“And Louise—who’s she?” Richard asked.
Flora looked up at Nan, who was drying her already dry hands on a tea towel. Nan stared back, her mouth set, her eyes pitiless, and Flora realised she was probably wearing the same expression, a mirror of her sister’s. Richard looked between the two of them.
“Oh,” he said. “That Louise.”
Chapter 30
THE SWIMMING PAVILION, 22ND JUNE 1992, 9:00 AM
Gil,
I wasn’t going to write again. I mustn’t write—it hurts and doesn’t solve anything, but I have to put this down on paper. I need to get it out of my head and right now there’s no one else to tell.
I went to the sea again this morning for a swim. (Early.) I shouldn’t have gone. Oh God, I shouldn’t have gone. It was still dark and cold so I wore your greatcoat, the one you got from a young man in Moscow in exchange for a borrowed pair of suede shoes. (“Tell me the Moscow story, Daddy,” I can hear Flora saying, swamped by the coat, her little head poking out the top.) I was naked underneath it; I’ve always liked how the heavy wool scratches and tickles. It smells like a musty version of you.
The beach was empty. The tide was going out, leaving a wide ribbon of seaweed creased on the sand and swaying in the shallows. I walked around Dead End Point to Middle Beach, where the sea is always clear. I unbuttoned your coat and, I don’t know why, but I checked the pockets first before I took it off. Flora must have been wearing it again, because I found the queen of hearts from the pack of cards which has those ladies on the back, two sheets of Green Shield Stamps, and my purse! Still with ten pounds and a few pence inside. I put everything back, folded the coat, left my flip-flops on top, and ran into the sea opposite the beach huts.
The water was steady and black. An inch below the surface my body disappeared as if it didn’t exist. I swam straight out toward the rising sun, which was underlighting the clouds with a dramatic orange as if I were swimming into a Renaissance landscape. It shone a path over the water’s surface, saying, “This way, straight on,” but I tired and turned back towards the shore. I swam a lazy breaststroke, keeping my head above the water, and in the distance I saw a light: a campfire in the dunes.
Do you remember when we used to go to the sea together in the middle of the night to cool down, that first summer? We’d strip off, grabbing on to each other, yelping and laughing, and run across the sand and into the sea through the night air, as warm as noontime.
When I reached the beach, the flip-flops and the coat had gone. My first thought, and I feel guilty writing it, was that Flora must have followed me, but she wasn’t there. I searched the length of Middle Beach, and in front of the last hut I found a discarded and crumpled queen of hearts. There was no sign of my purse or the other things. I could have gone home. I should have gone home, but I was so angry. I needed that money; Flora loves that coat! Then I remembered the campfire I’d seen from the water and, without stopping to think, went in search of it.
I crouched in the dawn, watching two men drinking and laughing. The flickering orange from their fire set their skin alight and I recognised your coat, slung around one of the men’s shoulders. The other appeared to have square tattoos on his cheeks and forehead, and it took me a moment to see that these were the Green Shield Stamps. Behind a tuft of marram grass I growled, long and low.
“Did you hear that?” greatcoat-man said, looking up.
“What?” the other said, drunk, I think, and slow to react.
I rustled the grass and greatcoat-man stood. “There’s something out there.”