Swimming Home

by Mary-Rose MacColl

  They didn’t get to speak until later, after dinner. Catherine had gone swimming with Michael when he and Florence had returned from town. While they were still down at the beach, Florence came out to the front verandah, which overlooked the sea, flecked with gold in the last of the sun. ‘Dr Louisa, if I may have a word.’ Her tone was polite, but her face was fierce.

  ‘Of course, Florence. Sit down.’ Louisa gestured to the chair opposite. Florence remained standing.

  ‘I’m not sure what your plans are, but I do know that Catherine is keen to stay on the island.’

  ‘Catherine doesn’t know what she wants right now,’ Louisa said, surprised at Florence’s frankness. ‘Things have been very hard for her, and it’s up to us to make them easier.’

  Florence narrowed her eyes, setting her jaw tight. ‘I’ve been with Catherine her whole life. I’m the only one now who has. And Dr Harry did something for me I’ll never forget. If Catherine wants to stay, it would be fine with me, more than fine. I have some money saved. I just want to make sure you know that.’

  ‘But, Florence, you’re not thinking she could spend the rest of her life here, on the island? What about her education?’

  ‘She’s at the convent.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. Look, you can help Catherine right now, or hinder her. It’s up to you. I know that the best place for her is England, where she can develop to her fullest potential.’

  ‘How do I help the child most?’ Florence said. ‘The Protector said my son was better off with a white family, and I was so young I believed him.’ She paused, looked out at the water. ‘Dr Harry couldn’t know he was going to die, that’s the thing. And I need to have Catherine’s best interests in my heart too. That’s why I don’t know, Louisa. I don’t know if there are things I should tell you.’ Florence looked as if she might cry.

  ‘What things?’ Louisa said sharply, but Florence shook her head and didn’t respond. Louisa waited and then said, ‘I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about. Catherine will be with her family. She’ll be happy, I’m very sure. And you have no blood tie to the girl.’ Louisa paused but saw no flicker of feeling on Florence’s face. She still stood there, saying nothing.

  Louisa sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Florence, but Catherine must come to England. It will be easier for her if you and your son let her go with your blessing.’ She looked at the other woman. Florence’s face was hard to read. She watched Louisa for a moment more and then turned and went back inside.

  7

  ‘I WANT TO STAY HERE,’ CATHERINE SAID, ALMOST BEFORE Louisa had finished explaining what was to happen. Her mouth was set in a line and she glared at Louisa as she spoke. They were alone, but Louisa had the feeling that Florence and Michael weren’t far away. She wondered then if Florence had already spoken to Catherine, had warned her.

  Why hadn’t Louisa anticipated this? ‘Well, that’s not possible, dear,’ Louisa said. ‘I know you’ve had a difficult time. But you can’t stay here. There’s no one to look after you.’ They were sitting together in the parlour, which was so stuffy the first time Louisa had visited. Now the windows were all open, the drapes pulled back. They looked out into the deep of evening, the sound of the native crickets heavy in their ears and, beyond, the sound of the sea.

  ‘Florence will look after me,’ Catherine said. ‘She’s always looked after me.’

  Louisa had watched from the house that afternoon as Catherine and Michael had run down the hill together and dived into the sea. They were like puppies, bumping into one another as they raced, his naked chest, her bare legs. Louisa had never thought of herself as prudish, but in that swimming suit, a man’s suit, Catherine’s knees and shoulders were exposed. She showed no modesty whatsoever. And with a lad close to her own age. Louisa knew what could happen in these situations, what men were capable of, even seemingly nice young men like Michael. It sent a shiver through her.

  ‘They’re natives,’ Louisa said to Catherine in the parlour, knowing this wasn’t what she meant. The girl only looked confused. ‘They’re not your people.’

  ‘Yes they are,’ Catherine said. ‘Of course they are. I’ve grown up with them.’

  Louisa sighed. ‘Catherine, I’m your guardian. I’m named in Harry’s will. I can’t fail in my responsibility here.’

  ‘I have to go?’ Catherine said.

  Louisa nodded.

  Catherine burst into tears then and fled the room. Louisa could hear her sobbing all the way up the stairs. Oh dear, Louisa thought. I’m worse at this business than even I expected I would be.

  ‘We love Catherine,’ the woman was saying. She was too close to Louisa’s face. ‘In fact, if she were to remain on the island, we’d be more than happy to help with her management.’ Louisa was racking her brains for a name. She’d met this woman the day before. Catherine didn’t like her, Louisa had thought at the time, and then Louisa had forgotten to ask why. Was it Wharton? Or Smithson? It was a name like that, she was sure.

  Now, the woman had accosted Louisa and Catherine in the main street. Louisa had come to send a wire to Alexander, confirming their departure date, although given Catherine’s reluctance, she might need to revise it. Catherine was still insisting she could stay on the island, but Louisa was more certain than ever that the correct course was to have her come to England where they’d find a good school.

  Louisa and Catherine had met this woman—Watson, yes, Mrs Watson—who was staring at Louisa now, waiting for a response. Management, she’d said. She’d be happy to involve herself in Catherine’s management. The look of hope on the woman’s face made Louisa uncomfortable. Why would she want Catherine to stay on the island? What was it to her?

  ‘I’ve tried my very best to get her to see,’ Mrs Watson said. ‘But she simply will not, Dr Quick. Can I say what a great honour it is to have you among us? I feel I am in the presence of a giant of the movement.’

  She had particularly red cheeks and Louisa was finding it difficult to know if they were rouged. She reminded Louisa of those patients who came to her rooms with no real ailments to speak of other than the experience of an average life. If they paid on the way out, should she care? That’s what Ruth Luxton said. But Louisa was a surgeon, unaccustomed to doing nothing. She was happiest in theatre, where patients didn’t talk so much, where she could fix their problems without having to spend hours listening to their complaints. So she was disinclined to be tolerant of Mrs Watson.

  ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mrs Watson,’ she said, swallowing the name in case she still had it wrong.

  ‘The girl is living with natives currently, which we, Jack and I, feel is compromising her reputation.’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘As I say, I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mrs Watson, but you will be aware that Florence Cunningham has been in Catherine’s life since Catherine was born. Florence is like a member of the family.’

  It had crossed Louisa’s mind again since she’d arrived on the island that Florence and Harry might have had some sort of tryst. This was what Alexander had implied that day in Southampton, although he’d never made anything explicit and he probably had no evidence. It wouldn’t do to dwell on this notion, Louisa knew, but Catherine’s skin was as dark as some of the natives’, almost as dark as Michael’s. Could there have been some relationship that Julia agreed to cover over? Or worse, could Harry and Florence have conspired to harm Julia, poor young thing that she was? Well, that was ridiculous. Harry didn’t go to the island in time to impregnate another woman and then bring his American wife into the picture. And even if the timing added up, Harry would never have acted so dishonourably. But he had brought the boy, Florence’s son Michael, home to the island. Catherine had told Louisa the story. Why had he done that for a child who wasn’t his? At the very least, Harry held Florence in high regard. Was Michael … Louisa put any thoughts of Harry’s relationship with his housekeeper away, stared at the block of a woman in front of her. ‘So I would think you might thin
k twice before you would say something like that,’ she said.

  Mrs Watson left them soon after, but Louisa could see there was something changed in her niece. Catherine had looked angry as the woman spoke, and Louisa had realised the girl would have defended Florence. Now she looked at her aunt with a small smile on her face.

  ‘Why did you say that to her about Florence?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Florence has been like family to you. I didn’t like what the woman was implying, that there was something wrong with that. Did you tell me yesterday you know her daughter?’

  ‘Yes,’ Catherine said. ‘I teach her reading. She’s a sweet little thing. She comes to school looking like a little princess and goes home looking like a street urchin. I’m surprised her mother would trust me with her, frankly. I lead her astray.’

  ‘I think the plan is to bring you back to the straight and narrow, Catherine, and have you caring for her children.’

  ‘Oh,’ Catherine said. ‘I never thought of that.’

  ‘And if that’s the alternative, surely you’d prefer to come back to London,’ Louisa said.

  ‘I can’t just stay here?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that in your heart, dear.’

  Catherine looked sad then, but also as if, for the first time, she did know the answer.

  Louisa was relieved. She’d been worrying about what she’d do if Catherine refused outright to come to London. ‘It must be nice to be so wanted, sweet girl,’ Louisa said now. ‘Florence means well and she’s a good woman. She’s been wonderful to you. I have no doubt of that. But I visited the school again. They can’t do for you what you need. You could be anything, Catherine—a doctor, a lawyer. There are no limits for women, not anymore. You must see that.’

  ‘Are you sure, Aunt Louisa?’ Catherine said.

  ‘Of course I am,’ Louisa said.

  On their last full day on the island, Louisa watched Catherine swimming out beyond the break, beyond the jetty, so far out Louisa lost sight of her. There was a reef three miles out, Catherine had told her. It was nothing for the girl to swim that far in a day. Catherine was so at home here, and the beauty of the place, the green of the water, the easy way the natives had with one another, affected Louisa too. She’d ended up staying for a whole month. It was true she had to finalise Harry’s estate and clear the house of his personal effects. But the island had a way of slowing a person down. It was quite delightful, even with the heat, Louisa thought. Perhaps Catherine should stay here after all and Louisa should stay with her. Oh good Lord, your brain is melting, Louisa told herself. Of course the girl should come to London. What on earth would she do for the rest of her life otherwise? She shouldn’t assume a man would look after her. Louisa knew what folly that was.

  Before they boarded the ship in Sydney, Louisa took Catherine to a draper in the city to have dresses made up. Catherine agreed the materials were lovely, ran her fingers over the silks and velvets, but Louisa could see she had no interest in fine dresses. They’d packed what they could of the clothes she wore on the island, but mostly she’d worn Harry’s old shorts and a man’s shirt with her big straw hat. Only on school days did she even bother with shoes, so they didn’t take much in the end.

  Louisa had three plain woollen skirts and three linen blouses made, along with two dresses in the new style, hemmed just below the knee—which Louisa agreed to on the seamstress’s advice; she herself was against the shorter skirts, which she felt were unnecessary—and an evening dress in a dark green silk that set off Catherine’s hair.

  Catherine wanted to go to a beach before they left for London and so Louisa arranged for them to visit the little seaside village of Coogee. The beach had a small headland at one end and a pier at the other. Louisa and Catherine walked out on the pier in the afternoon and bought ices. Catherine wanted to swim, so while she was changing into a bathing suit Louisa rented for her—Louisa had made sure to leave Catherine’s men’s swimming suit back on the island—Louisa watched two little girls in white frocks, long socks and black leather shoes. They looked so dear, Louisa thought to herself.

  ‘Look at those girls, Catherine,’ she said when Catherine returned. ‘Aren’t they sweet?’

  Catherine smiled. ‘That’s how you’d like me to look,’ she said. ‘But I look more like him.’ With the girls was a boy of around twelve in a button-up cotton shirt and serge shorts, socks falling down around his ankles, scuffed brown leather shoes.

  ‘Yes you do, I’m afraid,’ Louisa said. ‘Did you not want to get new clothes for England?’

  ‘I don’t much care,’ Catherine said, and ran off and leapt into the sea.

  On the journey back to London, Catherine either sat in their stateroom staring out the porthole, or went up on the main deck to stare at the ocean from there.

  ‘You like the sea,’ Louisa said one afternoon when she found Catherine on the deck.

  ‘When I was a little girl,’ Catherine said, ‘I told my father that I loved swimming so much I wasn’t sure if I was a boy or a fish. He said I was neither. I was a girl who loved the water. I said I most certainly wasn’t a girl and since he was sure I couldn’t be a boy, I might have to be a fish. That was my name on the island, Waapi. It’s the word for fish.’

  ‘What was it about the water you loved so much?’

  ‘I still love it,’ Catherine said, looking squarely at Louisa. ‘I feel as if I could dive in here. I feel sometimes I could swim forever.’

  ‘We used to go to the beach at Aldeburgh, where my mother’s family lived,’ Louisa said. ‘We had our holidays there every summer. I used to go into the water to paddle but I couldn’t swim.’ Louisa had never learned. When they went to the seaside her brothers would swim. Louisa wore a swimming skirt and blouse. Even if she’d known how to swim, she couldn’t have carried the weight.

  When she was very small, Louisa remembered, her father would throw a rope out and she’d hold on while she bathed. Once she’d let go of the rope without thinking and had been swept out with the current. Before she knew it, the water had overwhelmed her. As she bobbed up, she could see her father stepping out of his shoes and throwing off his jacket and hat. It was as if he was moving very slowly, but he must have been going fast for he soon reached her and lifted her up and told her to make herself floppy.

  ‘Can you hear me, Louie?’ he said, his arms tight about her.

  ‘Of course I can hear you,’ she said. ‘Don’t be scared, Papa.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘Then why are you hurting me?’

  He stopped squeezing so hard.

  They came up onto the beach a long way from where they’d left their towels and he carried her all the way. He said they weren’t to tell Mama what had happened.

  Louisa smiled at Catherine now. ‘My mother was a great fan of children being outdoors, but I was never taught to swim. Harry was a fine swimmer.’

  ‘He was very keen for me to be able to swim well,’ Catherine said, ‘and more proud of my swimming than anything I did at school.’

  ‘Yes, he was,’ Louisa said. They were exposed to the oncoming breeze, which was building as the afternoon progressed. ‘Come in now, and we’ll get ready for dinner.’

  ‘You go in,’ Catherine said. ‘I’ll just stand here a while.’

  Catherine had none of the training most young women had for life, Louisa thought. Perhaps that was a good thing, although it would always make her stand out. The fact that she seemed not to care was probably a blessing.

  8

  WHEN CATHERINE REACHED THE BANK, SHE LOOKED around for Darcy. She saw Ida and some of the other girls but no Darcy. She climbed the stairs. She was shivering, she realised. One of the workmen had come down and was wrapping his coat around her shoulders. ‘Aye, you made it, girl.’ She grinned. There was a man taking pictures. She could smell the fire of the flash. It was a warm smell. Someone came with a blanket and wrapped that around the jacket. Catherine would have loved a cup of hot tea,
Nellie’s cure for everything.

  Suddenly she saw Louisa up on the bank with Miss Anderson. They were both frowning, looking at Catherine. How did Louisa get here? Catherine thought.

  Ida came down the bank. ‘You did it!’ she called out, then added, more quietly, ‘But you’re done for.’

  ‘Why? Where’s Darcy?’

  ‘That’s just it. She told Miss Anderson. Did you see Miss Anderson’s here? She’s fuming.’

  ‘Am I in trouble?’

  Ida nodded, eyes wide. ‘Darcy did you in. She came over last night, said she felt it her duty to warn the authorities of your intended swim. She told me I shouldn’t come. What a snake. I’m so sorry.’

  Catherine couldn’t stop shivering. ‘But it was Darcy’s idea,’ she said, her teeth chattering between the words.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ida repeated. She was moving away now, as Louisa approached.

  Louisa looked angry too. ‘What on earth were you thinking, Catherine? Are you all right? You might have been run over.’

  ‘I did it, Louisa. I swam.’

  Louisa’s face softened into a smile. ‘Yes, you did, Catherine,’ she said. ‘Yes, you did.’ She looked back towards the group on the bank. ‘But we’re in real trouble now.’

  She’d farewelled Florence at the ferry, a quick hug in the end for there was no time for more. Florence shook her head. Catherine saw there were tears in Florence’s dear eyes.

  And then, as the ferry pulled away, Catherine saw Florence’s frame slump over on the jetty, as if someone had punched her. She was supporting herself against one of the pylons. Catherine couldn’t bear to see her so upset.

  ‘We knew the day would come,’ she’d said to Catherine the night before. ‘It just came too soon.’

  Catherine wished more than anything that Michael had come to say goodbye, that he’d been there to look after his mother now. Catherine couldn’t bear it. She looked away from Florence and towards the sea.