by Libby Page
“Is everything all right?” asks Phil, crossing the room from the kitchen to his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand. When he reaches Kate’s desk he leans slightly on the edge of it, threatening to topple over a pile of files and books.
She takes a deep breath and looks up at him, forcing the semblance of a smile onto her face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, “I have a piece for you—a development on the Brockwell Lido story.”
“Great,” he says, standing up. “Have it for me by two?”
“Yep, will do,” she says, and he walks back to his desk, leaving Kate alone at hers.
She takes a drink of water and then a deep breath to try and calm herself. Her mind fills with thoughts of the lido: how the cold water soothes her in the mornings when she swims there, how she promised Rosemary she would try to help, how since discovering the lido she has started to feel truly at home in Brixton for the first time since moving here. She knows that Paradise Living releasing these plans is really just part of what they already knew was happening, but actually seeing the image of the altered lido makes closing feel suddenly very real.
Leaning over her computer, Kate focuses on the two o’clock deadline to help her stay in control. Her Panic presses its face up against the office window and peers in at her, watching as she types. This is the one place where she has never let it enter. It takes all her strength, but she is determined to remain professional and not to let her colleagues see a crack in her shield. She might seem distanced or worried at times, but never consumed by panic. She puts her head down and focuses hard on what she has to do.
She delivers the article at 1:45.
Paradise Living Releases Plans for Brockwell Lido
An artist’s rendering shows the lido as a private gym for Paradise-only tenants and owners
By Kate Matthews
Brockwell Lido is up for sale and the property firm Paradise Living is currently in the running to make the winning bid. Today they share a first look at what the site could look like in the future.
“A private gym would add real value to our properties,” said a Paradise Living spokesperson. “Tenants and purchasers would have exclusive access to the top-end facilities.”
The plans include a gym, a sauna, and a café, but not a pool.
“Our research suggests that tennis is more popular in Paradise—or among our target demographic,” said the spokesperson. As such, the plan would be to cement-fill the pool and build a tennis court in the center.
A Facebook group called “Save Brockwell Lido” is gaining support from local residents.
Ahmed Jones, who started the page and who is also an employee at Brockwell Lido, said: “Now that Paradise Living has released these plans we can all see what a loss it would be if the lido turned into a private members club. I encourage everyone to show their support by liking our page, where we will be posting developments of the story and ways you can get involved. We can’t let these plans become a reality.”
CHAPTER 38
The next day Rosemary rises early again. When she wakes up the first thing she thinks of is the image Ellis showed her yesterday of Paradise Living’s plans for the lido. It makes her want to stay in bed, to pull the covers high over her head and hide there for a while. But she forces herself up, pausing to place a hand on the frame of George’s picture beside her bed before swinging her legs round and stepping down. She dresses as quickly as she can (which is not very quickly) and takes her swimming bag from its spot by her door.
It is only a short walk to the lido, but she goes by a longer route this morning, taking the time to walk through the park, veering off the path and onto the grass. The dew soaks through her canvas lace-up shoes but she doesn’t mind. She wants to feel the earth beneath her feet. She remembers running into the park when she was younger when it snowed. She wanted to be there first so that she could make footprints that shouted “I exist” to the morning sun and birds huddling for warmth on snow-tipped branches. She leaves footprints of flattened wet grass.
Passing the windows to the exercise studios Rosemary looks inside, watching the yoga class saluting the sun. They turn into their next pose and a few of them spot Rosemary. For a moment an image of the studio as a café with a view through to a tennis court flashes before her and catches her breath. But she smiles and continues walking, turning around the building until she reaches the lido’s entrance.
Once she’s changed and poolside, Rosemary looks for Kate’s towel on the rail by the shallow end but it isn’t there. She wonders whether to wait for her, but decides she will probably be here soon so instead she climbs slowly down the ladder. She braces herself for the bite of the cold and slips into the water.
Rosemary swims her lengths and tries not to think about the future and what it holds for her and the lido. She focuses instead on the sensations: the cold on her skin, the morning sun on her forehead, the water trailing through the slight gaps between her fingers as she swims breaststroke. Every now and then thoughts of George enter her mind—him diving from the high diving board that used to cast a shadow over the deep end—but that is too painful as well. All she can think about is the right now that is held gently within these four walls.
As she nears the end of her swim, Kate still hasn’t appeared. Rosemary stops and looks across the pool, watching the other swimmers. Some make the lido look like a pond they cross it so quickly. For others it is an ocean.
Her eyes are drawn to the Lido Café, where one of the baristas is struggling to tie a bunch of colorful balloons to a sun umbrella. When one escapes, he jumps to grab it but the string slips through his fingers and it is free. Rosemary watches it bobbing up and sailing above the pool. She hopes it doesn’t get stuck in one of the trees; she wants to see it fly. A gust of wind blows it away from the arms of the oak tree and up higher into the air. For a moment it drifts in front of the sun, making it look like the sun is a yellow ball with a ribbon for a tail.
Rosemary pulls herself slowly out of the pool, becoming mortal again as she steps on dry land. Her knees never give her any trouble when she swims.
By now the barista has secured the rest of the balloons and is back inside the café. Rosemary wraps her towel around her, tucking it in at the front.
“She’s out!” shouts a voice. Suddenly Kate is through the café doors and onto the decking, followed by Frank, Jermaine, Hope, Betty, Ellis, Jay, Ahmed, and Geoff. They are carrying plates piled with pastries from the café.
“Happy birthday!” they call out in unison.
“For two days ago,” adds Kate, standing in the middle of the group wearing a floral summer dress that Rosemary thinks is unusually colorful for her. “We’re sorry it’s a little late.”
Rosemary stares at the balloons, only just realizing that they are for her. Jay has his camera around his neck and takes a quick photograph, catching her face as her eyebrows rise in surprise.
“Quick, grab her before she runs away,” says Ellis, and Kate puts her plate down on the table and heads toward Rosemary. She puts an arm around her and leads her to the table. Rosemary doesn’t put up much of a fight; she is stunned.
Jay pulls out a chair at the head of the table and Kate pushes Rosemary gently into the seat. Rosemary sits in her towel, the sun bright enough now to keep her warm without needing to go and fetch her clothes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t swim this morning—I was busy getting this ready,” says Kate. “Eighty-seven couldn’t pass by without any celebration. And I know it’s a little early for cake, but . . .”
Rosemary looks down at the table. A fluffy Victoria sponge oozes cream and jam. It is decorated somewhat haphazardly with slices of strawberries and sprigs of rosemary. A dusting of icing sugar covers the top.
“This is beautiful; did you make it?”
Kate nods, beaming. She stayed up late the night before making it. First she had to clear away her flatmates’ dirty dishes and wash the surfaces. Then she had put some music on and carefully weighed
out all the ingredients.
“Thank you, Kate, it’s wonderful.”
Geoff and one of the baristas come out onto the decking, each carrying a bunch of flowers.
“For our favorite customer,” says Geoff, leaning down and kissing Rosemary on the cheek. She blushes and takes the flowers, holding them on her lap.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” says Hope. “Just enjoy your breakfast.”
No one moves for a moment, but then everyone is leaning forward and taking pastries and cutting slices of cake. As everyone busies themselves with breakfast, Kate shuffles closer to Rosemary.
“I know we had some bad news yesterday with the plans,” she says, “but I was thinking about it, and I don’t think it means anything. We shouldn’t stop fighting, and we shouldn’t stop enjoying it here. And we certainly shouldn’t let it interfere with your birthday celebration. Okay?”
Rosemary is surprised—she has never heard Kate talk this confidently before.
“Okay,” she says with a nod and a smile. “Now if you wouldn’t mind cutting me a slice of that delicious-looking cake . . .”
Kate waves a hand over the cake. “Just one sec before you cut it,” she says pulling out her phone. “I promised my sister I’d take a photo. I told her about this party last night—we used to bake together when we were little.”
Rosemary smiles again, thinking how happy Kate looks. Kate takes a photo of the table with the cake in the center, then Rosemary raises a knife and cuts into the soft sponge.
They all laugh and talk, asking Rosemary to tell them some memories of the lido. She warms into her story about the lido when she was a child.
“It was even busier then; you had to try not to trip over sunbathing bodies just to get to the water. And once you were in there was barely enough space to swim a width of the pool. It didn’t matter, though; all you wanted was to plunge in the water and cool yourself off—we were all too hot and lazy for real swimming. It was the place to be and to be seen—us girls would sit in a row on the side with the same knee crossed over the other. We’d hang our feet in the water. We pretended not to watch the boys diving and they pretended not to watch us watching them. I don’t think any of us did a good job.”
She laughs, and everyone laughs with her.
“It was just over there,” she says, pointing to the lido. “I sat just there.”
Everyone turns and looks at the pool, trying to imagine young Rosemary with her feet in the water watching the boys.
“I have been swimming here for more than eighty years.”
Her friends smile at her. Every now and then a swimmer comes over from the pool to say hello to Rosemary and wishes her a happy birthday. Some pause for a longer conversation, Rosemary asking them about their children or their job or the campervan they are renovating.
Eventually Frank rests his hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. “I’m afraid we have to get back to the shop now,” he says.
“I left Jake in charge of the stand today,” says Ellis, standing up too. “I better go back and check that I’m not bankrupt yet.” Hope follows him; she is reading to children at the local primary school this morning.
“Jay and I have to get to work too,” says Kate. “Do you want to head off with us?”
“You go on,” says Rosemary. “I want to sit here for a little longer.”
“Are you sure?” asks Jay.
“Yes, you go. I just want to enjoy the view for a moment. And thank you, Kate.”
Rosemary takes her hand and squeezes it, looking fondly at Kate, who returns her gaze with a wide smile.
“You’re welcome,” says Kate, blushing slightly.
Once they are gone Rosemary stands up; there is a breeze rattling the trees and tugging on the strings of the balloons. They jostle against one another, knocking against the umbrella. With a little difficulty she reaches up. It is fiddly work and her hands aren’t as easy to control as they used to be, but eventually she manages to untie the balloons. They are immediately released into the air, scattering in different directions. Her towel has become unknotted in her reaching and has fallen to her ankles. She stands in her swimsuit and watches as the balloons are lifted up over the pool. The swimmers in the water stop and look up, too, treading water or lying on their backs to watch them dancing in the air above the lido. Rosemary’s heart soars with them, hope suddenly filling her. As she watches them, anything and everything seems possible. Eventually they are just dots and then they are gone completely.
CHAPTER 39
“There was a boy,” says Kate as she sits next to Rosemary on the bench outside the lido the next morning. They have just been for their swim and now sit with cardboard cups of tea that they sip slowly before Kate goes to work.
Just that morning, Kate had seen a photo of Joe on Facebook, and remembering had made her heart race.
Kate looks sideways at Rosemary: she is stirring circles in her tea and looking at her with an eyebrow raised. For once Kate wants to talk. She knows that the boy, now a man living in Manchester, apparently with a girlfriend and two dogs, is just one of the things knotted up inside her, but if she can dislodge her memories of him—well, it is at least a start.
“There is always a boy,” Rosemary says.
“I was just a girl too. Which makes what we had small, tiny in comparison to what you and George had. I should be over it by now.”
Kate thinks about seeing the photo on her phone this morning, and how she had flinched at his face.
“Love is love,” says Rosemary. “Just like a tree is a tree. It can be a sapling or a hundred-year-old oak, but it still has roots and life and is at the mercy of the seasons.”
“Yours was an oak, Rosemary. Mine was a sapling.”
A cloud passes over the sun, creating a brief shadow, before it is blown away again as though the sun was merely blinking.
“Tell me about your sapling.”
Kate unfurls a little, tilting her head to look at Rosemary. She is waiting.
“His name was—is—Joe. It sounds mad when I say it now. We had been spending a lot of time together but nothing had happened. One day at school I decided I had to tell him how I felt.
“I saw him in the corridor and told him I had something to talk to him about. Not knowing where to go, I took his arm and pulled him through the door next to us—it led to the wings of the school theater and I guess I thought it would be quiet there. I closed the door behind us and it was suddenly dark and we were pressed up against each other between some props and the costume cupboard.
“When I had opened the door, what I hadn’t realized was that a drama class was rehearsing on the stage. But where we were, no one could see us, and we kept quiet. I remember these big clouds of dust in the air around us. I waited for the dust and my nerves to settle. I didn’t know how to tell him, so I told him to close his eyes and when his eyes were closed I kissed him.”
Kate sneaks a look at Rosemary. The old woman is smiling widely.
“I know!” says Kate. “You’d hardly think that I could be that brave. I can barely even believe it myself now. And the drama group kept on practicing their lines as we stood there in the darkness kissing. It was my first kiss. I’m not sure whether I actually enjoyed it or hated it—I felt sick and was sweating and his mouth felt alien, but it was still wonderful.”
Kate stops.
“In the first few weeks that followed our kiss I felt like the floor was falling out beneath my feet. I had never felt like that before. I didn’t care that I was falling, because I felt so alive.
“I’m sure my friends hated me. I used the word ‘boyfriend’ so often. ‘My boyfriend’ this, ‘my boyfriend’ that. I’m sure I made them feel sick.”
Rosemary laughs. “They don’t call it lovesick for no reason.”
Kate laughs, too, and for a moment their laughter reaches out across the space between them on the bench and embraces them both.
“Looking
back, I suppose I was sickening, I felt like I was the first person to discover life’s big secret. Love was suddenly this huge thing that took over my life.”
“But,” says Rosemary softly, “I think there is a ‘but’ coming.”
“For a long time there was no ‘but.’ It was perfect. And then one day it wasn’t. I knew he was going to university in Durham and I was staying in Bristol, but I guess I hadn’t really thought about the future. I just felt so confident.
“Then he said he didn’t want us to stay together when we left school. He had a life to live and so did I. I said I understood and that there wasn’t much point staying together for the rest of the summer. He looked hurt when I said that but I still don’t really know why. It should have been obvious that I couldn’t bear to spend another second with him when there was a time limit on it like that. Maybe I was incredibly naive, but I wanted all of him, always. That was the only way I knew how to love him.
“That day I walked home as usual. I spoke briefly to my mum and Erin, who was home for a few days. I don’t know if either of them noticed anything was wrong, but they didn’t say anything. I pretended to do some revision for my exams. I went to bed. And then I cried and cried and cried.”
Kate stops. She remembers the feeling of holding on to her duvet like a life raft, trying to stay afloat as she cried her new kind of tears.
“I know it is stupid to still think about it,” she says. “People break up all the time. I was so young and it was such a long time ago but I saw Joe’s photo this morning, and I haven’t really met anyone else like him. I haven’t met anyone at all. And I think maybe it’s one of the reasons why moving to London has been so difficult. Being in a new place, on my own. Realizing that’s what he wanted when we broke up—but that for me it hasn’t felt like an opportunity like it did for him.”
