The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  Matt waited.

  Under the intensity of Matt’s gaze, Alex started talking.

  She started with her degree in biological sciences, but Matt prompted her back further. So she told him about her childhood moving around because of her parents’ jobs in pub management; how she didn’t ever stay in a school long enough to fit in. She talked about her work in the lab, about her thesis on stem cell treatment for diabetes, about the postdocs she’d done in Sheffield and Cambridge. She told him how you only ever got a three-to-five-year contract in her line of work and how, at some point, she might have to leave Nottingham if she couldn’t get the research funding to stay.

  Alex felt exposed by how much she’d shared. She brought things back to the standard Internet date checklist. “Couple of serious relationships in the past, nonsmoker, no kids, no pets.”

  “That’s a shame. I like pets.”

  “Well, sorry,” Alex said. “I don’t have any.”

  “Could you get one?”

  “No.”

  “OK.” Matt shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

  Alex blinked at him. “So what about you? Who and what are you?”

  Matt sat back. “Now, there’s a question.” He gave a sleepy smile. “Which version do you want? The airbrushed first-date version? Or the real one, where I mainly sit on the sofa?”

  “The real one.”

  “OK.” He rubbed his hands together. “Careful what you wish for.”

  What Matt told Alex that night turned out to be pretty accurate, when she viewed him in outside lab conditions in the non-Petri-dish world. He told her that he liked big, stupid action films and recreational drugs and that he didn’t phone his parents enough. He told her he worked in sales, but he was winging it most of the time and wasn’t sure what his real job was, but thought as long as he didn’t actually ask, no one else would know.

  And he mentioned Scarlett quickly and honestly that first night. Alex found out later that Walshy had suggested Matt get it in quick if he liked someone, because women fancy dads—fact. Walshy may have had a life that was universally acknowledged to have turned to shit, but he was a man whose dating advice Matt still took a punt on.

  “Scarlett’s a lovely kid,” Matt told Alex that night, “but I can’t claim too much credit. Claire’s a legend, she does all the heavy lifting.” He held up a hand to stem disagreement, though no disagreement was forthcoming, Alex didn’t have any evidence either way. “Seriously. I just make duvet dens and take her to age-inappropriate films, or tell her what to think of the latest Forest defensive lineup.”

  Alex found herself listening and nodding. All men want to be dads, really, Ruby had once said to her. None of them would want to be a mum. But everyone wants to be a dad. It’s parenthood, but semi-skimmed and pasteurized, not full-fat and straight from the cow. Matt having a kid, having got that out of his system, could only be a good thing. Because Alex wasn’t sure she could be a parent. (A dad, maybe, to Ruby’s logic. But not a mum.)

  Alex didn’t say any of this to Matt, of course. That wasn’t first-date lab-condition material. Still, they stayed in the pub way beyond her usual two-drink first-date maximum.

  After they’d left, Alex noticed she’d done most of the talking. She still didn’t know very much about Matt in any real sense, except that he was a loyal, not-particularly-discerning friend, and that if he knew someone who was going through a life crisis, he talked to the person about synthesizers and eBay.

  That night, back at home, Alex sat in front of the spreadsheet on her laptop. In the “summary” box on her spreadsheet, she typed: Surprising. Nice. She paused. A little bit too happy with himself.

  Alex looked at the cursor blinking over the last sentence. She deleted the full stop and replaced it with a question mark.

  She knew, without any discussion, that Matt would be getting in touch again. And she would go out with him.

  That night of this twelfth date, Alex didn’t fill in her usual assessment criteria, and didn’t rate Matt on looks, or humor, or intellectual compatibility.

  She typed another sentence, because the spreadsheet required it. Smells of toast.

  As she closed her laptop, she decided she was looking forward to going out with him again.

  20

  Scarlett looked round the holiday park from her high-up position. She kept being jiggled around, as Dad was always crouching and trying to bump her farther up his back. He wasn’t as good at giving piggybacks as he used to be, he was slower and more staggery now, but Scarlett loved looking round from up here. She could see trees and lodges and lakes, and the massive glass magical-looking building where the swimming pool was.

  The other grown-ups walked next to Scarlett and Dad, all carrying plastic swimming bags. Posey trailed behind, doing his own thing.

  “Doing OK?” Alex raised an eyebrow at Dad. “You’re a tad pink of cheek.”

  Dad tried to bump Scarlett up his back again. He took a few more paces, then stopped. “I think that might be it.”

  “You used to walk me miles,” Scarlett said.

  Posey shook his head. “That’s Alex’s fault he stopped.”

  “The thing is,” Dad said, “little girls grow. That’s what they don’t warn you about. Sorry, Scar.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Scar.’ That’s the bad lion in The Lion King.”

  “Ah, come on, Matt,” Mum said. “You can make it all the way to the swimming pool, surely? Or are you that out of shape these days?”

  Dad gave her a look.

  “Perhaps not. Scarlett, why don’t you show them all how you can lift me?”

  “Can you lift Mum?” Dad dropped Scarlett down. “You’re going to have to show me that right away.”

  Mum stood in front of Scarlett and got in the right position.

  Legs shaking, Scarlett crouched down. She took a deep breath and lifted Mum. It hurt a bit, but it was nice having all the adults smiling at her.

  Alex clapped, pretending she was Scarlett’s friend. “Hats off to your leg muscles, Scarlett. You’re a strong little thing, aren’t you?”

  Scarlett let Mum get off her.

  “How about me?” Dad said. “It’s only fair, I lifted you.”

  Scarlett looked at Dad. She knew she couldn’t lift Patrick—she’d tried loads of times—but Dad was smaller and took up less space in a room. “OK.”

  She moved in front of Dad and crouched down. Dad wasn’t as helpful at getting on her as Mum, and giving him a piggyback hurt much more. But Scarlett managed a few paces with Dad on her back, before dropping him.

  “What a brilliant party trick,” Alex said.

  Dad brushed his coat down. “Our little princess, strong as a truck.”

  Mum beamed at Scarlett. “How about you try to lift Alex now?”

  “No way.” Posey shook his head firmly. “Don’t let her touch you, Scarlett. And she’s too heavy.”

  There was a pause.

  “I’m fine,” Alex said.

  “I would do.” Scarlett looked straight at Mum. “But Posey says Alex is too heavy.”

  The adults looked in all directions.

  “That’s not true,” Dad said quickly.

  “Ridiculous.” Mum frowned at Scarlett.

  Patrick looked Alex up and down like he was trying to judge how heavy she’d be.

  Alex folded her arms across her chest so her plastic bag brushed against her front. “I’m really excited about going swimming. Can we just hurry up and get there?”

  “Great idea,” Mum said in a rush.

  As they walked, Dad and Alex stood a little away from the others.

  “You weigh seven kilos more than me,” Scarlett heard Alex whisper to Dad.

  Dad patted her back. “I know.”

  “My BMI is 22.5. That is—literally—textbook.”
>
  “Don’t read too much into what happened there.” Dad reached for Alex’s hand. “She was probably tired from lifting us.”

  Scarlett looked at Dad’s face, how tired it looked with all that disappointment on it.

  She turned to Posey and shook her head. “Posey. Be nice.”

  “What?” Posey gave a shrug. “She just looks heavy to me.”

  * * *

  —

  At the swimming pool entrance, Dad and Patrick went one way, Mum, Scarlett, and Alex went the other.

  Posey gave a goodbye wave of his hand.

  “Where are you going?” Scarlett asked.

  “Boys’ changing rooms.”

  “You don’t have to.” Scarlett looked around. “They’ve got family changing rooms. I could ask if we could go in one of those cubicles?”

  “I just prefer the boys’.”

  “Are you shy, Posey?”

  Posey didn’t say anything.

  Scarlett smiled at him. Posey could be silly sometimes. Scarlett could be shy too, and she didn’t like the thought of getting dressed in front of Alex in the girls’ changing rooms.

  But she didn’t want to embarrass Posey. “Have you got a pound for the locker, then?” Scarlett asked.

  Posey nodded.

  Scarlett looked at his moon boots. “You’ll definitely have to take those off to go swimming.”

  “I don’t want to take them off.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like my feet. No biggie.”

  “They’re just rabbits’ feet. And you’re a rabbit.” Scarlett was going to add that she’d heard rabbits’ feet were lucky, but she wasn’t sure whether she’d made it up.

  “They’re not normal. They’re bumpy.”

  Scarlett sighed. “There is no normal, Posey. Everybody’s different. You’re perfect as you are. You’re you. You should love your bumpy feet because they’re yours.”

  Posey looked at his feet.

  “And if you don’t put your boots in the locker, you might lose them in the water.”

  Posey shrugged his purple shoulders.

  “If you lose them, we’re not buying you any more.”

  Posey shrugged again. He turned round and headed into the boys’ changing room.

  Scarlett sighed and gave a shake of her head.

  Boys.

  21

  Alex stepped into the Splash Landings entrance pool, overwhelmed by the intensity of smells around her.

  There was that sharp tang of chlorine that sat high up her nose, but it was muddled with lower notes. It was these notes she was trying to dissect and classify.

  Talcum powder. Synthetic apple. Wet towel. Chips.

  And—naturally—a faint hint of urine.

  Alex lowered herself into the cold water. She watched her breasts lifting alarmingly in their cups.

  On reflection, packing her holiday bikini was a mistake. Alex really didn’t want to be flashing her chest at Patrick, or chasing her bikini top down a slide in front of Claire and Scarlett.

  Not that Claire and Scarlett were there. The two had gone to make a base, as Claire put it, while Matt, Patrick, and Alex tested whether the Splash Landings river ride was suitable for Scarlett.

  Alex forced her head under the cold water and sank to the bottom of the pool. The water lifted her hair from the roots. Sections drifted in front of her face slowly, like seaweed.

  As she emerged, Matt swam up next to her. “It’s fucking Baltic in this water.” He gestured at his swimming trunks, about to say something else.

  Alex pushed her sodden hair out of her face. “Please don’t tell me anything about the size of your genitals.”

  Alex and Matt swam past a woman in dangling earrings, swimming with her neck elevated, in an ergonomically terrible position. Alex wondered whether Claire would be one of those people who swam awkwardly, to keep her hair dry. Probably not, she decided.

  Alex was pleased to note that, despite the weirdness of this weekend, her internal monologue was still being consistently kind to Claire.

  Patrick swam up to Matt and Alex. He stood and lowered his goggles onto his eyes, pulling the strap tight with a meaty snap. As the plastic pushed into his skin, his eyeballs boggled outward, froglike.

  The three reached the mouth of the Splash Landings river, where the water rushed and bubbled, crisscrossing in rivulets.

  Patrick gestured along the mouth. “Spread out here. Let the riders ahead get some distance away.”

  At the word “riders,” Alex and Matt made eye contact.

  Patrick put out his hands on the lip of the mouth. He pressed a button on his massive sports watch, and pushed himself up and plunged into the water.

  Alex set off a second later. She paddled toward the interior angle of the first corner, where she could see the river was running fastest. She dipped her head into the water and front crawled into a slower, wider part of the river.

  She turned to look behind.

  Matt paddled along, gesturing and talking to an elderly couple, one of whom was carrying a toddler on his shoulders. Matt appeared to be mid-anecdote.

  Ahead of Alex, Patrick was twisting his head from side to side in a professional-looking front crawl.

  Alex slackened her pace. She dragged herself to the left, to take advantage of the full force of the current. She caught the flow and shot past Patrick.

  She neared a smooth iceberg obstacle in the middle of the water. Something slammed into her body, sending her crashing into the iceberg.

  Alex lurched and stalled. She took in a mouthful of water.

  She looked round. She watched Patrick thrash past her.

  Had Patrick pushed her into the iceberg? Surely not.

  Alex watched him for a moment. He certainly looked exerted.

  Was he trying to race her?

  If he was, he was doing it wrong. He was clearly trying to avoid the other people in the water, but that was an error. It meant he was following the parts of the river with the least pace.

  Alex watched Patrick flounder in a shallow section of water, trying to unbeach himself. The man clearly didn’t understand even basic fluid dynamics, let alone Bernoulli’s principle.

  Without wanting to think too much about what she was doing, Alex butterflied her arms. She propelled herself to the side, where the current looked strongest. The current took her into its flow, jolting her up and round in a roller-coaster motion.

  Alex flew forward and past Patrick.

  Was she really doing this? Racing Patrick down a ride aimed at children?

  It appeared she was.

  They rounded the river’s next corner. Alex was ahead of Patrick and moving faster, propelled along by the current, but out of control. She hit the plastic edge of the river; pain flamed in her thigh.

  Alex slowed, gasping. She felt something human fluttering at her ankle. Fingers, trying to snare her foot.

  She looked round to see Patrick in her wake.

  He couldn’t be trying to grab her ankle, surely. The man was forty-three.

  Alex pushed on. Again, skin brushed against her foot.

  This was incredible.

  Alex thrashed her leg out. She heard a jarring yowl.

  “Lily!” A woman shouted. “Lily, are you OK?”

  Alex grabbed a rail at the side of the river and came to a stop. She stood up.

  Patrick front-crawled past her, the roping muscles of his arms straining.

  Alex turned to look behind.

  In her wake, a woman held a blond toddler closely. The girl was crying, holding her hand to her temple. She wore a rubber ring with a protruding Brachiosaurus head, along with Finding Nemo armbands.

  “Oh, no!” Alex tried to control her breathing. “I’m so sorry—she came ou
t of nowhere—I didn’t see—”

  Alex stopped, realizing she was doing the full drunk-driver’s defense.

  She reached out to touch the girl’s head, where there was an obvious scratch. The girl’s mother turned her minutely to the side, so Alex’s gesture fell short.

  “I haven’t cut my toenails for a while. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” the mother said.

  “No,” Alex said. “It definitely isn’t.”

  The mother bent her head in agreement.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry. You probably don’t want to see me now. I’ll just get out of your way.”

  Alex turned and swam in the river’s current till she was out of their sight. She forced herself down, head immersed, pulling her knees up into a fetal position. She listened to the alien underwater sounds.

  Alex held her breath until her ears thumped.

  She broke the surface again, panting, and floated slowly down the river until she could see the exit pool. She let the water drag her down the last slope and dunk her under the water.

  She stared straight ahead as she climbed the ladder and got out of the pool.

  Matt flung himself round the last corner of the river. He held his nose at the top of the last slope and splashed, hip first, into the pool.

  “That was fun, hey?” Matt climbed the ladder and made his way over to Alex. “Not one for Scarlett, though. Some racing grown-up just kicked a kid in the face.”

  Alex forced a smile. There was beeping coming from somewhere; she looked over to see Patrick underneath a palm tree, fiddling with his watch.

  “Now, important question. Did you remember your wallet?” Matt patted his belly. “I know Claire’s doing lunch, but I reckon I’ve got enough room for chips.”

  Post-shooting interview. Dr. Ayodele Uba, 40.

  Face-to-face. St. Thomas Hospital.