The J M Barrie Ladies' Swimming Society

by Barbara Zitwer

  A guard challenged her gruffly as she kicked off her shoes. “You got a boarding pass for the dog?”

  Joey fished it out of her bag and handed it to him.

  “Gimme the crate,” he ordered.

  “Already? Can’t I stay with her till boarding?”

  “Gimme the crate,” he said more sternly and Joey handed it over. She was afraid that if she protested, they would either assume she had something to hide or would delay or prevent her from getting on the plane. By the time she had redressed, repacked, filled out more forms and made her way to the waiting lounge, she was ready for a good, stiff drink. And then, looking up at the departures board, she saw, thankfully, that her flight was ready for boarding.

  The plane filled up quickly. Joey folded her coat and placed it in the overhead bin along with her laptop and carry-on bag. She sat back down and sighed with relief. She hoped Tink was all right, knocked out by the sedative she’d gobbled up in a clump of cream cheese.

  The cabin crew dimmed the lights and the general chatter faded as the plane taxied and lifted off. When the seat belt light was turned off, though, the party began. The flight attendants were passing out champagne and most of the travellers seemed positively jovial, chatting across the aisles and violating all the rules that normally governed the crossing of oceans and continents in a space that forced intimacy on strangers.

  “Champagne?” asked a steward.

  “Gin and tonic,” Joey replied.

  For a while she tried to watch the old black-and-white classic Holiday, with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. The in-flight magazine had called it a “delicious seasonal romp” but the antics onscreen just added to her sense of being on the outside looking in. Cary Grant reminded her of Alex and that got her thinking of last New Year’s Eve, when Alex had taken her to a luxurious B&B in the Hamptons. They’d eaten chateaubriand and drunk Dom Perignon and an old-vine Zinfandel that called up sensations of rich, dark earth. As midnight approached, they’d bundled up and walked down to the beach. They heard fireworks going off somewhere, but when the year passed into the next, they were hand-in hand by the water’s edge, pointing out constellations in the moonlit sky.

  Joey took off her headphones and glanced around. Everywhere she looked were families, lovers, married couples. Was she the only person on the entire plane who was travelling alone? It sure looked that way. A woman across the aisle, seated beside her dozing husband, shot Joey a curious glance, and Joey wondered what she was thinking. That Joey was on her way to meet a lover in London? Or that she was the kind of hard-driving career woman who wanted to get a jump on the new year by turning up for work at the first possible moment?

  She slid open the window shield. Tiny pinpricks of light glittered above an expanse of cloud that looked like the frozen tundra. It was hard to believe that they were actually up above the cloud cover, and not just flying, in the darkness, over a landscape of eternal snow.

  They would be arriving in London in just over three hours, and there, it was already day. The gin had made her sleepy, and she decided to try to get some rest. She awoke some time later, not quite sure why. The cabin was dark, except for a couple of reading lights. She threw off the skimpy fleece blanket and sat up. Sitting in the seat beside her was a little girl of about five. She was staring at Joey through little pink glasses. Her hair was jet black, cut into a short pageboy. She wore an indescribably adorable pinafore beneath which, Joey noticed, her small legs were encased in two painful-looking braces.

  “Hi,” Joey said.

  “Hello!” she responded quietly.

  Joey couldn’t remember the last time she had actually spoken to a child. Most kids she came across seemed either to be bursting with unwarranted self-esteem, bratty, or completely uninterested in communicating with grown-ups. Joey had been on the shy side as a girl, easily intimidated by the older kids at school. Being an only child, she was used to the company of her parents and had never experienced the gentle teasing and joshing that toughened up kids in larger families. Even now, she felt perplexed and nervous in the presence of loud, boisterous children.

  “What’s your name?” Joey asked.

  “Daisy. Where’s your dog?”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “But where did you put her? I saw you in the airport and I wanted to meet her.”

  “Well, she’s not allowed on the plane, honey. Pets have to travel in their own special cabin. Imagine what it would be like if there were dogs barking at each other!”

  “Isn’t she lonely?” The child’s British accent made Joey smile.

  “I gave her some medicine to help her sleep. She’s never been on a plane before, and I was afraid she might get scared.”

  Daisy took this in. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I fly all the time.”

  “Do you? Where do you go?”

  “New York. To see Dr. Dan. He’s the doctor for my legs.”

  Daisy stretched out one brace-clad limb. Joey wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be seeing, but she smiled brightly.

  “Yes, I see. Wow!”

  Daisy smiled widely for the first time. Her two front teeth were missing. And then, as abruptly as she had appeared, she scrambled to her feet and reclaimed her seat next to a dozing woman across the aisle. What a sweet, funny girl, Joey thought. Maybe she liked kids, after all.

  The plane began its final descent. Joey peered out the window and down at lush green fields spread in patchwork patterns as far as the eye could see, lined with trees, hedgerows and walls. She felt a rush of excitement; she’d wanted to come to England ever since she was a child.

  As they came closer to London, the landscape started to change and chaotic lines of mismatched buildings, new and old, large and small, stretched out below. From this vantage point, the city resembled the inside of a computer chip. It seemed completely disorderly, with tiny streets winding in opposite directions. But as the plane banked over the muddy Thames, soaring through the air above the heart of the city, Joey drew breath. There was Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, London Bridge, The Eye! She drank in the images, her face inches from the window.

  Tink was still drowsy when Joey picked her up, so she left her in her crate for the cab ride. But an hour later, as the driver navigated the roads leading to Henry and Sarah’s home near Notting Hill, the sedatives had clearly worn off, and Tink let Joey know in no uncertain terms that she’d had just about enough of being cooped up.

  “Hush. Bad girl!” Joey said sharply, to no effect. They were rounding the perimeter of Holland Park, and Joey could barely pull her eyes from the passing scenery: the crisp geometry of the park’s designed gardens, the gracious townhouses bathed in cool morning light.

  “Forty-eight, you said?” the driver asked.

  “Yes, Forty-eight Holland Road.”

  “Here we are, then.”

  “This…?” Joey stared out the window. The house was enormous: a distinguished Georgian three-storey jewel. Potted spruces in enormous planters lined the steps up to the door. Surely Henry and Sarah couldn’t own the whole thing! It looked like a small hotel; they must have a duplex of some kind. Even a family with four children didn’t need this much room. And Henry couldn’t possibly have this much money…

  As the driver unloaded Joey’s bags from the boot, Joey hurried up the front steps and rang the doorbell. From within, she heard the sound of its chimes. The next moment, the door flew open to reveal a girl and boy, breathless, as though they had just come to a skidding halt.

  “Wait. Wait,” the little girl said, then screeched “Mummy!” There was a bustle inside the door as what appeared to be a whole clutch of children assembled, grinning and fumbling with something large and white.

  As the cab driver slammed closed the door of the boot, the children unfurled a large homemade banner that read: “WELCOME, AUNT JOEY!!!”

  The banner, on sheets of white paper that had been haphazardly taped together, featured rainbows, birds, flowers, stick figures with smil
es and other objects familiar to preschool art teachers everywhere.

  “It’s beautiful!” Joey cried, feeling suddenly completely overwhelmed.

  “Hold on a sec, just let me take care of this.” Joey set down Tink’s crate, hurried over to the cab driver, and paid the fare with pounds she had swapped for her dollars at the airport. She pocketed the receipt and turned back to the children, who by now had been joined by an older boy and were on hands and knees in front of Tink’s crate. Tink was barking frantically.

  “Oooh, he’s so sweet! Can he come out? What’s his name?” The questions flew fast and furiously.

  “It’s a she. Tink. Sure.” The older boy struggled with the catch on the crate, so Joey lent a hand. She worried momentarily about Tink running off, but Tink loved being the centre of attention and would be unlikely to bolt when so many hands were petting her. Sure enough, after zipping over to a tree for a quick squirt, she reclaimed her spot at the heart of the happy throng.

  Something now caught the corner of Joey’s eye and she glanced up to see a frumpy middle-aged woman in an apron on the front steps. She was shocked by the realisation that it was Sarah.

  Her hair, streaked with grey and still very long, was held up with some pins, in a style that was painfully close to Sarah’s mother’s ubiquitous old-lady bun. As eight-year-olds, Joey and Sarah had dubbed it “the nest”. Now, Joey bit her lip to keep from laughing. All she could think of was her and Sarah as kids, in the back seat of Sarah’s family car, sticking toothpicks into hair-sprayed bun in the front seat. Her mother wouldn’t notice, or would pretend not to notice, clambering out of the car with a bun full of toothpicks. Sarah and Joey would be almost sick with the effort to contain their hysterics.

  Joey now looked fondly at the woman who stood before her. She had on a loose skirt that fell to mid-calf, over clogs worn with heavy woollen socks. Her turtleneck, all but covered by a large, floury apron, was worn and stretched, as though she had worn it straight through four pregnancies. Joey sought to hide her dismay at how much older and well, staid her old friend now looked.

  “I know, I’m a mess,” Sarah disarmed her by announcing.

  “No you’re not,” Joey cried.

  Sarah came down the steps.

  “You’ve always worn your feelings on your face.”

  “It was just – the nest!” Joey burst out.

  Sarah’s hand flew to her hair. “Oh, I know.” Then she started to laugh. “I’ve been cooking,” she cried defensively.

  Joey immediately felt guilty. This was Sarah. Her dearest pal. Who cared what she looked like?

  “Sweetie!”

  “Honey!”

  They flew into each other’s arm and hugged tightly for several long moments, then drew back and stared into each other’s eyes.

  “You look wonderful,” Sarah said. “I hate you – you’re so skinny!”

  “I am not,” Joey protested. The truth was, Joey hadn’t gained a pound since she was twenty. And she worked at it, running, eating as little as she could, always keeping an eye on the scale.

  “It was having kids that did me in,” Sarah teased. “You’ll see.”

  Joey wasn’t sure she would. Kids definitely belonged in the maybe someday but not any time soon category.

  “You must be exhausted,” Sarah said. “Let’s get you inside. Christopher, Timmy, give us a hand.”

  Two of the boys stood up and helped Sarah and Joey lug the bags into the house.

  “Henry’s in his study talking Aggie through the set up of her new computer on the phone,” Sarah explained. “He’ll be free in a little while.”

  “Who’s Aggie?”

  “Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t mention her. Aggie is Henry’s mother… Lady Howard.” She raised an amused eyebrow. “She lives right by Stanway. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? Small world… You’re going to have to meet her.”

  Sarah’s anglicised accent was even more pronounced now they were talking in person. There was barely a rising tone at the end of her statements at all.

  An hour later, Joey and Sarah were sitting before a fire blazing in a sleek modern gas hearth in the living room. Following a tour of the house and all their rooms, the children had somehow been banished from their company.

  The house wasn’t a duplex. They lived in the whole thing. It had nine bedrooms and six baths, although the grandeur of the outside was not exactly continued within. Antiques were scattered throughout the rooms – old desks and bookcases and chairs that needed re-caning – along with a selection of sturdy, middle-of-the-road family furniture that Joey could only describe as a triumph of comfort over style.

  To begin with, Joey was a little surprised at the haphazard feeling of the interiors; then again, Sarah had never been interested in decorating or clothes. If an article of clothing fit and was clean, she wore it, with a carefree insouciance that allowed her to pull it off. But she was younger then. And slimmer.

  Sinking into the soft leather of the sofa, Joey helped herself to the delicious-looking lunch Sarah had brought in on trays. There was brown bread, a good farmhouse cheddar and a rough pâté. Joey had vowed to drink only one glass of the Sancerre that Sarah had poured, and not to eat so much that she got even sleepier. She really wanted to stay awake! They had barely begun to swap stories of what had been happening over the years, in the broadest of outlines, with hardly any of the important details that held all the meaning. But the warmth of the fire, the soothing familiarity of Sarah’s voice, the wine and the sleepless night on the plane soon conspired to bring a premature end to the reunion.

  Joey’s head nodded. She did her best to rouse herself and concentrate. But her eyes just would not stay open, no matter how hard she tried.

  “All right, you,” Sarah finally said. “Off to dreamland.”

  “I’m so sorry – I think I just need a little sleep, then I’ll be fine.”

  “I know. Come on.”

  Joey barely remembered climbing the stairs, or slipping into bed.

  As Sarah closed the shutters and the room fell into darkness, Joey fought off her drowsiness and struggled to a sitting position.

  “Tink!” Joey whispered. “I forgot about –”

  “Got it covered, baby,” replied her friend.

  Chapter 5

  Joey opened her eyes. She had been trying to ignore the yelling, the slamming of doors and the clattering and pounding of children’s feet up and down the stairs and hallways, but it was no use. How did Sarah and Henry put up with this level of noise? She rolled over and checked her BlackBerry; it was nearly three o’clock. She had been asleep for over two hours, but the nap had not restored her. She felt grumpy, disoriented and sluggish.

  She sat up and looked around the room. It was cheerily papered in green stripes and had two tall windows with deep sills and creamily painted interior shutters. Joey got up and opened one pair of shutters. Dusk was already gathering, but she could just make out the contours of the back garden: a stone patio bordered with decorative urns, a line of mature trees, now bare of leaves, enclosing a small lawn crowded with bikes, a swing set, a wheelbarrow filled with gardening supplies, and some kind of playhouse erected under one of the trees.

  She heard a noise and turned. The bedroom door was being eased open by two of the children, whose names she still wasn’t sure of. The girl was round and blonde and her older brother, taller by at least six inches, had a discerning face that made him appear thoughtful beyond his years.

  “You should knock before you come in!” Joey said sharply, wondering why Sarah hadn’t taught her kids this basic rule of etiquette and thanking her lucky stars that she was dressed.

  “Mummy!” the blonde one bellowed. “Mummy, she’s up!”

  “Zoë! Christopher!” Sarah’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Leave her alone. Don’t wake her up.”

  The children stepped back into the hall, slamming the door behind them.

  “It’s okay,” Joey called. “I was awake.” She crossed
the room, opened the door and peered out. “Sarah?”

  Joey could hear sounds of a video game being played at full volume in an adjacent room. An argument seemed to have broken out between the two girls, one of whom was now screeching and racing up the hall stairs, clutching a ratty Madeline doll. Joey ducked back into the bedroom. She would change her clothes, put on some lipstick and march downstairs to meet the rest of the day.

  She was just slipping on a sweater when a soft knock came at the door.

  “Joey?”

  “Come in! I was just coming down.”

  Sarah stood in the doorway carrying a gleaming silver tray.

  Joey hurried across the room to help her with the door. “Oh, my gosh, what’s this?”

  “I made you something.” On the tray was a small silver bowl covered with a fancy service lid. Sarah carried the tray over to the bed and set it down. Joey kicked off her shoes and climbed back onto the bed.

  “You ready?” Sarah asked.

  Joey nodded then gingerly lifted the lid of the silver-service, exaggerating her anticipation, as though she was half expecting something to jump out. Instead, the air was suffused with the aroma of something warm and deliciously sweet, hot and chocolaty. Joey peered closely; in the bowl were three gooey black and white clumps of tightly compacted mush. She looked even more closely, took a sniff and burst out laughing,

  “Sarah, no! Chocolate Rice Krispy treats? I haven’t had these since college!”

  “No kidding!” Sarah said. “Look at you. What are you, a six?”

  As if to deny that she gave any thought to her figure, Joey picked up a massive candy clump. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to eat this. She never ate sugar if she could help it. She popped it in her mouth.