I get out of the water and assume a starting position. I won’t be able to get as much distance through the water from the side as I would from the starting blocks, but that’s no big deal. I take a breath and dive. I hit the water, momentum propelling me forward for a few feet before I have to use my arms and legs. I concentrate on breathing properly, maintaining a streamlined body position, and scooping the water with my hands so I can swim as fast as possible.
At the far end, I dive under the water, turn, and push off the wall with my feet before swimming to the other end. Turn. One hundred metres is my preferred distance, but I need to keep going. Swimming frees me. It makes everything bothering me slip away. Essays I can’t concentrate on. Em being off and doubting himself and why others would want to spend time with him. The weirdness that’s been weighing me down since he left the flat earlier. In the water, I’m weightless. Nothing can pull me down or hold me back.
Until exhaustion hits me. I stop, fold my arms on the edge of the pool, and rest my head on them.
“Are you okay?”
I look up to find a lifeguard standing over me. She’s wearing jogging bottoms and a tight-fitting T-shirt with a Leeds City Council logo on it. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing make-up, which would get wrecked if she had to dive into the water to rescue anyone. I don’t recognise her, but I normally swim at the beginning or end of the day.
“I’m fine, just taking a break.”
She nods and wanders away, her stare trained on the water.
I stay where I am for a few more minutes until my breathing has evened out. I do a one-hundred-metre swim, freestyle, before having a breather. I repeat the process a few more times. I don’t know if my lap times are getting better or worse. Sometimes it’s nice not to know. When the pool is almost empty, I realise it’s time to cool down, so I do a few lengths of backstroke, keeping it nice and slow. It’s my least favourite stroke. I don’t like not being able to see where I’m going. I’d never compete with backstroke, but it forces me to take it easy so my muscles can cool down. The last thing I need is to be aching for practice tomorrow, especially when I have two sessions at either end of the day.
I stay until the lifeguard glares at me. It’s time to shower and go home. When I get out of the water, everything crashes in on me again. I listen to music through my headphones on the way home, but it doesn’t tune out the worries in my head. Only swimming can do that. If only I could stay in the water forever.
When I walk in our front door, Em pauses his console game. “You weren’t going to swim today.”
“I changed my mind.” I go into the kitchen, put my towel and trunks in the washing machine, and then stand in the doorway to the sitting room. “Do you have anything that needs washing?”
Em stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you okay?”
I frown. “You’re the second person to ask me that today. I’m fine.” Except I’m not, but I can’t worry Em with something I can’t vocalise. “Do you have anything that needs washing, or should I fill it with my stuff?”
“Go ahead.”
“How was coffee with Auggie?”
“His essay was good.”
If the essay is the first thing Em mentions, it can’t have been a date. The tension in my body eases. “I knew it would be. You’re an amazing tutor.”
Em blushes. “He had something to do with it. I didn’t write the essay for him.”
“I know, but don’t underestimate how much you helped him.”
He glances down. “I’ll try not to.”
I point to my bedroom door. “I’d better get that laundry.”
“Casey.” Em’s eyes are large behind his glasses. “You normally come for a hug when you get home.”
My chest tightens. He’s right. I do. Why didn’t I go to him for a hug the moment I walked in the door? I sit beside him on the sofa, put my arms around him, and bend over so my cheek is pressed to his chest, my face angled away from him. His heart is beating faster than it should be for a resting rate. If swimming frees me, Em gives me a sense of comfort and safety. I didn’t realise how much I needed his arms around me until I was homesick at the beginning of our first year. Whenever Em hugs me, I feel like I’m home, even though it’s seventy miles away.
He puts one arm around me and strokes my hair. “How was your swim?”
“Good.”
“You didn’t push yourself too hard, did you?”
“I took it easy.” That’s not true, but I don’t want him to worry about me.
“How’s your shoulder?” He moves his hand from my hair and kneads my shoulder with his fingertips. It’s painful and soothing at the same time.
