The Lido

by Libby Page

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “And this is Rosemary Peterson,” Ahmed says.

  Rosemary is still standing at the front of the room, unable to move. Ahmed moves back to stand at her side.

  “We read about you in the paper,” says one of the men behind the table. “It was a lovely article.”

  “That was Kate,” says Rosemary. “My friend Kate wrote the article.”

  The people round the table nod.

  “Shall we introduce ourselves?” says a young woman in the middle, Tori, who tells them she is the head of advertising, and the group then go around saying their names and their job titles. Rosemary tries to remember the names but they and the job titles roll into one another until she is convinced that someone is the head brand director advertising executive.

  Once they are finished, Ahmed smiles at Rosemary, and then at the rest of the room.

  “As you know, we’re here to propose to you the idea of advertising at Brockwell Lido,” he says. “In the summer Brockwell Lido welcomes hundreds of visitors every day. We hope advertising could work well for all of us—we get to keep the lido open, and you get a unique advertising opportunity. The bottom of the pool, for example, could be an excellent place to advertise. Over the past few years there have been dozens of aerial photographs of the pool in papers and magazines across the country, talking about the latest heat wave. But to better explain why this is so important to us, my friend Rosemary would like to say a few words.”

  He steps back again and nods to Rosemary. The group turn to her expectantly.

  “Do you have a PowerPoint presentation?” asks a man at the table.

  “A what?” says Rosemary.

  “Do you need the computer?”

  “Oh no.”

  “Right.”

  There is silence and Rosemary suddenly feels uncomfortable in her skirt suit surrounded by so many people who are so much younger than herself. In the lido it never matters—they are all the same once they are stripped of their dry-land clothes. But here, the fresh young group with their similar haircuts and outfits intimidates her.

  “Why don’t you tell us about the lido?” says Tori. She leans forward, resting her arms on the table. The others turn their chairs so they are facing Rosemary. Ahmed turns to her, too, smiling and trying to encourage her. They all look at her, waiting.

  The fear of letting their final hope slip away, of making a mistake, freezes her to the spot. This is her last chance, and she knows it. Rosemary can feel herself shaking, so she closes her eyes and pictures a calm expanse of water. The water is striped with ropes, separating the slow, medium, and fast lanes. On one side a clock ticks, watching the swimmers in the cool water. She opens her eyes.

  “In Brixton we have a lido,” she says. “And I have been swimming there for eighty years. The lido is my home. But it’s not just me—it means so much to our whole community.”

  At first her voice shakes, but it grows stronger as she tells her story. The group watch her and Ahmed stands close by her side.

  “I’ve learned that more than ever over the past few months. It’s funny how it takes the threat of closure for people to realize quite how special a place is. It’s like nowhere else I know. Things can be busy and stressful outside, but once you are in the lido everything is okay. When people visit it for the first time they can’t believe how calm it is compared to the rest of Brixton. That’s why it’s so special—it’s somewhere to escape to without having to leave your own community. Some people call it Brixton Beach—it’s the only beach that many of the children there know. In the summer it is heaving with people. Parents stretch out on towels or swim in the water with their children. You get people of all ages—teenagers trying to impress each other by jumping in, little ones learning to swim in the shallow end, businessmen shrugging off their worries. And me.”

  She pictures the lido as it would look now in the height of summer: the laughter of the children, the splashing of the water, and the sun warm on her face.

  “And what about you?” asks someone at the table. “What does the lido mean to you? There are other pools in London—why fight for this one?”

  Rosemary closes her eyes. She sees the cool blue water.

  “It’s true that there may be many more important things to fight for and more important things going on in the world,” she says as she opens her eyes. “I keep saying to myself: Rosemary, it doesn’t matter.”

  Last night she sat on the edge of the bed and repeated it to herself over and over, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter so she wouldn’t have to go through with the meeting, wouldn’t have to stand up in front of these strangers and risk failing at this final opportunity. Failing herself, failing the lido, failing George.

  “But it does matter. It does matter. Just like it mattered when the library closed.”

  Her voice is getting louder, and she is shaking. She puts one hand on the table to steady herself.

  “The library used to get full in the winter. It was somewhere for people to come in from the cold. After the library closed, where did all those people go who had nowhere else to go when it rained? I never knew where they went and I felt like it was my fault for not fighting harder.

  “When my husband, George, died I felt like it was raining every day and I had nowhere to go. He was my dry place when everything was terrible outside. He was eighty-five. He had a good run of it. I shouldn’t make a fuss and it’s not unusual to be in my position. We had a very lucky life.”

  Her life was punctuated by his smiles caught as he emerged from under the water and the reassuring hum of his snoring. He used to keep her up at night and sometimes it made her angry. She misses being made angry by the sound of him sleeping next to her.

  “But you see, well, the truth is I miss him.”

  Rosemary takes a sharp breath and busies her fingers with the buttons on her jacket, doing them up and undoing them and then doing them up again. One of the buttons is coming loose. It dangles from its thread like a flower with a broken neck hanging from its stalk. She smooths her skirt, wipes her face, and looks up.

  “There might be other pools, but they could never be the same. My George isn’t at those other pools, he is at our lido.”

  The group watch her but she barely notices them now.

  “When he died I sat in his chair and I tried to feel him around me. It sounds silly I know but I’m not ashamed that I did it. But, well, it didn’t really work. I tried to make it work but it didn’t. He just wasn’t there anymore. But when I’m at the lido, I feel him. I remember him everywhere.”

  George is in the way the mist sits on the water in the morning, he is in the wet decking and the brightly colored lockers and in the sharp intake of breath when she steps into the water, reminding her that she is still alive. Reminding her to stay alive.

  “Maybe it’s true that the pool doesn’t make much money. Maybe I am a ridiculous old woman. But I can’t let the lido go. I can’t let my George go.”

  Ahmed reaches an arm around Rosemary’s shoulder and holds her tightly. The strength of her feelings has exhausted her. There is silence for a while, then a man in the group stands up.

  “We’re going to consider the possibility of advertising at the lido. But we need to think about it first. We will call you later today.” The others stand up too.

  “But thank you for coming in, Rosemary. You, too, Ahmed.”

  Rosemary looks properly at the group opposite her for the first time since she started talking. Tori’s face is red. Others are blinking vigorously, as though they have something in their eyes.

  Ahmed shakes hands with everyone again and says a final goodbye. The receptionist is waiting on the other side of the door and leads them back to the entrance.

  “Shall we get a taxi?” says Ahmed. “I think you deserve it.”

  She nods and he flags one down—Rosemary is too tired to speak. When she gets back to her flat she will go to sleep, she thinks. She knows she should
go to the lido and update Kate, but somehow she feels that for now she just needs to go home and be on her own. In the back of the cab Ahmed watches London through the window again as Rosemary leans on his shoulder and closes her eyes. As she drifts into sleep she realizes they have done everything they can. There is nothing left to do.

  CHAPTER 62

  On the third day of the sit-in Kate and Jay anxiously await the arrival of the court order. They move between the café, the lido edge, and the reception area, peering nervously out through the barricade. Every time Kate hears new voices outside the lido her heart leaps, wondering if it is someone come to deliver the court order. Every now and then she glances to the clock that hangs above the pool, feeling as though the hands are moving slower than they ever have before.

  The line of protesters is smaller today: Frank is on his own while Jermaine runs the bookshop; Ellis is here but not Jake, who is manning the stand for his father. They had been apologetic, wanting to be there until the very end, but life had to continue. Hope is perhaps the loudest protester, shouting “Don’t pull the plug on our lido” every time a passerby crosses through the park outside the lido. At lunchtime a small crowd gathers—locals on their lunch break who have come to see the sit-in they read about in the paper. For a while it is noisy as these newcomers join the group and Kate watches them from behind the reception doors. Hope hands out placards and Ellis takes photos on his phone. Later, when the new protesters have drifted back to their offices, Ellis posts the photos on the Save Brockwell Lido Facebook page.

  The day draws on but there is no sign of either the police, the council, or Paradise Living. As they wait, Kate paces around the lido and up to the reception door nervously. She considers another swim, but the thought of them arriving while she is in the water—naked—puts her off. She showers in the empty changing room and then works on her laptop, checking on the petition. The numbers have increased overnight and continue to climb throughout the day. She checks Twitter, where the hashtag “save our lido” is being used by local residents and swimming enthusiasts. As she works, Jay sits quietly beside her or heads to the reception area door to talk through the glass to Hope and the other protesters. Hope and Jake break the line briefly in the afternoon to stand by the lido wall, Jake shouting at Jay to go and stand on the other side by the pool.

  Kate follows him until they are next to each other on the decking looking up at the brick wall. After a moment they see something flying through the air. Jay leans and stretches his arms, catching a soft plastic lunch bag in his hands.

  “I hope it survived the journey!” shouts Hope over the wall. Jay hands it to Kate and she unzips the bag. Inside is a tinfoil package—she opens it to reveal a slightly squashed slice of ginger cake.

  “I thought you might be getting hungry!” shouts Hope. “It’s homemade!”

  Looking at the flattened cake, made specially for her and Jay, Kate feels her eyes growing wet. She fights back the tears and shouts “Thank you!” over the wall. Kate thinks about when she first moved to London and how until a few months ago she barely knew anyone here in Brixton, let alone anyone who would make her cake or think to check if she was hungry. She and Jay share the large slice and it tastes just about the sweetest thing she has ever eaten.

  “I wonder how Rosemary and Ahmed are getting on,” says Kate as they eat. “Their meeting should be over by now.”

  The thought sends them into silence again. The happiness Kate felt while eating quickly passes as she remembers that they will soon be thrown out of the lido. And then what? Back to her house and her housemates who know nothing about this campaign—who probably haven’t even noticed she has been missing for three days?

  As if understanding her thoughts, Jay puts an arm around Kate and pulls her toward him, holding her tightly. Kate’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she moves away from Jay to take it out and read.

  “Any news? E x.”

  “None yet,” Kate replies to Erin’s message. “The police should be here any minute. No word from Rosemary and Ahmed either. I think it might be nearly the end. K x.”

  “Hang in there,” comes her sister’s reply. “I’m so proud of what you’re doing. E xx.”

  Erin’s words give Kate a little life, but she still feels exhausted and falls back into Jay’s arms, letting herself be held.

  “It will be okay,” says Jay softly, even though they both know it might not.

  After a while they break free and head back to the reception area to check what is happening. The group of protesters parts to let Ahmed through. He is still wearing his ill-fitting suit. Kate comes close to the glass and they speak loudly through it to each other. He’s alone.

  “How did it go? And where’s Rosemary?”

  “I think it went okay,” he replies. “She has gone home to wait for their call—they said they would let us know by the end of the day. I think she was exhausted from it all—she slept the whole way back.”

  Kate tries to imagine Rosemary standing in a swish office somewhere in front of a group of advertising people, but struggles to picture her anywhere too far from this lido.

  She checks her phone every few minutes throughout the rest of the day, but apart from a few more texts from Erin, there is nothing. Ahmed checks his, too, but he has no missed calls and no messages either. At one point his phone rings and he nearly drops it he seems so excited, but it is only his mum asking him if he will be back in time for dinner.

  After a while Kate can’t stand it anymore and calls Rosemary’s flat to ask if she has received any news from the potential advertisers yet.

  “Nothing,” says Rosemary. “I have been sitting next to the phone since I got back. I’m too scared to move and go to the bathroom in case I miss them.”

  “I think you can go to the bathroom if you need to, Rosemary,” says Kate.

  “Well, you never know—I don’t want to miss them . . .”

  “Call me when you hear from them okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Still waiting for the sound of the police, or the council and Paradise Living officials, Kate is surprised in the afternoon to hear loud laughter and chatter instead. She follows it from the café, where she had been sitting and checking on the petition and the Facebook page, to the front of the lido. Two lines of girls in brown-and-yellow uniforms, holding hands, are processing through the park, led by two adults. Next to them is Phil. As the group draws closer Kate notices that in their hands the children are all holding pieces of paper that flutter slightly as they walk.

  “We’re from the local Brownies,” says one of the adults as she reaches the group. “We’re here for the protest.” Ellis and Hope welcome them into the fold. Phil looks a little sheepish, but Ellis reaches out his hand for Phil to shake.

  “Most of our girls are from the local school and use the lido for their swimming lessons. They were gutted to hear it is closing. So were we,” says one of the leaders.

  “And I thought it would be a good story for the paper,” adds Phil, eyeing Kate nervously through the glass. They look at each other for a moment and then Phil turns away, his purple cheeks flushing even brighter.

  “I have some information for you,” he says, avoiding her eyes. “I hear the court order is taking longer than they hoped. But it should be here soon. You’ve got another day or two at most.”

  Kate nods, thankful for Phil’s comment and wondering where he got his information from. She feels the fear of what will happen over the next few days flooding her body, but tries hard to focus her attention on the children instead, who stand and chatter next to the adults, still holding hands.

  “The girls have made their own banners,” says one of the Brownie leaders, and the children let go of one another’s hands and form a line, turning to face Kate. They hold up their pieces of paper to reveal drawings and paintings of the lido. Each one is slightly different but they all have some things in common: the bright flashes of blue and the smiling faces on the slightly wonky people who splash in t
he water or stand on the side. Seeing the lido replicated in the unsteady, colorful shapes made by these children makes Kate want to cry again.

  The girls turn and show the rest of the group the pictures too.

  Jay takes a photo through the glass and Ellis takes one on his phone on the other side.

  “Save our lido!” says one of the leaders and the children join in, chanting faster and faster in unison until they are so fast that they break down in giggles and then return to their conversations.

  The Brownies stay for a while, and their happy voices remind Kate of the lido on a summer’s day. She wonders whether she will ever hear those sounds again.

  By six o’clock, the children have left and the lido is quiet once more; Kate tries Rosemary again.

  “They said they’d call by the end of the day,” Rosemary says as she picks up. “Why haven’t they called? It must be a no if they haven’t called? They would have called if it was a yes, wouldn’t they?”

  “I’m sure that’s not what it means,” replies Kate, but her heart sinks as she realizes that probably is what it means.

  “I wish I was there with you,” says Rosemary.

  “Me too,” replies Kate, although she can’t help but wish she was in a comfortable bed somewhere curled up in a calm and dreamless sleep.

  That night Kate sleeps restlessly, throwing off the sleeping bag in the heat and lying curled up in the towels in the yoga studio. Each time she turns, kicking in agitation, she wakes Jay, who calmly kisses her on the forehead and tells her sleeping body that everything will be okay. He says it for her, but partly for himself, too, as the moon shines in through the studio and on the surface of the sleeping lido.

  CHAPTER 63

  The sun rises into a pale blue sky. The birds crowd the trees, singing their morning songs in competition like the market traders who shout prices over the top of one another. Bees hover among the wildflowers that scatter the bank around the lido. A man walks his dog and peers in through the lido window, spotting two sleeping bodies huddled under towels in the yoga room. He presses his face to the glass, laughs quietly, and carries on walking, his dog bounding ahead of him through the park. The dog runs up to a bench at the top of the hill where an old woman is sitting watching the view.