The Swimmer

by David Haynes

  Joe bit his bottom lip, paused then continued. “By this time, I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, or how I was going to dig myself out of it so I let him stay at my place. No prizes for guessing, he was back on the gear almost straight away, and I was living in a scrote house full of shit heads. I might as well have been using myself because I was pretty much paying for his entire supply by then. After a couple of months of that, good old Scott decided to inject himself with the mother lode and did what he was always going to do: die. I found out the same day, when the body was found. No one cried, at least none of us in the office did. Just another dead scrote and you know what May? I was pleased he was dead. Does that surprise you?”

  May shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know you well enough to find it shocking if that’s what you mean?”

  “I got back into work again but I kept getting flashbacks to the days I’d spent with Scott and some of the things he told me. Then the cogs started spinning again, those perilous wheels turned and turned and a year later I’d written “The Secret Diary of a Scrote,” or Desire and Decay as it became. I was still in the job at the time and I was literally living and breathing heroin all my waking hours. It would’ve been easier to just start taking it. I was writing about it and when I wasn’t writing about it I was working with the results of it. I was on the H Plan Diet without tasting it once.”

  Joe stopped talking; he could feel a headache coming which was probably the result of the subject matter. He looked over May’s shoulder at the grey horizon beyond.

  “The sun, what little there is of it, will be setting soon.”

  May glanced over her shoulder briefly, she could only imagine how glorious a sun set would be a on a clear August evening. “So what happened next?”

  “To be honest, I never expected anyone would dream of publishing it, but I sent it to a few agents anyway. Rejection followed until one replied and that was Gwen. She thought we might have a bit of a cult classic in the making; which I assumed meant, only read by students. But word of a new cult book always gets out. Next thing it’s a mainstream novel and a best seller. That’s where the issues started with the law.”

  He paused again and shook his head. “You see, I never supplied Scott with any drugs. I paid for them and I knew he was taking them, but every tax payer in the UK pays for heroin addicts one way or another, they just don’t realise it. That was never going to be good enough for the tabloids though, they wanted my blood. At first I read what the bastards wrote about me and you know what? I laughed at it. I laughed because I knew it was complete shit. I’ve tried to forget most of it but one story claimed I was running the entire city drug supply, like I was Mr Big or something. Laughable. I expected to get suspended and I wasn’t disappointed. An order came from the chief that basically stopped anyone from talking to me while an investigation was carried out. Pretty standard stuff really. I think by then I’d already decided I’d had enough and was going out the door one way or another. I wasn’t prepared for getting nicked or the prospect of going to prison though. It was horrendous. The tabloids love a bent copper and whipped everyone up about how disgusting I was. How could it be that a serving British copper was taking heroin, committing burglaries and knocking old ladies over the head?”

  “Couldn’t you have sued them or something?”

  Joe shrugged. “I suppose so but after they realised I hadn’t actually done anything other than commit a few police regulation offences I just disappeared. I walked away from the job and I lost myself in deepest darkest Cornwall. Until today anyway.”

  May took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “That’s some story. The tabloid trail runs cold after you were arrested. How was it being on the wrong side of the law?”

  “I was treated like everyone else who comes through the custody block, except I was the only one there. They closed it down especially for me. I don’t know why though because every cop in the force had seen the photos of me getting lifted. I sat in the interview room with a solicitor, a federation rep and two detective sergeants on the other side of the table. Those two went for me. They really wanted me for some reason. I think they would’ve liked my head on a pike at the front of the station. Ultimately though, they didn’t have enough to charge me so they just sacked me instead and that was okay by me.” His headache had become a proper brain pinch now and he cursed himself for not having any painkillers in the house. He massaged both temples to ease the tension.

  May could see the obvious pain in his eyes. She rummaged in her handbag and found a half used blister pack of tablets. “Here, try these.” She tossed the pack to Joe. He took two with a dry swallow and offered them back to her. She shook her head, “No, you keep them, you look like you might need them.”

  Joe placed the tablets on his desk. “Funny thing is May, this is the first headache I’ve had in about two years. I wonder why?”

  May ignored the poor attempt at subtle sarcasm. “And how do you feel about all that now?”

  “At the time I was tired and angry. Nothing more complicated than that really. Tired from all the thinking I’d been doing and angry because everyone had gone after me for being nothing worse than naïve and stupid. If the book hadn’t sold well, and if I’d not made any money out of it, no one would’ve given a toss. I was an easy target and all my silence did was give them license to print fiction about me.”

  “And do you regret not telling anyone the truth back then?”

  Joe stood up and leant on the cool granite windowsill with both hands, the sun had surrendered its position without giving up much of a fight. “No, I don’t regret it at all. It was a bloody circus and if I’d given an interview or tried to give my side it would’ve just fed the fires. As it was I disappeared, and I suppose my vanishing act gave them fodder for a few days. Then, as they say, I was yesterday’s chip wrapping. Until I suppose, this little interview comes out, then I’m guessing it’ll all start again. The difference this time.” He paused and looked back at May. “If you keep your word that is?”

  May nodded.

  “Is that this time it’s on my terms and not theirs, or yours for that matter.”

  The room had started to dim in the late afternoon gloom and when May checked her watch she was shocked to see it was nearly four thirty. She knew there was a lot more to find out about him and it was an opportunity unlikely to be repeated. “What about your family and mates, didn’t they wonder where you’d gone or try to contact you?”

  Joe used the protective gloves to open the cast iron double doors to the burner. He carefully placed a log onto the embers and watched the sparks jump around excitedly.. “Both my parents died several years ago, not at the same time or anything as theatrical as that, but both within two years of each other. I’ve no brothers or sisters and when you’re a copper you tend to only have friends who are coppers. It’s a very incestuous environment, so when I was sacked, most of my mates sacked me too. The thing is May, I wanted out of the human race at that point. I wanted to escape from everyone and everything and the last thing I wanted was to be in the same room as another human being, let alone talk to a copper.”

  May noticed he hadn’t mentioned any girlfriend or wife. “So why here?” She raised her palms upwards.

  “Why not? I’ve always loved Cornwall, my parents brought me here camping every summer when I was a kid and that bit out there,” he tilted his head towards the little window,

  “is where we came rock pooling every year. My great granddad was born just up the road and died just down the road in Levant mine, so it felt like the most natural place in the world to come to. Some days this place feels like it’s on the edge of the world. If I stood and looked out that enormous window all day, I’d never have to set eyes on another human and that suits me just fine.”

  May turned to face the view. “I can see how that would appeal to someone in your position. Not sure it would work for me, I think I’d miss people too much.” She turned to face him again. “Don’t you miss human company at al
l?”

  Joe grinned back. She could see his dimples and the easy way his face creased into the well-worn laughter grooves. He had clearly laughed and smiled a great deal in the past.

  “I don’t miss human company at all, and that’s the truth” He paused and the grin left his face. “I’m not sure if we aren’t getting off the subject matter a bit. I’ve told you everything about what happened with Scott and the book and I’m not sure this other stuff is relevant.”

  “You don’t have to worry about this appearing in the newspaper; it’s just a natural conversation between two fr…” She nearly said friends. “People, that’s all, maybe it’s been too long without a real conversation for you”

  “But I do worry. I’m worried about what this article of yours is going to say. Whether the day after it’s published I’m going to get bombarded by shit heads trying to take photos through my kitchen window. Maybe I’m paranoid but I just don’t want it. Do you want to know why you’re really here May?”

  “Go on.”

  “Self-preservation and control. You worked out who I was and where I live. I thought if I offered you something in return for some discretion, you might take pity on me and give me what I want; anonymity.”

  “So, you’re not after some cathartic experience to clear your name?”

  “A bit. So will you allow me to remain anonymously tucked away in my little hideaway?”

  It occurred to May she might be able to tease some more information out of him if she used the right levers but his candour made her reconsider. Maybe she’d lost the killer instinct for getting a story. She smiled. “Whatever base opinion you have of journalists, I’m not in the habit of breaking my word. No one will know where you live, not from me anyway. Okay?”

  Joe nodded. “Thank you.” He rubbed his hands together, “I don’t know about you but I’m thirsty. Have a bottle of cider with me to seal the deal?”

  “I’ll drink anything, as long as it’s not another one of your coffees.” She switched the digital recorder off.

  May climbed under the crisp white duvet and pulled it under her chin. She was exhausted from the mental strain of the interview. It was tiredness she hadn’t had for a very long time and she wasn’t used to the sensation. It was slightly uncomfortable and her brain continued raising questions it demanded answers to. She pondered how and when she was going to publish the interview, and what journalistic comments she would be able to add without sounding trite or clichéd.

  She’d enjoyed the meeting with Joe. Not just because it was likely to be the only story anyone would ever remember her for. But also because he’d been strangely captivating company which she’d been sorry to leave. They discussed formalities over a bottle of cold cider and she’d agreed to show him the article before it was printed. This was something she would never normally do, but it was a special case, and she was happy Joe suggested it. It gave her another excuse to visit him.

  Her brain was finally relaxing and the thought of the next meeting drifted pleasantly through her mind. She was already looking forward to it and the thought crossed her mind that she might be developing a crush on him. She dismissed the idea instantly. He wasn’t her type at all, but then again, it had been so long since she’d found one of her types, she’d forgotten what one looked like. She felt her eyelids getting heavy and sighed contentedly. She shuffled her body into a comfortable position so she could drift off.

  A flashing light suddenly lit up the dark bedroom and in her near sleep state it took her a few seconds to realise her mobile phone was flashing. She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the phone. It had been on silent during the interview and she hadn’t turned it back on since. The display read ‘David Polglaze.’ She waited for the call to stop and the answerphone to do its job. She had no intention of speaking to David tonight; he probably only wanted to know where she’d been all afternoon. She read with dismay that there had been three other calls from him during the afternoon.

  It was just after eleven thirty pm. and in her opinion that was too late to phone somebody. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it either. She would have to speak to him about it tomorrow, but do it sensitively. David was apt to be touchy about things like that, especially since he’d tried to contact her three times. She put the phone back on the table, wriggled her body under the duvet and closed her eyes. She would get up early and read David’s file properly. That way she could show some real fervour for whatever drivel was written in it. She knew that would appease him.

  7

  Joe rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. A solitary woman was shuffling slowly down the slipway towards the waiting ocean; a wispy tangle of white hair followed behind her. He put the binoculars back to his eyes and watched as she threw a single flower into the waves before ambling back up the slipway and out of his view. He checked his watch; it was just after seven a.m.

  He was instantly reminded of the dead swimmer, and although their physical appearances were worlds apart, they were both determined. Up until a couple of weeks ago, he’d only ever seen the slipway being used by the largely defunct local fishing fleet. Now there had been a crazy swimmer with his dog and someone throwing flowers into the sea. It suddenly clicked. Whoever she was, she had just thrown a memorial into the sea exactly where the swimmer had been found. If he had been a copper still, he would be trying to find out who she was. He fired up the computer and found May’s email address. His message was simple and to the point. ‘Call Me.’ followed by his number. His finger hovered over the send button, ‘Careful Joe, you’re getting involved again.’ He pushed the button and the email was sent.

  May purposely didn’t start her computer. The temptation to do anything except read David’s file was enormous and she was positively itching to start writing, ‘Joseph George – The Truth.’ Since waking up, little else had been on her mind and she doubted very much whether she would actually have to listen to the recording to write it. It all seemed imprinted on her memory and fresh, although for now the title of the article eluded her. All her attempts seemed to sound like a sleazy, tabloid publicity grab and she wanted to avoid anything crude. Both the article and Joe deserved more respect than that.

  It wasn’t often she was at the office before seven, but she knew she needed at least two hours reading before David pretending to be ‘just passing’ again. With a sigh, she settled into a comfortable position on the old swivel chair, and picked up David’s file. After the first few pages of engineering diagrams, which she didn’t understand, May found the real reason for David’s enthusiasm. She took a deep breath and re-read the proposal. If she was reading it correctly, he was planning to re-open the Levant tin mine. Not only that, he was planning on re-opening it as a working concern.

  The story of the mine was well known and although what had befallen the miners had happened a long time ago, the powerful shape of its wheelhouse was an eternal reminder. This story was going to be big news and the reaction wasn’t going to be as pleasant as David thought; perhaps as unpalatable as the story of the mine itself.

  For the next two hours May battled through various financial implications of re-opening the mine and the mind boggling geological reports. This was clearly not something David had just dreamt up overnight. There were several months’ if not years’ worth of work here. She was surprised that he had kept it secret for so long and even more surprised that he appeared to be financing the whole thing by himself. He was even more affluent than she had previously thought.

  The history of the mine was given a small mention in the community impact statement; it was brief and dismissive.

  The mine ceased operations on October 20th 1919 when the main rod for the man engine broke. It sent thirty one men and boys to their death in the shaft below. There are no survivors still alive and it is not believed there are any relatives of the deceased still living locally. It is not believed there will be any significant negative community impact from re-opening. The remains of the deceased, once
located will be the subject of a ceremony at St Just parish church and given due respect and circumstance. Again, this will reduce the likelihood of negative community impact, but will require sensitivity.

  “Ah, reading my exciting news I see.” She hadn’t heard him come in but David, true to form, was standing in the open door to the office. He walked in and began unbuttoning his coat. “What do you think of that then? Beats the pants off your swimmer.”

  She nodded. “It’s certainly going to raise some eyebrows.”

  “Yes, I think it might, but what doesn’t raise eyebrows around here? Besides, I’m going to create some jobs and give some lucky souls the chance to get back to their heritage. That can’t be bad news can it?”

  “I just think you’re going to have to be careful. There’s some men buried down there who might take a bit of encouragement to come back up.” She answered.

  He nodded. “Of course I’ll be careful, May. This is my community and I don’t want to upset people unnecessarily. You don’t seem overly enamoured with the proposal. I expected a bit of excitement from you; there’s plenty of scope for a few decent stories in this. I was thinking of a regular feature about current progress. A few photographs? You know the sort of thing.”