I feel ill.
“I mean, I love the old place too. I don’t want you to think I haven’t tried. It’s business. It’s progress. It’s the best thing for the community; it will bring in a lot of money.”
“I get it,” I say.
He looks satisfied by that and relaxes. But I am furious. I cannotbelieve the blatant cheek of him. It’s a done deal, this. The lido is going to go, and this sack of shriveled prunes is going to be the one to take it down. I think about how I’m going to walk into the office on Monday and let them all know. I picture myself marching in like Erin Brockovich, determined to fight for justice against all the odds, as Samira throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight. Then Lynn breaks down in tears as I explain my incredible out-of-left-field plan thatjust might work. I need to call an emergency meeting on Monday morning. I need to get them all together and see who has the will, and if there is a way.
I turn to Lee and say, “I’m finished,” and I pick up my trench and my bag and leave him standing there staring at the huge turd I’ve painted perfectly, sitting right on a stool where Gerry should be.
11
When I getto work Monday morning, Lynn and Samira are both sitting on the edge of the pool, their toes lazily moving in the water, an intimate conversation going on.
I walk straight over to them, shielding my eyes from the morning sun as I approach. It’s the first proper hot day of the year.
“Mara!” Lynn says, giddy with delight when she sees me.
“Hi, guys,” I say, kicking my shoes off and joining them at the edge of the water. I slide my toes in, and for the first time since I arrived, it is blissful to feel the cooling water against my hot feet.
“We thought we could have our meeting here, with our toes in the pool. Gerry is in Canterbury again—another urgent council meeting,” Lynn says conspiratorially. “And Ryan is on his way with cream buns and tea.”
“Okay, great,” I say. “He’s very good with the snacks, isn’t he?”
“He’s a stupid sweetheart,” says Samira, making ripples in thewater with her toes. I look over at her, and her face is slightly dreamy at the talk of Ryan. She glances up and catches my eye, and the stoic face returns like a blind is being hastily drawn.
“So, um, I called you guys because I painted Gerry on the weekend, and it was both eye-opening and eye-closing.”
Samira laughs, but Lynn is confused. “You painted Gerry?”
“Yes, he does nude modeling,” I say, shuddering at the memory. “I went to an art class. His daughter was also there painting him.Nude.”
“You must be traumatized,” says Lynn, eyes wide with a look of amusement she cannot hide.
“Art classes? You’re really getting out there,” says Samira. “New hair, new interests. You must get on to those eyebrows, though. They’re extraordinary, Mara. You know, I can thread?”
I reach up to my eyebrows and imagine the feeling of a hundred tiny pins pricking my face until a thin, shapely brow emerges from the bushes. Perhaps I also need to get my eyelashes tinted. Or—gasp!—extensions.
“We still need to do the shopping,” I say. “But yes, we should talk eyebrows.”
Ryan rocks up with a box of cream buns and three mugs of tea. He looks like a model in reflector aviators, with his sandy hair still damp from a morning dip.
He sets the teas down on a little bench behind us, flicking back the lid on the cream buns and unceremoniously shoving half of one into his mouth.
“Just to get you up to speed, I did some digging on the plans for the lido,” I say.
“Yeah?” he says.
“It is clear that the plans to sell the lido to developers are pretty far along, and that Gerry has no interest in stopping them. And perhaps even wants them to go ahead.”
“It hurts to hear it said out loud,” says Lynn, sighing, and Samira puts her arm around her and squeezes her in. It’s the first affection I’ve seen between them, but it seems completely natural as Lynn leans into Samira, accepting the comfort before they both pull apart again. I get a longing, suddenly, for a hug too.
“You suspected, Lynn, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to scare any of you, but, yes, I have had some suspicions,” she says, jutting her chin up to let me know she didn’t want to speak about it.
“Well, I did a bit of digging myself, and I have all the meager options I can think of,” I say. “But first, guys, I need to know. Are you all in?”
“What?” says Lynn, almost spitting her second cream bun into the pool. “Excuse me, Mara, we’ve beenall infor years.”
