For Fear of Drowning

Laura lay, hot and resentful on the dry summer lawn, forced into a skirt that didn't suit her and uncomfortable in a shirt buttoned tight against the neck.

Hearing the crunch of gravel she scrambles to her feet.

It's him.

Cramming herself into his arms the crisp cotton of his shirt brushes against her cheek. He kisses the top of her head and pulls himself free.
'Happy Birthday, darling.'
He runs his hands over quickly over his shirt, smoothing away the creases she has made.

Laura tries to take hold of his hand but he sides it into his pocket gesturing for her to walk ahead. She leads him to the table on the lawn where the rest of them sit. Today is her fifteenth birthday and her father is the guest of honour.

The party is at her grandparents' house and it is a grand house, complete with tennis courts and swimming pool. They do not feel comfortable here, her mother and her, there are too many unspoken rules designed to catch them out. She is forever treading on croquet lawns, pouring milk straight from the carton, forgetting to take her jam with a small spoon and remaining resolutely ungraceful and unendowed with musical talents.

A silent reproach hangs in the air; Why is she not more charming? Why doesn't she speak French or play the piano? Why does she look and dress like a boy and speak too loudly?

The answer can only be that she is like her mother. It can't be her father's fault as he is, striding towards the table hand out, smile beaming, so charming and so graceful, so obviously endowed with talent that Laura does not possess.

At this moment they can do nothing but admire his easy charm. He is good looking, even through a daughter's eyes, and her need for him so great that she does everything she can to be near him. As he greets the rest of the party she stands with the cuff of his shirt grazing her arm and her head resting on his shoulder.

'Don't stand there staring, Laura, go and help your mother bring out the tea. Give your father room to breath.'

As she moves reluctantly away from the table she can hear her grandmother comment on her being 'clingy'.

'Her mother is too soft. She needs a firm hand. You should say something Rob.'

Laura does as she is told and misses his reply.

Her mother is in the kitchen putting cups on a tray.
'He's here.'
She looks round sharply, expecting to see him there beside Laura. Disappointment and relief run across her face.
'He's in the garden.'
She nods and continues arranging the tea things. The cups jangle sharply as she puts them on the tray.
'I'll help' and she starts to move towards her.
'No. I'm alright.'
Her mother snatches up the tray and walks out into the garden. Laura watches her as she walks. The sunlight falls on her hair, plainly cut and hanging just above her shoulders, which lean forward as if escaping from the rest of her. She has inherited her fathers dark hair but her mother's pale features and embarrassing clumsiness, 'the worst of both worlds' her grandmother liked to say, particularly in front of other people.

The voices stop as her mother arrives with the tea, Laura following behind like a smaller, slighter shadow. Her grandmother rises to her feet and takes the cups from her mother's hands, barking out questions as she does so.
'Milk?'
'Sugar?'
'One or two?'
'Biscuit?'
A plate of dry biscuits is waved under the nose of each guest and a cup thrust into their hands. As her grandmother picks up pace her mother falters, giving way to her sheer force of will and soon she abandons the tray and sits down.

Laura is still standing, barefoot, toes fiddling with the grass, crushing it, letting it spring back up and then crushing it again. Her father catches her eye and winks, a gesture she likes to think he keeps for her alone, and a smile breaks across her face.
'You look almost pretty when you smile,' her grandmother remarks and looks at her husband for encouragement.
'Doesn't she?'
He nods and says 'She is pretty.'
There is a silence during which her grandmother considers this. She looks as if she is about to reply when her father, taking advantage of the silence, raises his teacup.
'To Laura, Happy Birthday.' His voice is smooth and deep; Laura sometimes thinks he purrs as he speaks. He looks at her mother as he raises his teacup, the others follow his lead and Laura mutters a thank you.

He pulls a small, sky-blue paper bag out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her, kissing her forehead quickly as he does so. A deep flush starts in her chest and creeps up her neck. She turns her attention to the present; it is the prettiest bag she has ever seen, with a pink ribbon tie and letters stamped in shiny black. Inside is a box made of navy blue leather, which puckers when she presses her finger into the soft top. She holds it for a moment, not sure whether to open it, not wanting to look up and catches someone's eye for fear of being told to hurry up.

She snaps open the box and looks inside.

Nestling on a pink velvet cushion is a silver chain and on the end of the chain is a tiny diamond encased in a sliver band. Pulling it out of the box she holds it up, the diamond twists on the chain, catching the light as it turns. Laura is certain, looking at it, that it will stay around her neck for as long as she lives.

'Do you like it?'
She says nothing but puts it around her neck and offers herself up for inspection. 'Pretty,' her grandmother acknowledges before taking the teapot to the kitchen to refill it. Her grandfather seizes his opportunity to stand up and leave the garden, kissing her and muttering 'lovely' as he does so, leaving Laura and her parents alone in the garden.

Her father is still smiling, her mother looking at him with an expression that makes Laura stare at her feet.
'It suits her, you're good at this, you always were.'
She attempts a smile but looks as if she is going to cry.
'I'm going to look in the mirror' Laura says, a little too loudly, and runs into the house and up to her room.

*

Later, she stands by the pool, the water dappled with light sifted through leaves, the sounds of nature obliterated by the gurgle of the filter.

The others are in the house, occupied with the chores that make up the days here. Each moment is spent preparing for the next; the time after breakfast spent preparing lunch, the time after lunch spent preparing tea and then dinner. After dinner there are coffee and drinks and then the day is put away, but not without first laying the breakfast table.

This is the pool where Laura's small cousin Edward was almost drowned. Her great aunt Susan threw him in and then stood on the edge hearing him scream and believing that if he knew he would not be rescued he would instantly learn to swim for fear of drowning. As it was he was plucked out of the water by her father, who heard the screams from the garden. Laura had stood watching and felt a stab of envy as her father dived into the pool while the others watched in admiration. He had emerged carrying Edward, water streaming form his clinging clothes, Edward's arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Edward had been unwilling to leave his side for the rest of their stay there and she had noticed a new, but fleeting, warmth between her parents on the journey home.

She sits down on the ledge and slips her feet in. It is cold and her skin protests in goose bumps. The water is a clear and artificial blue, made welcoming by the sun burning into the back of her neck.

Pushing off from the side she crashes into the water, eyes squeezed shut. Letting herself fall as far as she can her shorts billow out like clouds and her t-shirt hovers around her neck, the diamond necklace caught in its folds. Opening her eyes she looks up and out at the sky, flecked with cloud and swaying gently with the surface of the water. She lies for a few moments suspended, clothes twisting around her. She tries to pull down to sit on the bottom but is running out of breath and, kicking hard, swims back to the top.

As her head breaks the surface the warm air envelops her. Rubbing her eyes free of chlorine she looks up and see the tips of her father's shoes lined up against the concrete ledge. He is looking down at her, frowning.
'Laura,' he says, as if reminding himself of her name.

Scraping the straggly bits of hair back off her face she swims towards him. Her fingers fold over the edge, almost touching the sides of his shoes, the watery prints spread, dying the concrete a darker shade of grey.

He clears his throat, she can see him deciding that it is time they had a 'little talk'.
'How's school?'
'Fine.'
'Friends?'
She looks up at him, unsure whether he is asking if she has any or is enquiring after their health.
'You ought to have friends.'
She examines the toes of his shoes. They look expensive, like the box the necklace came in.
'I do.'

It's true but feels like a desperate attempt to make him happier and her voice hangs between them sounding like a lie.

He crouches down and smiles at her.
'I know, I know, of course you do. It's just¦'
He smoothes back her damp hair with his clean, neat hands.
'It's just I worry about you here, with these people.' He barely disguises the disgust in his voice.
'You mean Mum?'
'No, not your mother, of course not your mother.' He shifts uncomfortably and pauses for a moment.
'Don't you get bored?'
'Sometimes.'
She wants to scream at him 'I do, I do get bored here, of course I do'. Why does he think she's here, floating in the pool, alone and fully clothed? But she can't say it. She can't tell him that she wants him to pull her out of this pool, wrap her in a towel, put her in his car and drive her away. Instead he stands up, wiping his wet hands with a crisp handkerchief pulled from his pocket.

Laura climbs out of the water and sits damply on the side. He stands looking down at her and clears his throat again.
'What about boyfriends?'
She thinks for a minute, 'They're too immature.'
It is something she has heard her friend Katherine say and senses that this is what is needed here, a kind of bravado.

He smiles, the tension instantly breaking, and pulls her up to stand beside him.
'That's right, of course they are. You wait for them to grow up a bit.'
He laughs quietly to himself, clearly relieved that the conversation is over.

They walk back to the house together and as they draw near she can sense his discomfort.
'Are you staying?' she asks quietly, knowing that he won't.
'Well, I don't think so. I have things to do and I don't want to upset your mother.'
They both know that she will be more upset if he leaves.

They can hear voices from the kitchen and she walks upstairs to her room, calling out that she is going to change. There is no response.

From her bedroom window she sees her father opening his car door and climbing in. The door shuts with an expensive thud.

Throwing her wet clothes into the bath she puts on dry ones.

Hearing the engine start and the crunch of gravel as he pulls away she leaves her room and goes downstairs to the others without looking out after him.