end up at

                the Olympics. I know it.’
                   She  had  been  cross  with  him  saying  that.  As  if  there  was  a  ver y  thin  path
                to  a  happy  life  and  it  was  the  path  he   had  decided  for  her.  As  if  her  own
                agency  in  her  own  life  was  automatically  wrong.  But  what  she  didn’t  fully

                appreciate  at  fieen  years  of  age  was  just  how  bad  regret  could  feel,  and  how
                much  her  father  had  felt  that  pain  of  being  so  near  to  the    realisation  of  a
                dream he could almost touch it.
                   Nora’s father, it was true, had been a difficult man.

                   As   well   as   being   highly   critical   of   ever ything   Nora   did,   and   ever ything
                Nora    wanted     and   ever ything    Nora    believed,   unless    it   was   related   to
                swimming,      Nora    had   also   felt   that   simply   to   be   in   his   presence   was   to
                commit     some   kind   of   invisible   crime.   Ever   since   the   ligament   injur y   that

                thwarted    his   rugby   career,   he’d   had   a   sincere   conviction   that   the   universe
                was against him. And Nora was, at least she felt, considered by him as part of
                that same universal plan. From that moment in that car park she  had felt she
                was really just an extension of the pain in his le knee. A walking wound.

                   But  maybe  he  had  known  what  would  happen.  Maybe              he   could  foresee
                the  way  one  regret  would  lead  to  another,  until  suddenly  that  was  all  she
                was. A whole book of regrets.
                   ‘Okay,  Mrs  Elm.  I  want  to  know  what  happened  in  the         life   where   I  did

                what my father wanted. Where I trained as hard as I possibly could. Where  I
                never  moaned  about  a  five  a.m.  start  or  a  nine  p.m.  finish.  Where  I  swam
                ever y  day  and  never  thought  about  quitting.  Where  I  didn’t  get  sidelined  by
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