‘They’re not for . . . customer use.’
‘What are they for then? They’re towels, next to a pool. It’s not a huge leap to assume they might be for . . . customer use.’ I wrap one around my chic bikini, passing another to Susie.
‘You’re not actually supposed to use the pool at this particular time.’ Anti-Underwear crosses her arms.
‘Seems like a terrible waste,’ I say. ‘When it’s right there, looking very tempting.’
‘Let’s just go,’ says Susie, her teeth chattering despite the warmth of the day.
‘No way,’ I say, taking her arm. ‘I want to get my lengths in.’
Watched by the disapproving staff, I sit on the side and dangle my legs in the water. It’s lovely. A wasp lands on the wet tile next to me, stopping for a paddle. Usually that would send me into a frenzy of hysterical flapping, but now I find his presence simply intrigues me. I wonder why I was afraid before; what was the worst that could happen? A sting? Nothing.
‘If you carry on, I’ll have to call the manager,’ calls Anti-Underwear.
‘Off you go, then,’ I say, and slide in. ‘And you . . .’ I beckon the male staff member, who looks all at sea. ‘Could you get me a sparkling water? With ice.’
They both disappear, and Susie hastily plunges in. ‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ she murmurs, as we settle into a steady breaststroke. I glance around. The drinkers on the sunloungers have stopped chatting, and are watching us like they’re on safari. ‘What’s going to happen?’
I raise my hand to a hipster who’s filming me on his phone. ‘I don’t know. It’ll be interesting to see how it pans out.’
‘What’s gotten into you? Are you on drugs?’
‘No. Oh, I suppose I am. But not very strong ones. Maybe I should top myself up.’
I flip over onto my back and float like a dead starfish, staring up at the sky. It’s the deep blue of early summer, with a few wispy clouds floating by. My hearing is deadened by the water, my body cushioned by it; buoyant, unencumbered, undulating. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face, water lapping delicately at my cheeks, my mermaid hair streaming out, the dried blood loosening and dissolving like smoke. This feeling is so unfamiliar, out-of-body – the weightlessness, stillness, carelessness, in-the-momentness. What if I just floated here forever? I don’t need drugs; I just need to drift.
How many times in my life have I indulged this urge? I could count them on one hand. Once, long ago, Robbie and I went to Granada on mini-break – back when weekends represented actual free time, rather than ferrying kids to various activities, appointments and parties. Aside from visiting the Alhambra and drinking ourselves into a stupor, the main thing I recall about that trip was we visited a hammam, a kind of Arabian spa. It was a beautiful crypt lined with gorgeous Moroccan tiles, and various baths you could dunk yourselves in. After a massage, we dangled, steamy and replete, in one of the small pools, and I remember staring at my feet, pearly in the water, just watching my splayed toes. We stayed there until our skin wrinkled like raisins, and afterwards my chin came out in horrendous spots from the steam, the white-knuckled flight home, and all the shite we ate and drank. But I kept thinking about my immersed feet, bleached and flexing, the sublime purposelessness of the moment. Usually, life is just an endless treadmill of toil and transport and catering, interspersed with the toss and turn of sleep. Pausing long enough to appreciate your own shrivelling toes is a rare privilege.
Gradually, I become aware of a dull probing at my eardrum. ‘DUM-DUM. DUM-DUM. DUM-DUM.’ Go away.
‘Madam. Madam. MADAM.’
I open one eye. A man is leaning over the pool, looking stern. This must be the manager who Anti-Underwear threatened me with. Sighing, I flip round again and stroke slowly towards the edge of the pool.
‘Yes?’
He squats at the side. ‘I believe you were made aware of the circumstances.’
‘Why don’t you explain them again? I enjoyed it first time round.’
His nostrils flare. ‘My colleague, Ms Adams, informed you that the pool is not in use at this particular time.’
I rest my arms on the edge and kick my legs gently. ‘But why not? Is there a health and safety issue? Has it been contaminated? There’s no sign.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the pool. We, ah, just prefer it if guests don’t use it at certain times.’
‘What’s the point of having a swimming pool you don’t use?’
He clears his throat. ‘At the moment, it’s more of a . . . viewing benefit. And you and your friend are . . . ruining the view.’
At this point, the male staff member brings over my drink, setting it poolside, with nervous side-eyes at his boss.
‘Thank you so much . . .?’
‘J-J-Jeremy.’ He backs away.
‘Jeremy. Nice boy.’ I nod towards him. ‘Excellent service.’
‘You can’t drink that, and you can’t swim here.’
‘Yes, you said we’re ruining the view by swimming in the swimming pool. But I can’t help noticing it’s heated. What’s the point of heating a pool that no one can swim in? It’s terribly unecological. Particularly on a hot day
like this.’
He’s starting to get the same sweaty look that Tweedledee got in the taxi. I sip my water, which is very refreshing.
‘It’s not that . . . no one can swim in it, ever. But you can’t, now.’
‘It’s all very complicated, isn’t it? There’s a pool and some people can swim in it, but not us and not now. I don’t remember anyone telling me this when I joined. I feel like it’s something you should warn us about.’
‘The members’ contract clearly states that swimming is permitted at the discretion of the management. And I am the management.’ Bashing his chest, he inflates like a big rubber ring.
‘So who can swim in it, and when? Do you all jump in at the end of the day, like the pool party in It’s a Wonderful Life?’
‘No, of course not.’ He sounds exasperated. ‘At certain times, we ask selected guests if they would like to . . . enjoy a special privilege.’
‘Well, why can’t we enjoy a special privilege? What have they got that we haven’t?’
