Free Swimming on Dry Land by Helen Blackhurst Page B

we were having such a good time, and I just needed to forget the whole thing. I thought the fuss might blow over. And then I finally got you here. I didn’t want you turning round and going home.’
    Mike puts one of his hands on the top of his head and looks down. When he looks up again, his lips are slightly parted as if he’s about to speak. I wait, winding the loose button thread on my shirt around my finger. I pluck at the thread a bit, and then go to the fridge for two beers, one of which I set down in front of him. I pull the damn thread some more as I say: ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I really thought it was all over.’
    I flip the beer top and take a swig, throwing the opener down beside his bottle. For a few seconds I glimpse the stubborn fiery bastard Mike used to be, the way his face sets hard.
    â€˜What are we supposed to do?’ he asks.
    â€˜We keep looking. I’ll see to it those shafts are properly sealed off as soon as we find her. I’ll get a fence put up.’
    â€˜A fence?’ Mike moves around the table towards me. His face is bright red. ‘A fence?’ he repeats.
    â€˜Where are you going?’
    He bolts out. I give the shirt thread a final tug and my button falls to the floor.
    Susan doesn’t comment on the beer in my hand. She drops her doctor’s bag so that she can hug me properly.
    â€˜Don’t suppose they’ve found her then?’ is what she says. ‘Caroline called. Where are they?’ She steps back to take a good look at me. I haven’t showered or shaved in two days. ‘What did they say about the others?’ She waits for my response. When nothing comes, she says, ‘You have told them?’
    I nod, directing her towards the sitting room.
    Susan is the only person who understands that none of this is my fault. I can still hear Mike, the outrage, as if I’d somehow betrayed him. I haven’t betrayed anyone. All the same, I know I made a mistake, but things can still turn around.
    Let me tell you a story about my older brother. When he left university, he was the brightest of the bunch, a real star. (I was never much of a scholar.) Mike met Caroline that same year, in Paris I think. She was doing some student exchange, singing in a jazz bar at night. I didn’t like her at first. Found her a bit thin, not literally, but she didn’t have much zazz. It was only after she had Monica that her singing really took off. She grew on me. I hung around their house in Hendon quite a lot; I had nowhere of my own at the time.
    A friend of mine working on the stock exchange gave me a few tips. After a couple of failed attempts, I struck lucky; that was really what set me up. But Mike, he always worked like a dog and kept his head down, just like Dad. Never complained, never asked for anything. You reap what you sow, and what you don’t sow won’t grow . What I envied Mike was that he seemed satisfied. I tried to show him that there was more to life, but in a way he had it all. And I had nothing: money, yes, women galore, but nothing worth dying for.
    After Mike had the car accident – he didn’t even hit the child – he stopped driving and sort of curled up in a ball. I was amazed. I couldn’t believe that the great Mike had fallen flat. I tried everything I could, but he wouldn’t shake himself out of it. Next thing, he’s working in some back street cinema doing bitty reviews for the local press. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, even the best of us can miss a pitch.
    When I get to the sitting room, Monica is asleep again. Caroline and Susan are deep in discussion with Maddie Brenton, a blunt decent woman – knows a nail from a screw. The three of them are clustered together by the window like witches. They stop talking when they see me.
    â€˜Is she alright?’ I ask. From their rolled-up faces I can tell they don’t know who I’m talking about. ‘Monica