The Lido

by Libby Page

“Ouch! What were we thinking?”

  “Oh, I think we knew exactly what we were doing. It was one of the best moments of my life.”

  Rosemary turned to George. His smile was the same, just outlined now with deep lines that spread outward like waves. But he had wrinkles in all the right places—they showed the truth of his character. Some people she knew who would consider themselves optimists had been surprised when frown lines formed between their eyebrows. She had seen through them, though, remembering old arguments or bitterness. The lines didn’t lie.

  George’s hair had long since gone—he’d started losing it in his late twenties and did an admirable job of laughing at himself about it. She knew it bothered him really and that he worried about staying attractive for her. She had caught him flicking through a copy of Men’s Health in the supermarket once. But she didn’t care if he didn’t have a single hair on his head—he wore his baldness with grace. And besides, her hair had started to thin, too, and she knew she had put on weight over the past years. Her once slim figure had filled out. At first she minded terribly, hardly recognizing herself, now she only minds slightly.

  “Fifty years,” he said, sighing. They were both quiet for a moment, looking across at the dark lido.

  “I hope you think it’s been worth it,” he said quietly, looking down at his bare feet. “I know we haven’t traveled, that we’ve stayed in the one place all our lives. And I have never been exactly rich, and, well, it’s only been the two of us . . .”

  Rosemary watched her husband as he watched his feet.

  “And I know I’ve never been a smart dresser, and that frankly I’ve gotten quite fat. And all these wrinkles. And I know more about cabbages than I do about politics. But what I mean to say is I hope this has been enough for you. I hope I have been enough for you.”

  He looked up from his feet and at her face. He looked like a teenager again, in those rare moments when he let his confidence slip and she saw straight through to the nervous little boy behind. She swallowed hard.

  “You silly man,” she said, reaching for him and kissing him hard. They held each other close, their bare arms wrapped around each other, their towels slipping slightly as they reached for each other. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other, feeling each other’s heart beating against their chests. It’s always been enough, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t make the words come out and she knew she didn’t have to. The way they held each other said that they both understood.

  After a while they pulled apart a little, adjusting their towels and laughing at their naked bodies.

  “And anyway,” she said, “we’re both fat and wrinkly.”

  They both laughed.

  “Come on, we’d better get going,” said George, passing her clothing from the bench. “Um, darling, I don’t think this is mine . . .” George said, lifting up Rosemary’s lavender bra.

  “Oops, sorry.” She laughed, swapping him the pair of boxers she held in her hand. He helped her fasten her bra, stroking her shoulders. They dressed slowly, struggling with buttons and zips in the darkness.

  “Damn these laces!” he said as he reached for his shoes.

  “Let me do it,” she said, kneeling down to tie them.

  “Ouch!”

  “Knees?” he asked.

  “Yep. They’re real bastards these days.” She tied his shoes and then stood up.

  “What are we like?” he said, smiling at her.

  “We’re old is what we are.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think we were too busy living to notice it really.”

  “Yes, it has snuck up on us.”

  “Maybe we’re not actually getting old; maybe everyone else is just getting younger.”

  “Ah yes, that must be it.”

  “Come on, let’s go home. I need a cup of tea.”

  George put his backpack on his shoulders and helped Rosemary stand up on the picnic bench, beneath the tree. She turned and took a last look at the lido. She imagined swimming there again tomorrow, keeping the secret of their night’s adventure tucked behind her smile. The clock hands were standing smartly together—it had just gone midnight.

  And then there was a terrible cracking sound like the splintering of a ship’s belly against rocks. Rosemary turned around just in time to see the branch snapping and falling to the ground, showering leaves onto the decking of the lido. George stood on the bench looking up at the empty space where the branch should have been; his arms still extended in the air, empty. He looked down at the branch on the ground.

  “Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  They both looked up at the tree. Without the help of the branch to pull themselves up, there was no way they would make it over the top of the wall. They looked down at the branch again.

  “This could be interesting.”

  The lido didn’t open until 6:30 and they were both shivering. They looked at each other in panic for a moment—they were trapped.

  And then they both started laughing. They giggled like children, holding on to each other as the laughter shook through them. They couldn’t stop; it was infectious and ridiculous. Eventually George started wheezing and Rosemary helped him down from the bench, her eyes streaming with tears.

  “Enough, enough,” she said. They sat down on the bench and looked again at the mess of leaves. The moon winked from behind a cloud, a car sounded its horn, and a motorbike roared. Inside the lido walls everything was still.

  “Well, we’ll have to phone for help,” said Rosemary eventually.

  “But we’ve been trespassing, won’t we get in trouble?”

  They started laughing again.

  “I’m serious!” said Rosemary when they had quieted down. “I’m not staying here all night, I’m freezing. We’re much too old for this; we might not make it through the night. This was your idea; you need to get us out of here, George Peterson!”

  So he reached into his backpack and pulled out the mobile phone they had reluctantly bought a few years ago for emergencies. This wasn’t exactly the emergency they’d had in mind.

  “How do I turn it on?” said George.

  “It’s that big button on the top.”

  “I can’t see it, it’s dark!”

  “Here, let me see.”

  George passed her the phone. She fumbled in the dark until the screen lit up. She handed it back.

  “There.”

  “Thank you.”

  When the phone had turned on George tapped “999” onto the keypad.

  The phone rang and Rosemary listened to George’s side of the conversation.

  “Hello? Police, please, or possibly fire brigade. We’re at Brockwell Lido, Brixton, stuck inside.”

  There was a pause.

  “We climbed over the wall but the branch broke you see and now we can’t get out. My wife and I. Yes, my wife. Seventy-one. Yes, I said seventy-one. No, this isn’t a prank call. Well, yes, I suppose we are old enough to know better.”

  Rosemary was laughing again, her hand over her mouth, trying to hide the sound. George gave her a look and slapped her thigh gently with his free hand.

  “What’s that? Well, yes, I suppose we should have thought of that. Okay. Okay, thank you.”

  He hung up the phone.

  “They’ll be here soon.”

  They waited together in the darkness, sat side by side on the picnic bench like schoolchildren waiting to be summoned into the headmistress’s office. Rosemary leaned her head on George’s shoulder and they watched the clouds and the stars in the sky above them.

  The fire brigade saved them the embarrassment of a siren, but they did see the blue light flashing over the wall of the lido, lighting up the branches of the trees.

  “Hello?” someone called after a moment.

  “Hello!” Rosemary and George called back.

  There was the sound of metal on brick as a ladder was pushed up against the lido wall. After a few mome
nts a fire officer was perched on the top, peering down at them.

  “What’s going on here then?” he said. George and Rosemary looked up from the bench, the darkness hiding their pink cheeks.

  “Ready?” shouted someone else from the other side of the lido wall, and the fire officer turned to take hold of another ladder that was being passed up from below. He took hold of it and fed it down on the other side of the wall until it was resting on the decking near to where the tree branch snapped.

  “Come on then,” said the officer, his voice gruff but laughter tickling the edges. George took Rosemary’s hand and helped her onto the first steps of the ladder. She climbed up to the top and the officer helped her swing her leg over the wall and down the ladder on the other side. George followed, taking one last look back at the water before crossing over the wall and down into the park.

  The officers told them off for wasting fire brigade time, but left it at a warning, as this was their first offense.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t worry, Officer,” said Rosemary. “I don’t think my knees will be up for a climb like that again.”

  They were offered a lift home, but they told the officers that they lived just across the road. So they apologized again, then took each other’s hand and walked back to the flat. Once inside their bedroom they climbed straight into bed, their bodies close enough to feel each other’s breath on their faces. They fell asleep quickly, their towels hanging on the back of their bedroom door.

  CHAPTER 36

  When Kate wakes up she regrets the last glass of wine. She can feel it pulling her eyes closed and knocking at the inside of her head like a deliveryman at a front door. Rosemary may be eighty-seven, but Kate is the one who needs to learn how to handle her drinks.

  She rolls over in bed and looks at her phone. There’s a text from Erin and a missed call from her mum. She sends them both a short message—telling them about the dinner but leaving out the hangover. Then she throws her phone back on the side—the brightness of its screen is hurting her eyes.

  She skips her swim and makes a detour via the coffee van outside the station on her way to work. The sound of the steam coincides with the sound of a bus pulling up in the road. She orders one for herself (with an extra shot) and one for Jay.

  “Thanks. Late night?” he asks as she puts the coffee down at his desk and sits down quietly at hers.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “So were you on a date?”

  Kate laughs and takes a sip of her coffee. She sees Jay watching her over the rim of the coffee cup.

  “Yes. It was wonderful, we had great conversation, great food, and drank lots of wine. Except he is a she, and she is eighty-seven and called Rosemary: you’ve met her.”

  Jay laughs, too, and drinks his coffee.

  “Speaking of Rosemary, have you seen today’s paper?”

  He passes her a copy across her desk.

  Jay’s photographs of the lido and its swimmers take up a double-page spread in the middle of the paper. Surrounding the images is Kate’s article, full of anecdotes about the lido from people of all ages who swim there. “Memories of Water,” reads the headline.

  “I like doing handstands with my daddy in the pool.” Hayley, 7.

  “I trained for a triathlon at the lido. It is close to my home so meant I could come before work. When I eventually completed the triathlon I came back here to swim a victory lap a few days later. It felt so good to be home where it all started.” Reggie, 43

  “My children learned to swim at the lido. My favorite photo of them is by the side of the lido covered in sunscreen. They look so happy and it makes me happy every time I look at it.” Dawn, 59

  “Through the good times and the bad the lido has always been there to jump into when I need it. I just want to say thank you.” Ben, 55

  “It’s a beach in the city.” Mel, 12

  There is Ahmed caught looking up from studying, the start of a smile on his face. He is surrounded by scattered Post-it notes that have invaded the reception desk. A beam of light is coming in through the window behind him and shining off the surface of the pool, making stars on the reception ceiling. In the foreground a little girl with a dolphin backpack holds her mother’s hand and looks up at the stars of light, her mouth slightly open and a perfect look of enchantment on her freckled face. She is wearing water wings over the top of her sweater.

  Here is the lifeguard half standing in his chair, his whistle in his mouth and his cheeks puffed. He is pointing at the far end of the pool to where a line of young boys holding hands are frozen in midair, legs akimbo. The smallest one on the end is the only one with his eyes open as he looks down the line of children, his eyebrows raised in shock. Kate imagines them seeing this photo when they are grown men with families and job titles that their children don’t understand, and she wonders if they will recall jumping into the pool with their friends.

  There are several photographs of Rosemary. Rosemary standing on the decking clothed, carrying her swimming bag and looking defiantly into the camera. Even clothed you can tell that her knees are bowed but she stands as straight as she can. Behind her is the old clock and the pool fading into blue in the background. There is a picture of Rosemary in the water with her arms crossed on the side, her swimming cap pulled down over her hair. The camera does not hide the lines on her face or the moles on her arms, but she looks elegant. Light reflects from the surface onto her face. Kate thinks she looks beautiful. And then there is Rosemary sitting on a chair outside the café, holding a mug and gazing out across the pool, watching.

  And finally there is one of Kate. It is a surprise to see a photo of herself in the paper, and at first she doesn’t realize it is her. But there she is, sitting in the chair opposite Rosemary watching her watch the pool. Kate has never seen a photo of herself where she looks as unguarded as that, caught in a moment that she didn’t even realize was happening.

  “They’re beautiful, Jay.”

  “Thank you. I actually think so too.”

  Kate is too absorbed looking at the photographs to notice that the whole time she is looking at them Jay is looking at her.

  CHAPTER 37

  Rosemary skips her morning swim that day, too, treating herself to a rare lie-in. She stays in bed until nine o’clock. She might be eighty-seven now, but she has not grown out of that feeling that tugs her out of bed in the morning—the feeling that she should be at school or heading to work in the library. It is the first lazing about in bed she has had in months.

  It is shopping day, so she eventually heads to the market. The air is heavy with the smell of ripening mangoes and the sound of traders shouting today’s deals. It is busy this morning, and she weaves her way slowly through the shoppers. Ellis spots her approaching and waves at her. Unusually, a frown crosses his face.

  “Are you okay?” asks Rosemary as she reaches the stand.

  Ellis shuffles on his feet. He rubs a hand over his short hair and looks at Rosemary.

  “I’m not sure I should tell you . . .” he says anxiously.

  “What is it?”

  Ellis looks at Rosemary for a moment longer and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

  “I started following Paradise Living on Twitter when I heard about the potential closure,” he says, “and this morning I saw this . . .”

  He hands her the phone. She pulls her reading glasses from her handbag, perching them on the end of her nose. On the phone’s screen is a cross-section drawing of a squat brick building. Inside is an image of a café with glass windows looking out onto a tennis court. It takes her a moment to recognize the building.

  “They’ve released plans of what the lido might look like if they won the bid,” Ellis says, taking his phone back from Rosemary, who is standing very still. “Of course, it wouldn’t be a lido anymore . . .”

  Ellis may have taken his phone away, but the drawing is etched in Rosemary’s mind.

  “I’m sure there’s still hope though,” s
ays Ellis quickly. “You’re still waiting to hear back from the council, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” says Rosemary, “Kate says it should be soon.”

  She is quiet, looking down. The strawberries have just come in, and small baskets of the juicy fruit take center stage on the stall.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you?”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” she says, looking up and attempting a smile. “I’m glad I know, and I can tell Kate about it later too. It might make a good article for the Brixton Chronicle.”

  “Ahmed’s Facebook page is doing really well,” says Ellis. “It’s got hundreds of likes now, so I’m sure that will help. People certainly care.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she says. “Well, I’ll just take my usual and then I should be going.”

  Ellis packs up two parcels and passes them to Rosemary, who slips them into her bag. Ellis puts a hand on her shoulder before she leaves. They don’t say anything; instead he nods at her then takes his hand away. She turns and heads away back up Electric Avenue. Normally she would meet Hope for a coffee, but she is busy looking after Aiesha today and Rosemary is secretly glad. She doesn’t feel much like the company right now. Instead, once her shopping is done she walks slowly back home.

  Kate looks at the plans on her computer at work. It seems so strange to see the lido she has come to love filled with cement instead of perfect blue water.

  “Are you looking at it?” says Rosemary down the phone.

  “Mm-hmm,” says Kate.

  “And?” says Rosemary. “Do you think you can write an article about it?”

  The sketches of the people don’t look quite right either. They look too perfect, or too much like a fancy development firm’s idea of perfect anyway.

  “Yes, yes, of course I’ll write about it,” says Kate after a moment. “Thank you for telling me about it. I’ll write the story today.”

  “See you tomorrow morning for a swim?” asks Rosemary.

  “Yes, see you tomorrow.”

  When she puts the phone down Kate stares at her computer screen. She feels her heart knocking hard against her chest and her hands beginning to sweat. She looks up and across the room, instinctively looking for Jay, but he is out on an assignment. Her breathing quickens.