Deep Water

by Mark Ayre

  Alice shook her head, waved a hand. "You're missing the point," she said.

  "Am I?"

  "You are. It's nothing to do with the board game, is it? When was the last time you had a family bonding day?"

  "We never did that," said Abbie, who had always hated her parents anyway. "I used to do things with my siblings, but they’ve been gone a long time."

  "Then you never knew what you were missing," said Alice. "Until today. Come on, into the living room."

  Alice turned. Abbie called after her.

  "I was going out."

  Alice stopped in the doorway, slowly turned back. "I could see that was your intention the moment I stepped into the room," she said. "Only you're not going out. You'll join the family fun."

  "Maybe you're getting confused because my name begins with A," said Abbie. "But I'm not one of your children."

  "Temporarily, I say you are. And you can't dissent."

  "You don't think so?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's my birthday."

  Abbie sighed. Stepped around the table. "I hope you have a lovely day."

  Alice blocked her. "Why are you fighting this?"

  "I have no desire to be involved. What's the problem?"

  Abbie stepped to the side, but Alice came closer and blocked her again. The two women locked eyes.

  "You say you're not one of my children, but I can read the lie in your eyes as easily as with my kids. We're similar, Abbie, and we've bonded. I see your true feelings."

  "Maybe you think you do."

  "You want to be part of this. What makes you feel you have to tear yourself away?"

  Abbie said nothing, nor did she try to move. Until Alice decided to let her go, there was no point attempting to get past. Not unless Abbie was willing to use force on the sixty-year-old. As yet, they hadn't reached that point.

  "Do you know how many children and grandchildren I have?" asked Alice.

  This was an odd question; Abbie did the maths anyway.

  "Six children, three grandchildren?"

  "Correct. I always wanted loads of children; I imagined days like these. A sixtieth birthday spent playing games, surrounded by family. But where are they? My eldest is in prison. Number two's off plotting; won't turn up ’til she's ready to fight. Three’s shacked up with her new mobster boyfriend while five refuses to leave her room. Six is dead. My daughter-in-law's taken two of my grandchildren and refuses to let me see them. Says they're not interested, but who knows? Six children and three grandchildren, but only child four and my eldest grandchild will spend the bulk of my sixtieth birthday with me. That leaves a huge gap where the rest should be, and guess what?"

  "What?"

  "You have to fill it."

  Abbie smiled and shook her head. Tried not to rise to the bait.

  "I appreciate what you're trying to do."

  "Do you? You're here to save my life, but why bother if you can't also have a good time?"

  "This is my job," said Abbie. "Does every street sweeper and shop teller find happiness in what they do? No. They do it to put food on the table."

  "Wrong," said Alice.

  Abbie looked at her. "You think?"

  "I know. People always put work and food on opposite sides of the equation. They talk about putting food on the table, but that isn't right. We don't work to eat; we work and eat to live. So we can enjoy our time on this Earth. If all working allowed people to do was to take in sustenance so they could have the energy to go back to work so they could take in more sustenance... well, suicide rates would skyrocket. We work to earn money with which we buy experiences. Experiences that become happy memories. Memories we relive when we're old and no longer able to galavant around doing what we enjoyed in our prime. If you're just working to eat, you're doing it wrong."

  When Alice had started speaking, Abbie had been ready to reply with fire, regardless of what the older woman said. But the birthday girl's reasoning was flawless. It forced Abbie to think, and her consideration became a tidal wave of sadness. By the time Alice finished, Abbie was struggling to stay afloat.

  Placing a hand on Abbie's elbow, Alice gave her a smile. "Wait there."

  It was as though Alice's hand had kept Abbie above water. When the birthday girl let go, Abbie began to drown in depression. She should have forgotten the second coffee. Should have walked out when Alice went upstairs. Why hadn't she? Money was no issue; she could have grabbed a coffee at the nearest cafe. The answer seemed simple enough. She had wanted Alice to come back and to refuse to let her leave.

  Alice returned with something clasped in her hand. Rather than showing Abbie the item she had gone to retrieve, Alice grabbed her arm and led her to the bar. From behind the counter, she extracted a key with which she unlocked the door to the balcony.

  "Ah, you have to love that sea air," said Alice, stepping outside. "Don't you think?"

  Yesterday, Abbie had fallen in love with this view. But that was on the other side of the glass. The moment Abbie stepped onto the balcony, the view stole her breath, and love became adoration.

  As though drawn in by the sea, Abbie moved away from the house along the rock outcrop. It was around eight feet wide and maybe fifteen long. Two small round tables and four chairs, all made of heavy metal, stood by the window. Other than these items, the balcony was completely clear, lacking even a railing. Abbie kept walking until her toes were poking over the edge of the balcony, and she could observe the water hitting the rocks some thirty feet below.

  "It's stunning," she said. "The perfect place, I'm sure, to make whatever point you want to make."

  Alice laughed and came to stand beside Abbie. Right at the edge, she didn't seem quite so comfortable.

  "Where's your diving board?" Abbie asked.

  "Don't," said Alice. "Used to give me a heart attack coming out here when the girls were younger. I begged Morris to install a railing, but he wouldn't hear of it. Said it'd ruin the view. Not to mention, he loved to run and jump off the edge."

  Abbie peered over again. The rock face was pretty straight. So long as you got a bit of clearance on your jump and hit the water in the shape of a pencil, angling away from the rocks, it wouldn't be too tough to clear the danger zone and swim to shore. But you had to get it right. A slight error in your jump or landing and the tide might smash you against the cliff.

  "Sounds as though Morris was a bit of a daredevil," Abbie noted.

  "Quite," said Alice. "I couldn't watch. Begged him to never jump in front of Ariana. I doubt he listened or even stopped her jumping when she wanted, but as I never came home to find she'd been crushed against the rocks and drowned, I tried not to think about it."

  Alice smiled at Abbie but pulled her back from the edge. "Still makes me nervous."

  They moved back and examined the sky. The cold air whipped at them, but they ignored it. Alice swiped her hand along the sky as though it were a touchscreen background she was trying to change.

  "You joked about the point I wanted to make," said Alice. "And you were right about the view's part in it." She handed Abbie the frame from the living room. "Life has many beautiful things to offer, but the two that most interest me are the beauty of nature and the beauty of family."

  Abbie examined the photo in the frame. Alice with Adam and Tony on her right, Angel and Alex on her left. Ariana stood just ahead, her hand on the bump of her mother's belly, where grew her little sister.

  With the frame in one hand, Abbie noticed the other coming to her stomach and forced it away.

  "I still don't know what you're trying to do," said Abbie.

  "Except I think you do," said Alice. "You save lives, which is wonderful, but how often do you stop to enjoy the beauty of the natural world, and who do you enjoy it with? Because a life unshared is a life unlived. A life without companionship soon becomes blotted by depression, and depression is a black plague that can easily leave you incapacitated. How many lives will you save when the despai
r of your empty existence prevents you even from getting out of bed, let alone leaving the house?"

  "My existence isn't empty," said Abbie. "I have Netflix."

  Alice didn't believe the joke warranted an answer, which was sad. In the silence that followed, Abbie once more experienced the rising tide of misery. She thought of her home; beautiful, modern, comfortable. Yet often, she would depart to spend night after night in unremarkable, cookie-cutter hotels. Why? Because it was not unusual to be alone in a hotel. Unlike lying in the silence of an empty house designed for a family, it did not make Abbie break down into crying fits from which she struggled to escape. Or, not as quickly, anyway.

  Alice wouldn't speak, so Abbie forced herself to say, "To allow personal feeling to ruin my good work would be selfish. Who am I to turn my back on the people I could save?"

  "Who fed you that line?" said Alice.

  "I can think for myself."

  "I know you can, and I ask again, who fed you that line?"

  A ripple of anger pulsed through the misery. Realising her fists were clenched, Abbie turned away and forced them open. In her mind, a memory of Ben crouching before her, meeting her tear-filled eyes.

  Abbie, to allow personal feeling to ruin your good work would be selfish. Who are you to turn your back on the people you can save?

  Abbie's jaw was also clenched. That she kept closed.

  "Okay," said Alice, accepting Abbie wasn't going to answer. "How about this: how many lives do you save a year?"

  Abbie sighed. The conversation grew more wearying by the word. Emotionally, it was proving too much.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "I think you do, but okay, why don't we phrase it another way? How many days a year do you spend saving lives?"

  Again, Abbie shook her head. "Not the point."

  "You know my point?"

  "It's probably twenty-six days," said Abbie. "Give or take. At worst, we're talking 10% of the year, and your point is: why can't I use the other 90% to fall in love, have children, experience the beauty of nature, raise a family. In short, live a life worth remembering."

  "I hope that was my point," said Alice. "It's good, no?"

  "Not really," said Abbie, "because I don't book in the twenty-six days. They come when they come. I never know I'm about to spend 48 hours trying to save a life until minute one of those hours. Every night, I go to sleep, waiting, wondering, Will tonight be the night I get the next call to action. By the time the sun rises again, will I already be in the thick of another life or death situation, not just for the stranger I've come to save, but for me? You want me to bring a family into that? First question, how? Obviously, I'm hot stuff; a boyfriend will be easy to find."

  "True," said Alice.

  "But keeping him's another matter, when I have to ditch our shared bed at a moment's notice several times a year, with no explanation. When I have to disappear for a couple of days and can't tell him why. How does that relationship lead to children? How does it last more than a couple of months?"

  Alice didn't hesitate.

  "How do criminals find wives and husbands? How did Spider-Man make it work with Mary Jane Watson? The partners of crooks know what their spouses get up to. Time and again, Spidey can only make it work with MJ once he’s revealed to her his secret identity."

  Abbie stared at Alice.

  "Spider-man?"

  "What, a female ex-con in her sixties can't be a Spidey fan?"

  "I'm guessing it's unusual."

  "I'm an unusual person, and lucky because the web-slinger beautifully illustrates my point. You can find love and have children. All you have to do is find someone with whom you can confide about your job. Someone who'll understand."

  "And you don't think," said Abbie, "that Spidey being fictional diminishes your argument at all?"

  "I know it doesn't," said Alice. "As do you."

  "Okay, let's say the Spidey argument works. Maybe I can find someone I can tell about my job without scaring them off. What about the danger? Sooner or later, someone will kill me while I'm trying to save a life. Then what? If I have children, I leave them motherless?"

  "Should those in the military remain unmarried and childless? What about police officers? Plenty of people put their lives on the line to make the world an ostensibly better place. Should they all be alone?"

  Abbie closed her eyes. Not only the argument but also the beauty of her surroundings seemed to be wearing her down. All of a sudden, she wanted to go back to bed.

  "You're upset," said Alice.

  "Do you reckon? Weird that, isn't it? Shouldn't I be used to these arguments by now? I've had them often enough with myself. What's to get upset about anymore?"

  When Abbie opened her eyes, she became aware she was still holding the photo frame. Thrusting it into Alice's hands, she turned away, looking across the sea.

  "Abbie--"

  "It's cold," Abbie cut in. "I'm going inside."

  Before Alice could respond, Abbie had moved to the glass door and stepped back into the bar. Despite her claim, the cold hadn't seemed to be affecting her. When she stepped into the warm, the temperature contrast was enough to make her shiver. Raising her hands to her arms, she hugged herself, trying to rub away the goosebumps.

  "I'm sorry," said Alice, stepping inside and closing the door. "I didn't mean to go on. I'm like a dog with a bone."

  "It's fine."

  There was silence. They stood in the bar, but neither of them moved. Abbie could feel Alice's eyes on her. Could feel the older woman gearing up to speak again.

  "You think about it a lot, then?" asked Alice.

  Abbie sighed.

  "Sorry, but I'm just thinking."

  "Dangerous."

  "You're an intelligent woman."

  "I've heard it said."

  "And you've been over this time and again. You've raised the points you did today and come back with the arguments I've made. You must know what I've said makes sense. You'll know you could find someone with whom you could share your secrets and start a family. There's a risk you'll leave that family too soon, like you've said, but that's a risk everyone takes to one degree or another."

  Abbie forced herself to turn to face Alice.

  "Not yet dropped that bone, then?"

  Alice smiled. "There's something else blocking you, isn't there? Something making you think you can't start a family. Or telling you that you can’t.”

  On this, Abbie decided not to comment. Turning away, she faced the bar. Rows and rows of spirits. They seemed to call to her. Almost any of them would do.

  "Take a drink," said Alice, apparently sensing Abbie's desire. "I'll never tell."

  Abbie shook her head. “Can’t.”

  “Because you don't drink on the job?”

  "Right," said Abbie.

  Forcing herself away from the bar, Abbie reclaimed her seat from the previous day when she'd first got to know Alice. Part of her wanted to leave. Even if she'd been sure she wanted to go, she'd have stayed put. It would be rude to walk out.

  "Of course, you're not as bullish about this lonely path as you might make out," continued Alice.

  "No?" said Alice.

  "I don't think so. What about your prior engagement?"

  Abbie sighed. "You're really not going to let this go, are you?"

  "No. It was a date, wasn't it?"

  "Does it matter? I cancelled."

  "Because you had to come here. Not because you thought it was a mistake."

  "It was a mistake."

  "Stuck here, staring at my ugly mug when you should be across from Mr Handsome, wondering if you'll be getting lucky tonight, I can imagine you'd want to believe it was a mistake."

  Abbie hugged herself again as Bobby crept back into her mind. That damn smile. She wondered if he’d text and was glad she'd left her phone in the guest room—no temptation to check.

  "It was a mistake," said Abbie. "This guy, I met him three weeks ago, and we've texted every day since. I got
lost in the conversations, which felt amazing. Still, I held off arranging a second meeting, and held off, and held off, until at last, in a moment of weakness or madness or whatever, I said, Okay. Let's do it. We got it booked in, and then, of course, I get sent to save you on the weekend we're due to meet, and isn't that the perfect sign? Some piss-taking diety letting me know I was a moron to consider trying to add a slice of normality to my life."

  "Not a moron," disagreed Alice. "Agreeing to the date wasn't a moment of weakness but a moment of strength. It was you realising you can't go on the way you are. Accepting it's possible to add a romantic attachment to your current existence."

  "Except it isn't."

  "Except it isn't," said Alice, and the agreement left Abbie speechless. Alice put a hand on her arm. "Can I get you another coffee?"

  "That would be lovely." Abbie had to force out the words.

  Alice left Abbie at the table with Bobby rattling around her mind, trying to drive her insane. When the coffees came, Abbie thanked Alice, grabbed hers and took a sip, knowing it would be too hot. A burnt lip was a small price to pay for scattering the Bobby thoughts from her mind.

  Alice watched Abbie burn herself and replace the cup, then said, "Tony told me what happened yesterday on the beach. The men Angel sent."

  Abbie felt a flash of annoyance towards Tony. He should have told her he was going to let his mum in on their minor altercation. Abbie could get into that with him later. With Alice, she let it go.

  "So your plan is to bounce around different topics until one of your points makes me realise I'm living my life the wrong way?"

  "You already know you're living your life the wrong way," said Alice. “I’m trying to persuade you it’s okay to make a change."

  "If you say so."

  "I had assumed you were working alone, trying to save me," said Alice, "but sounds as though you’ve got a crack team backing you up, vanishing bodies and the like. Must come in handy."

  "Now and again," Abbie admitted.

  "I'm assuming they don’t just provide on-site support either? You can't have an ordinary job. Even the most lenient of employers would soon lose patience with a staff member who repeatedly had to take off a couple of days with zero notice."