He takes my hand and signs that we’re going to sink beneath the surface of the water and we do so in harmony. I can hear my breathing in my ears and I know that it’s too rapid, but I’m surprised how much I can see beneath the water. This is not particularly a good thing. The swimming pool is clearly the place where all Elastoplast go to die. There’s surely more silty stuff on the bottom than can be classed as hygienic and I wonder how many little kids have weed in here. But I try not to think about that and concentrate instead on relaxing and enjoying the moment. Actually, the last bit is a step too far. I concentrate on surviving and trying not to scream.
Joe and I sit cross-legged on the bottom of the pool, still holding hands. He gives me the OK sign and I echo it back to him. I am OK. Sort of. However, he didn’t tell me the sign for ‘I’m barely coping’. We sit and sit a bit more and, eventually, my breathing returns to a more even keel. I know it’s one small step for man and all that, but it does feel like a giant step for me. It’s the first thing I’ve done in a long time that’s all my idea. I’m not doing it because some bloke enjoys it and if I want to see him at all, I need to tag along.
Despite all the weights I’m laden down with, my bum keeps bobbing up from the bottom of the pool and making a bid for the surface. Believe me, it’s surprisingly hard to sink when you need to.
Joe signals that I should try to slow my breathing and I do. He gives my hand a squeeze and I take it to mean that I’m doing all right and I get a little thrill from that. Get me, Ruby Brown, fearless scuba-diver! Joe gives me the thumbs up and my bum touches the floor of the pool once more. He puts his fins on top of mine and we sit perfectly still for a few more moments. As I finally start to relax, he gives me the sign that we’re going to the surface and I feel surprisingly disappointed that it’s all over.
We come up together and Joe helps me to take my mask off. ‘You did well, Ruby.’
‘That was completely brilliant.’ Well, I wasn’t quite so keen on it when I was down there, but once it’s stopped, I want to do it all over again. Immediately! I have a rush of something – blood, adrenalin, testosterone – that makes me feel more buzzy than I have in a long time.
Joe laughs. ‘Good. Think you’ll come back next week?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Excellent. I’ve never lost a student yet.’ He shrugs out of his gear and then helps me with mine. For a moment, Joe looks hesitant and then he says, ‘We normally go to the pub afterwards. Just a few of the lads. If you fancy joining us.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Great,’ he says. ‘I’ll wait for you in reception.’
So I hurry off back to the changing rooms, run round the shower, letting the warm water dispel my goosebumps. I use a lot of shower gel in the hope that I don’t still smell of chlorine. I give myself a quick rub round with a towel and blast the hairdryer over my sodden locks so that I don’t drip in the pub. Not sure I can count it as a hairdo, but I can’t really keep Joe waiting for too long while I style it properly.
Still carrying a faint whiff of Eau de Bleach, I hurry into reception.
Chapter Eight
Despite my attempt at speed changing, Joe is, indeed, already standing there. He’s reading notices on the board in the manner of someone who’s pretending to be busy and isn’t really. He spins round when I say, ‘Here I am.’
For a brief moment, the sight of him takes my breath away. He’s dressed in a black hoodie over a white tee and jeans and, for some reason, he looks a lot more handsome than he did in the pool. Could be that his face isn’t squashed out of shape by a mask. Just guessing. Or perhaps I was too traumatised by my impending ordeal to take a proper look. Well, now I’m getting an eyeful and very pleasant it is too. He has dark hair, almost black, curly and long into the nape of his neck and there’s a shadow of dark hair along his strong jawline as is the fashion. I think he’s probably a couple years older than me. I’d make a stab at forty-two or three. He’s got a strong, vibrant face, though his eyes seem tired if you look closely.
‘The others have gone on ahead,’ he says. ‘It’s just us two.’
‘I had to do my hair,’ I offer apologetically. It must be so much easier to be a scuba-diver if you’re a baldy.
‘No worries. The pub’s only round the corner.’ Joe holds the door open for me and we head out into the cool evening, falling into step side by side. There’s hardly anyone around as we walk up the side street towards the main road in Wolverton. A few lads hanging around by the school look as guilty as hell as we pass and there’s the heady whiff of cannabis coming from their general vicinity. I’m wondering whether I should have left my car parked by the leisure centre or whether I should have driven to the pub. I hope Joe walks me back.
As if I haven’t got enough to worry about, I’m fretting about catching pneumonia or pleurisy by going out with damp hair – the things that your mother tells you leave scars for life – when Joe says, ‘You did well tonight. You were nice and calm. Not everyone does so well on their first session.’
I get a rush of pride. ‘Thanks.’ We make our way along the street of slightly downtrodden terraced houses before turning onto the main road. It’s dusk now and the street lights are flickering into life.
‘Have you always wanted to have a go at diving?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘It was recently added to my To Do List. I’m currently embracing the whole post-divorce, independence, new-me thing.’
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I can empathise. I’ve also found myself recently single and staring at divorce papers.’
‘Me too.’ Even as I say it, a secret evil part of me is glad to hear that he’s not happily married. He kind of looks as if he would be. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s on the market, of course. ‘Sucks, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘It’s certainly a steep learning curve.’ Joe shakes his head, sadly. ‘You sort of assume that when you sign up for life it won’t all fall apart in fifteen years.’
‘Fifteen years. Wow. Is that how long you were together?’ Seems like a Herculean effort when compared to my paltry attempt at forever.
‘Even longer, I suppose. As usual, we were together a few years before we took the plunge.’
‘I only lasted five in total with Simon. I’m trying to see being single again as a new challenge rather than an abject failure.’
‘I think if I was on my own, I’d probably do the same. Unfortunately, I have two children who are very bewildered and hurt by it all.’
God, what an idiot I am. It never occurred to me that he’d have kids to think of. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It must be a nightmare when there are children to take into account. Kids are remarkably resilient though.’
‘That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I’m not so sure.’ He sighs and jams his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. ‘I can understand Gina walking away from me if she’d had enough, but how do you turn your back on your kids?’
‘How old are they?’
‘Old enough for them to be taking it badly. Tom’s fifteen and Daisy’s twelve. Tough ages at any time, without all this as well. They should be into kids’ stuff and not having to deal with our problems.’ He shakes his head, baffled. ‘Tom’s doing all right. On the surface. But Daisy’s not happy. I know it. She needs her mum around. It breaks my heart.’
‘It will all work out.’
He laughs, but it’s not without humour. ‘If I had a pound for everyone who said that to me, I’d be buying myself a yacht in the Bahamas.’