His smile gets wider. ‘Great, I will come in again soon. Oh, do you have my mum’s book?’
Reaching down I grab Margo Lane’s book and hand it to him. ‘How is your mum?’
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Her best mate passed away a year ago and she’s been struggling. I saw people on social media talking about this book about the healing power of water. Mum loved swimming when she was younger.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Do you still swim, Nelly?’
The thought of swimming makes Mum’s face flash up inside my mind. My chest aches as I remember Mum cheering for me at swimming competitions and watching her glide through the water when we went swimming together. I used to wonder whether she was a secret mermaid. My shoulders and neck stiffen. ‘No, I haven’t been in the water for years.’
I watch as he opens Margo’s book and turns to a page. My eyes roam over the words in bold text at the top.
Every crash of a wave is an embrace.
The sea carried her alone, and she realised she had never felt safer in the water.
The sea greeted her like an old friend.
Henry snaps the book shut. ‘I’ll come in again next week, reminding you about a coffee. Remember how annoying I was when we were at the swimming club – well, I am still that little kid.’ He laughs before taking out his phone. ‘What’s the damage for the book?’
He pays and says he will be back soon. As he leaves, our fingers touch. When the bright light clears, I can see him on the hard shoulder of a motorway. He’s leaning against a car and watching a figure, who has their back to him. They have a cap on; they’re wrapped in a red tartan travel blanket and looking ahead up the motorway lane and into the distance. That’s a weird ending for his love story. Maybe they have broken down, and the capped figure will fall in love with whoever is coming to rescue them?
For the rest of the day, I think about Mum and the words from Margo’s book. The memory of our conversation in the car comes back to me, and I remember how insistent she was that I keep swimming. It unlocks another memory: how the kids at primary school teased me for wearing gloves, and how this made me look forward to the weekly swimming lessons. Being in the water always gave me a sense of liberation. I didn’t have to worry about touching anyone or other children laughing at me. The ones who made my life a misery would always be in the baby pool with floats, whereas I would be free in the adult pool.
By the time I lock up the shop, I am questioning why I have turned my back on swimming. Before I leave, I do something I have never done before – I find a second copy of Margo Lane’s book in the non-fiction section and slip it into my bag.
I arrive home, climb the stairs and hear voices from my flat. Gary waves at me from the doorway. ‘Bad news, Penelope.’
‘My name is Nelly – what bad news?’
He grimaces. ‘The ceiling in your bedroom.’
Oliver is behind him in the hallway. He’s holding Lenny and casts me a sympathetic look.
‘What’s happened?’
Gary takes in a deep breath. ‘It’s fallen in.’
I stare at him as my heart grinds to a shuddering halt. ‘Fallen in?’
He nods. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, but I have a bloke coming to look at the damage tomorrow.’
Gary steps out of my flat and lets me through. Oliver backs away, and I race into my bedroom. It’s a good job Oliver is holding Lenny, as my scream is piercing.
There’s a gaping dark hole in my ceiling. My bed is covered in bits of plaster and the soggy remains of Gary’s sheets of paper. Anger and frustration join forces before coursing through my body. ‘I told you about this problem weeks ago, and you’ve done nothing.’
Gary runs a hand through his greasy black hair. ‘Penelope, I fixed it a few days ago.’
‘My name is NELLY,’ I bark, making him flinch. ‘You didn’t fix it, Gary, you put a few sheets of paper over it.’
He scratches his jaw. ‘I’ve been busy. You can’t sleep in here. Also, there’s an odd smell in here as well. It reminds me of bay leaves.’
Tears rush to my eyes, hot and stinging. I blink them away.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ says Gary. ‘I have a spare room if you need it.’
The thought of spending a night in Gary’s flat makes me cringe. ‘No thanks, Gary.’
