The Drowning Lesson Read Free Page B

was dipping between contractions. As I tugged on the McIndoe’s forceps, the small bloodstained face appeared at the bulging introitus, the tiny nose squashed flat. A deep episiotomy, one last tug and the delivery was done. The tiny boy went straight to the waiting paediatricians to be checked, then, wailing, was handed to the exhausted mother. The father bent over them, too overcome to speak. Nodding congratulations, I stripped off my gloves and left, leaving the placental delivery and vaginal stitching to my registrar. Suffused with anxiety about my own child, I had nothing to say to these parents – they wouldn’t thank me if I was honest, if I warned them that labour was trivial measured against the worries that lay ahead.
    As I walked back to the clinic along the corridor, several colleagues hurried by, all of them intent on the next ward round or clinic. I felt in my white coat for my mobile: I wanted to talk to Adam. When we were first qualified and up all night with emergency admissions, we would meet in the hospital canteen at
two a.m. As we leant wearily against each other, with our cups of watery hot chocolate on the Formica table in front of us; we would try to make sense of the demands and the suffering. We never talked about those things now. I was put through to Megan’s answering machine and cut the call without leaving a message.
    The last two patients of the day had cancelled so I left early. Alice wouldn’t be back yet and I had time for a swim in the leisure centre. The poolside seats were full of parents at this time of day, chatting as their children changed after swimming lessons.
    My father had been sitting three rows back at my school’s gala day, a Wednesday – I remember that. He never came to galas, he always worked Wednesday afternoons, but it was my tenth birthday and he’d swapped things around. His shoulders had been hunched, his mouth turned down. He looked unhappy; he’d looked unhappy for five years.
    Can you die of a broken heart? My teacher says you can. My toes curl around the lip of the pool. My heart is banging so hard I can’t think.
    The whistle goes into my spine, like hot electricity.
    My legs are beating as I hit the water, my arms already slicing. At the first turn, I’m in third place. By the time I turn again I’m lying second. On the last length I don’t turn my head to breathe, not once. I draw level halfway down then pull ahead. Bursting for breath, I touch first
.
    The roar from my school echoes round the pool. I pull myself out and turn to check on Dad. He’s smiling. Really smiling. I haven’t seen him smile since Mum died.
    Now I know exactly what to do.
    In the evening, Alice didn’t want her supper. She was quieter than usual.
    ‘Is anything wrong, sweetheart?’
    ‘Not hungry.’ She shrugged, pushing mashed potato round the plate.
    ‘You know I saw your teacher today …’
    Zoe looked up, interested.
    Alice pushed her plate away. ‘I’ve had enough, thanks,’ she said. ‘I need to practise.’
    I followed her upstairs but by the time I reached her room she had her violin in her hands. She looked up, her face a polite, questioning blank.
    ‘Ally, you probably want to know what Mrs Philips said …’
    Her fingers tightened around the bow but she didn’t reply.
    ‘She told me you might have some things that belonged to the other girls. I knew if you’d taken them, there’d be a reason –’
    ‘They wanted me to look after their stuff.’ She pulled the bow over the strings, sounding a small discordant note. ‘I said I’d keep it safe for them.’
    ‘All the same –’
    ‘I gave it back today. They can look after their own things.’ She turned over a page of music, frowning. ‘I’ve got to practise, Mum, okay?’
    I could come back when she’d finished. She might be ready to talk later but the violin scales went up and down for half an hour, then her Mozart piece started; it stumbled a little with a couple of long pauses. I waited