“There was a storm,” I protest weakly.
“It will take millions in investment to turn it around, and the council are only talking about grants to make a few improvements.” He looks through the glass windows down to the empty pool below. “This place has been here since 1932. It’s old. Do you know how much has happened since 1932?”
“I don’t see how that—” I begin, but he holds up a hand to stop me from speaking.
“World War II. Elvis. The moon landing and the miners’ strike. Thatcher and 9/11. Grunge,” he says, glancing so pointedly at me, I tug on my black-cardigan-and-plaid-shirt combo.Must get on to the clothes.And then as he looks to the square-paneled office ceiling, with its random lighting, he squeezes his eyes shut. “The London Olympicsandthe London bombings; that funny beetle that has been killing ash trees.”
He appears to be straining for some more major events, so I chime in:
“The financial crash of 2007?”
“The Boxing Day tsunami,” Ryan says with inappropriate glee, as Gerry nods along approvingly.
“Bryan Adams’s record-breaking number one record for ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It for You,’ ” says Lynn.
“Oh, my mum loves that song,” says Samira, nodding. “TheRobin Hoodone?”
“You should do this for your next quiz night, Lynn,” says Gerry, eyes now wide with excitement. “Newsworthy things that have happened since Broadgate Lido was built.”
I put my head in my hands for a moment, letting out a deep, pained groan.
This is not the fabulous seaside doer-upper that I created in my head. This is an off-the-rack council gig in a failing community leisure facility, and the boss doesn’t care or have any future vision for it. I look at Lynn. Did she purposefully mislead me? I’ve bowled up to Gerry regularly with ideas, and he’s said,Things are in hand, Mara. AndJust give me a few months. AndI’m speaking with the council tomorrow. After some time, I just stopped.
I take a deep breath and feel the creep of realization that none of us are going to have a job in three months. I think of Joe and feel my cheeks flush as though he were standing at the back of the room watching this unfold. I cannot be unemployed when Joe comes.
“It’s hard to hear, Gerry,” I say. “I am surprised, that’s all, to discover the place I took a job at and moved all the way down from London for might be shutting down. I signed a one-year lease on my house.”
“It’s really more of a flat,” mutters Lynn.
“Well, look. It’s a lot of work to try and get this place going again, and do we really want that?” asks Gerry, pulling on the edge of his nose. “I’ve tried for funding, but you really need an ally in the council. And you’d need the community to be behind it. They’re just not.”
“But have we tried to rally them?” I say, my voice rising slightly.
Gerry waves the notion away with a flick of his hands. “It’s just an enormous job, Mara. And is it really worth it? Let’s do our little membership drive and then we can see if the town is even bothered.”
“Oh my God,” I say under my breath.It’s Gerry who can’t be bothered.He never took my ideas seriously. He was never going to help.
If this place is going to be saved, it will need to be by the four of us.
•••
Later, as I’msitting on one of the old benches overlooking the sea, and ignoring a stress headache, Samira comes over and perches at the other end. She adjusts her top around her neck and then tugs at the sleeves.
I admire the sharp white edge of that sleeve and wonder if it’s a good time to ask her again for help with my style overhaul. She seemed so enthusiastic last week but hasn’t mentioned it since. This is the part in making friendships where I worry that people suggest you hang out but don’t really mean it. The classic BritishWe should catch up sometime, which really meansDon’t ever call me again. And it’s too pathetic and neurotic to say,Did you really mean it when you said we should hang out?No one wants to hang out with someone who is constantly giving offthanks for being my friendvibes. But then, she did try to ask me out a few times. Oh God. I’m overthinking this.
“I like your top,” I say, trying gently to test the waters.
Samira says nothing and then looks out to the sea.
“Your hair is excellent, by the way. Jackie?”
“Yes. It feels so light,” I say, shaking it out, and Samira smiles weakly.
“My mum comes here,” Samira says quietly.
“She does?”
“Yes. She swims twice a week because she has bad knees and can’t walk far,” she says, shrugging, “and she can’t go to a proper gym or Pilates class ’cos they cost about twenty quid a go.”
