The Lido

by Libby Page

  After a few moments he wakes up, too, kissing her on the forehead as he does so.

  “So it wasn’t some crazy dream?” he says sleepily.

  “Nope, you’re stuck here with me, I’m afraid.”

  He yawns and pulls her closer to him.

  “We should get up,” she says eventually, and after checking to see no one is outside the window, they stretch and rise from their makeshift bed, passing each other the clothes strewn around it and dressing quickly but unselfconsciously.

  Then they return to the café, open the doors onto the lido, and sit down to a strange breakfast of leftover quiche and KitKats.

  “It seems weird how quiet it is,” says Kate once they are finished and are both leaning back in their chairs watching the water. “It’s like everything is okay.”

  “The calm before the storm,” says Jay. “Any news from Rosemary or Ahmed?”

  Kate checks her phone and shakes her head. She knows they must be busy working on the plan, but right now Kate feels like she and Jay are the only people in the world, trapped as they are together behind the walls of the lido.

  The water winks invitingly in the morning sunshine. She has of course seen it many times before, but she still marvels at the shade of blue. As the water shines Kate walks to the edge. It is just too inviting. This time Jay doesn’t join her; instead he stays in his chair, watching her and smiling.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit to a sit-in at a lido,” says Kate as she strips off her clothes. “This is my chance to be the only person to have had the lido all to herself.”

  Naked on the edge she is aware of Jay watching her. She is conscious of the curves of her imperfect body. But she doesn’t mind. She climbs down the ladder and slips into the water.

  For a moment she sinks under the surface and opens her eyes. The pool stretches ahead of her, completely empty apart from a few leaves that spin slowly in the water. It looks like a stage before the actors arrive. Then Kate bursts up for air and starts her wonky breaststroke.

  What irony, she thinks as she swims alone through the cold, to have such calm and such beauty when things are so bad. It could be her last swim at the lido. The thought rips her apart but the feeling of the water, the sun on the surface, and the simple joy of the here and now holds her together again.

  Once she is tired she climbs out, dries off on the side, and pulls her clothes back on.

  “God, you are so beautiful,” says Jay as she sits next to him at the table. And for once, she feels like she just might be.

  By midday, they hear noise over the lido wall.

  The protesters are there again with their placards, but this time they are joined by a group of police officers who follow them across the grass. Kate’s heart sinks and she feels her skin beginning to prickle. This must be it—they are about to get kicked out or arrested. The keys will get handed to the police and, when the sale of the lido is completed, to Paradise Living. And then it will be over.

  She reaches for Jay’s hand and he squeezes it tightly.

  Kate spots Hope talking to one of the police officers and trying to hand him a placard. Eventually the whole group arrives outside of the lido doors.

  One of the police officers is a man in his fifties, with sergeant’s stripes on his uniform; the other three are much younger—two women and one young man with a beard. Their uniforms look box-fresh and they seem slightly nervous as Hope again tries to hand them a placard. The oldest officer tries to push through the crowd of people to get to the door, but Hope, Frank, Jermaine, Geoff, Ellis, and Jake form a barrier between the officers and the lido entrance.

  “Please step aside, we don’t want a fuss,” Kate hears the officer say.

  “We’d rather not,” says Frank. Jermaine stands close next to him, their arms linked together. Sprout barks at their feet.

  “I hear there are two people inside there—we want to talk to them.”

  The officer speaks loudly toward Kate and Jay, who are pressed close to the glass.

  “Can you hear me?” shouts the sergeant.

  Kate and Jay nod as they peer at him over the top of an exercise bike that is currently forming the front line of the barricade. Jay’s hand is still entwined in Kate’s. She can feel her stomach churning, her heartbeat rocketing.

  “Now I suggest you leave the building voluntarily,” says the officer, “otherwise steps may be taken to remove you.”

  “I really hope you don’t mean that, Billy Hooper,” comes a voice from behind the group of protesters.

  The police officers and protesters turn to give way to Rosemary, who is walking up to the lido entrance with Ahmed at her side. She looks at Kate through the windows and nods, giving a smile that slightly steadies Kate’s beating heart.

  “Mrs. Peterson,” says the officer. He looks down at his hands and suddenly looks not like a fiftysomething officer of the law in a smart uniform, but a young boy in scruffy school clothes.

  “Those are my friends inside there,” says Rosemary, staring Sergeant Hooper in the eye when he eventually looks up. They look at each other for a moment, and then Rosemary continues brightly, “Now, how are your children? And I heard you just became a grandfather! Congratulations.”

  After a short back-and-forth with Rosemary, Sergeant Hooper turns back to Kate and Jay, and the group of protesters gathered around them.

  “Look,” he says, “I’ll be honest with you. At the moment you’re not breaking the law by being in there. The building’s owners—at this stage still the council—need to obtain a court order asking you to leave. After that, if you still refuse to move, then we’ll be instructed to come and forcibly remove you.”

  Kate and Jay look at each other.

  “The court order can take several days,” says the sergeant, seeing their concerned expressions.

  “Well, then,” he continues, turning this time to Rosemary, “we will leave you to it for today, Mrs. Peterson. But tomorrow we will be back to check that everything is aboveboard and peaceful. If any damage is caused—then they could be in real trouble.”

  Kate nearly laughs—why would they damage the very place they are trying to protect?

  As he is about to go, the younger officers following closely behind, he turns back and speaks to Rosemary and to Kate who is pressed up against the glass.

  “Between you and me, we all think it’s a shame to see the lido go,” he says. “I used to swim here as a kid—we all did. But I’m afraid the law is the law and whether or not any of us like it, Paradise Living is going to get its hands on this building. It’s a done deal.”

  He nods at Rosemary and turns away, he and his colleagues heading across the grass and away into the park. As she watches them leave Kate’s breathing finally returns to normal and she lets go of Jay’s hand.

  “How’d you do that?” asks Kate. “He seemed almost afraid of you, Rosemary.” The other protesters huddled around to hear why Sergeant Hooper was so shy around Mrs. Peterson.

  Rosemary waves her hand as though it’s nothing. “He used to come into George’s shop when he was a boy. His dad was out of work quite a lot and Billy had four brothers and sisters, so George would always put some extra things in the bags free of charge. He tried to do it so no one would notice, but Billy was a smart child.”

  “That was kind of George,” says Jermaine.

  “Well, he was a kind man,” she replies.

  The protesters chat for a while, congratulating one another on their small victory.

  “So I guess now we just wait for the court order?” says Kate to Jay. He nods.

  “It could be several days—do we have enough food to last several days?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure,” replies Kate. “We’ll work something out. I hope.”

  With the new news about the court order, the protesters stay for the afternoon but then decide they are safe to leave Kate and Jay, knowing that no one will be able to remove them just yet.

  “See you tomor
row,” they shout through the glass as they wave goodbye.

  Eventually the only ones left are Rosemary and Ahmed, standing close to the window where Kate and Jay peer through on the other side. Rosemary tells them about the meeting they have secured for the next morning.

  “Well, it was Ahmed who did it really,” she says. Kate notices how much more confident he looks, as though the exams and his idea have turned him from a teenage boy into a young man. She wishes she could go to the meeting with them.

  “But who would guard the lido then?” replies Rosemary. “No, you and Jay need to stay right where you are—keeping our lido safe.”

  “So tomorrow is the deciding day,” says Kate, looking nervously at the three of them.

  “I suppose it is,” says Rosemary.

  After that they all fall quiet, each imagining what the next day might hold. The evening shines on them and on the lido, although at that moment no one is there to enjoy it apart from the pair of mallards that drift quietly across its surface.

  CHAPTER 61

  Ahmed meets Rosemary at the bus stop opposite her flat wearing a suit that is too big for him.

  “Sorry about this,” he says, pointing at the baggy jacket when he spots Rosemary. “It’s Dad’s. My mum said she’d buy me my own suit when I pass my exams. If I pass my exams.”

  “Well, I think you look dashing,” says Rosemary. “I’ve never seen you look so smart.”

  Rosemary is wearing a pale blue skirt suit. When she put it on this morning she thought the color reminded her of the lido, so it felt appropriate. Ahmed smiles and holds his arm out for her.

  “Are you ready?” he says.

  “I think so.”

  “I’m a bit nervous.”

  “Me too.”

  Their bus pulls up and with arms linked together they step on and find two seats near the front. As the bus pulls away and continues down the road Rosemary looks out of the window, watching her Brixton rolling past. They skirt around the park and turn right down Brixton Hill, passing the church where the homeless men sit and drink Special Brew hidden in plastic bags, past the cinema and the road that leads to Frank and Jermaine’s bookshop, and alongside the underground station with people pouring out onto the street. She looks down Electric Avenue, trying to spot Ellis, but all she can make out are the crowds of people weaving between the stalls with their striped plastic awnings. Then Brixton becomes the rest of the city and she stops recognizing the streets and the shops. The cafés and parks become someone else’s home patch.

  They pass through Kennington and alongside the Imperial War Museum with its cannons standing guard outside the entrance. They go past Lambeth Palace, the turrets shining golden in the late summer sun. As they cross Lambeth Bridge both Rosemary and Ahmed look up and down the river on both sides, at the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament in one direction and the towering glass buildings in the other that flash brightly with the reflected light. The bus continues on past Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and Parliament Square, where a group of protesters hold placards and have tied banners to the railings. Rosemary tries to read the signs but can’t quite make them out. She wonders how long they have been there and what it is that they are fighting for. She wonders whether they will win their fight. She hopes that they do.

  At Trafalgar Square the bus slows with the traffic, and Rosemary and Ahmed watch Nelson on his column and the bronze lions with their mouths slightly open as though they are about to speak. Tourists and pigeons crowd the square and the living statues of Charlie Chaplin and the Tin Man collect coins in hats on the ground.

  Eventually the bus pulls up on Regent Street, its final stop.

  “Thank you, driver,” says Rosemary as Ahmed helps her off.

  The bus pulls away and leaves them standing on the pavement. The stop is outside Hamleys toy store and the street is packed with children and their parents heading in and out of the shop. Hamleys staff stand by the door, some wearing red uniforms, others dressed as children’s characters. A group of Chinese students have their photo taken next to a giant bear.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” says a mother as she pushes past them, holding her daughter’s hand and heading into the toy store. For a moment Ahmed and Rosemary are frozen on the sidewalk, watching the people bustling around them and hearing the buses and taxis passing behind them. A cyclist shouts at a bus driver and a car beeps its horn at people dashing across the road. Above them the pale-fronted terraced buildings tower into the blue sky, decorated with uniform columns and black railings on each tall window.

  “Come on,” says Ahmed eventually.

  Rosemary holds on tightly to his arm as he steers them along the street. Shoppers walk past them, knocking them with their bags or nearly bumping into them as they look down at their phones. They turn onto Beak Street; it is quieter here so Ahmed stops to take his phone out and check they are heading the right direction. Rosemary waits as he looks at his phone and then up at the streets around him.

  “Hmm,” he says, “we might have a problem. My blue dot tells me we’re here but that’s not the street we’re on. So I’m not sure which direction we need to go.”

  He looks at the blue dot again, looking around him in confusion.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make us late.”

  Rosemary reaches into her handbag and brings out a battered old A–Z guide.

  “Might this help?”

  Ahmed laughs and takes the book. Together they lean over the pages and find their street and where they need to go.

  “Okay, got it,” says Ahmed.

  “Sometimes you can’t beat an old faithful,” replies Rosemary, putting the A–Z back inside her bag.

  They arrive outside the building with a few minutes to spare. The front is glass and they can see inside to the reception where a woman wearing red lipstick sits behind the desk talking on the phone. She has gray hair but she looks very young. Perhaps she moisturizes really well, thinks Rosemary, watching her.

  Lightbulbs hang from the ceiling by red cords and behind the desk is a rough-looking chipboard wall. The ceiling looks like it is made of wooden packing crates. Maybe this office is new and they only just moved in. It certainly looks quite sparse; next to the reception desk is a glass table with a cluster of chairs in varying heights. There is a beanbag, a high stool, a dining table chair, and a leather armchair. Someone sits awkwardly on the beanbag and checks their watch.

  A young man with a ponytail passes in front of them and walks up the steps. The receptionist greets him with a wave and he swipes his card at the gates on the left and continues up some stairs.

  Rosemary and Ahmed turn to look at each other.

  “Ready?” asks Ahmed.

  “Ready,” nods Rosemary.

  Together they climb the steps and open the doors.

  “Hello!” the receptionist says brightly once they reach the desk. “How can I help you?”

  “We have an appointment,” says Ahmed, reaching into his pocket for a scrap of paper where he has written down the details, “with Tori Miller at ten o’clock. The names are Rosemary Peterson and Ahmed Jones.”

  The young woman checks her computer screen and nods at them.

  “Yes! I’ll let them know you’re here.”

  “What’s that?” Rosemary asks, pointing to a tall glass and metal machine on one end of the reception desk.

  The young woman smiles and stands up. Her top stops just above her belly button, as though it has been chopped off with a pair of scissors.

  “It’s a smoothie maker,” says the young woman, beaming. “Would you like a smoothie? Or a coffee? I can ask our barista to make you one if you like?”

  “Oh no, no,” says Rosemary, shaking her head. She wouldn’t have said no to a cup of tea, but she isn’t sure she likes coffee and never knows what all the names mean. Cappuccino, macchiato, flat white . . . The words don’t make sense to Rosemary.

  “Well, why don’t you take a seat for now then?” says the young woman. “I�
��ll take you along when they are ready for you.”

  They head over to the seating area and Ahmed perches awkwardly on the dining chair. Rosemary chooses the armchair and immediately regrets it as she sinks into the deep cushions as though the chair is trying to swallow her.

  Rosemary crosses and uncrosses her hands in her lap. She smooths her skirt and checks her watch. She takes deep breaths, trying to stay calm and not to think about the importance of this meeting. But she can’t help it. Images of the lido play out in her mind. The order is jumbled, though: one moment she pictures the lido a few months ago when she swam with Kate for the first time, and then she is back swimming there as a teenager during the war. Then she sees George, swimming with her after the riots when they both needed calm. She sees him smiling at her and jumping into the water. And then she imagines the lido closed and turned into a private club, the pool cemented over and the lifeguard’s chair gone.

  “They’re ready for you now,” says the receptionist. Rosemary opens her eyes and looks up, remembering where she is. Ahmed nods at her. He helps her out of the chair, and together they follow the young woman through the security gates and down a long corridor. At first the woman walks quickly, but once she sees that Rosemary and Ahmed aren’t keeping up she slows down and walks just in front of them. Eventually they come to a closed door at the end of the corridor.

  “Okay, here we are!” says the receptionist, opening the door onto a large meeting room. A group of about ten people are sitting around a long table. Rosemary feels her hands shaking so holds them tightly in front of her.

  “Your visitors are here. I’ll leave you to it now.”

  The group around the table nod and the receptionist closes the door. Ahmed and Rosemary stand at the front of the room in silence.

  “Hello, I’m Ahmed Jones,” says Ahmed eventually, after a deep breath. “We spoke on the phone.”

  Then he remembers his father’s advice and walks forward to shake hands with everyone around the table. He tries to keep his hand firm and strong.

  The people around the table nod at Ahmed.