‘I’m broken, I think. You don’t think I know how strange it is to be hung up on an ex? Believe me, I know. I went to therapy after Ollie and I broke up. Told them all my feelings about him, and then, like therapists do, they got everything else out of me, too.’
These words, only ever uttered in the privacy of the therapist’s office, now flow faster out of me here with Sam than they ever did in that room.
Something about the calming drift of the water steadies my beating heart.
‘I think I might be depressed. I’m torn between whether or not I should go on antidepressants, mainly because I convince myself I’m not depressed when things go well, and then I hit that low again and nothing’s right. I haven’t told anyone about this.’
Sam swims closer. I turn away. It’s easier to talk when I can pretend he isn’t there.
‘Why haven’t you told anyone?’
‘Shame,’ I sigh. ‘Embarrassment. Because I think that no one cares. That I’m stupid for even thinking it’s depression. Isn’t depression supposed to be this big, bad, scary thing? Sometimes I get low. Big deal.’
The ripple of chilled water rolls over my body, and Sam’s hands spin me around.
‘It is not stupid.’ He looks me in the eyes. ‘And it’s more than getting low. Depression kills. Only you know what’s right for you, and I commend you for realising something is wrong.’
His hand on my shoulder, the feeling of his intense stare, make me consider sinking to the bottom and living with the fish. My cheeks flush.
‘Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?’
‘You are normal, Will. Don’t think you’re not. Men in particular don’t speak about this,’ Sam says. ‘And I admire you for doing so now.’
He releases me, drifting away.
‘They say we rule the world,’ Sam says. ‘As men.’
‘I don’t feel like I do.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘There’s no hope if you feel the same.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Sam asks.
‘Sam, look at you.’ My hands splash the water to prove I’m very serious. ‘You’ve got a body that society tells us we’re meant to have. Your hair is so gorgeously thick and blond that I would believe it if a literal model said they were jealous of your hair.You’re funny, effortlessly cool, and you have a very soothing feel to you. And you’ve got a business. Plus, you live in Greece.’
‘Right.’ Sam’s face is tight. ‘A role in the family business that I don’t see a way out of. It’s not a career. I have no genuine friends. No serious relationship in years. Mum worries about me daily. And no education past sixteen.’
‘Sam, I?—’
‘I’m not asking for sympathy,’ Sam dismisses. ‘I don’t want to speak about it.’
‘Okay.’
‘Besides, I haven’t finished. I’m thirty and still playing Pokémon games. That’s the worst bit of it all.’
We both laugh.
‘Okay, butIstill play Pokémon games. There’s nothing bad about that. It’s Pokémon, for God’s sake. We literally are the Pokémon generation. You can’t ask a millennial not to play Pokémon. That’s like asking that fish over there to walk on land. And if it did, it would only splash like Magikarp.’
Sam chuckles, and I laugh, too.
‘You still love Pokémon, don’t you?’
‘My favourite is Bramblin,’ I say.
‘Bramblin?’ Sam incredulously asks, as if I’ve stated something truly controversial. ‘Who the hell picksBramblinas their favourite Pokémon?’
