Julia and the Pool

In September 2016 I submitted a version of this to the Pells Pool (Lewes) writing competition, the prize being a place in the pool's creative writing anthology.  It didn't make the cut.  I've rewritten it a number of times since then.  I've made life hard for myself by sticking close to the moment through the use of the present tense and observing through Julia's eyes, but maintaining a third person narrative.  Still, I think it works.

It’s 4pm.  The kids are back at school.  The air is thick and warm, the sky quivering on the water line.  She pays and fiddles with her luminous wristband.  She likes green.  It’s so hard to get these wristbands right.  Another lone woman gives her a nervous smile.   “Hot isn’t it?” the woman says.  Julia nods.

She stakes out a stretch of grass, puts down her towel.  My area, it says.  She wriggles through her magic towel and comes out in an aqua-marine Lycra one-piece.   A seagull lands on the grass, looking for food, cawing insistently.  She caws right back at him.  Bog off somewhere else, she thinks.

The next bit is never elegant.  She dares her first leg in the water.  God it’s cold.  Another leg, and she drops in, gasps as the water grabs her waist.  There is only so long she can remain half in/half out, sensing the mocking eyes of those who know her peril.  A deep breath, and her breasts are swallowed.  The hungry pool wants all of her.  Closing her eyes, she breaks the water.

Oh God, oh God, just keep going.  Next breath.  Right arm.  Left arm.  Repeat.  Oh God it’s good!  Endorphins rush through her wonderful weightless body.  She drops beneath the surface, arms smoothing the water, steering through the wriggling machineries of others.  At the deep end she tumble turns, her toes gently nudging the ceramic tiles as they propel her body forwards.

Later, when no-one’s watching, she sneaks out.  Her costume clings.  Earth’s gravity asserts a brutal hold.  

A quick sip of water, and her novel awaits.  Two brothers – which is the gentleman, which is the cad?  Cool streams condense on the towel.  She shivers unexpectedly.  It’s getting dark so early now.  Strangers are gathering their things, checking their mobiles.  I’m staying here, she thinks, tugging a sweater from her bag. 

After a while she closes her novel and smells the dampness of her earlier adventure.  This could be the last of the year, she thinks.  Stuffing summer back into her bag, she strides purposefully to the exit gate, pretends not to notice the darkening sky, and pulls the wristband hard until it snaps.