Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

After ten minutes, Emma still hadn’t come out. He was about to go in and check she hadn’t run off, when she appeared before him, hair hidden under a rubber cap, a red Lycra costume clinging to her slim white body. Her nascent breasts were encased by the fabric, which allowed a discreet rise at her chest, nothing more. Her face showed a tinge of shyness.

‘Nice costume. Is it new?’

She shrugged – a twitch of shoulder with the slightest curl of her lower lip. ‘Not really.’

He led Emma to the shallow end, where a collection of mothers and small children dotted the casual swimming area. Goggled swimmers zipped up and down the cordoned-off section. A lifeguard sat motionless in a chair.

‘Coming in?’

Emma stood at the edge of the pool, hands on hips, studying the water with a look of disdain.

He walked slowly over to one of the faster lanes and dived in, striking the surface cleanly and gliding as far as he could. He emerged, arms slicing effortlessly through the water, legs propelling him, an efficient and powerful machine. This was his chance to impress her. He was in his element in the pool, no longer a man of fifty-three, with greying hair and a large number of titanium teeth, but a swimming champion. It might be nearly forty years since he won the title, yet he could still out-swim most people.

At the other end, he looked for Emma. She was sitting disconsolately on the edge of the pool, head down, feet dangling in the water, ignoring his performance. He swam back, stopping a short distance from her.

‘Aren’t you coming in?’

She looked at him as if he were an idiot, then back at the water. ‘It’s cold.’

‘No it’s not!’ He scooped up some water with his hands and sent it in her direction. She made a face as a hail of drops struck her. ‘Come in, scaredy cat! It’s only water.’

She slid down, grimacing, and attempted a few strokes of front crawl. Her arms generated more splash than motion.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ He demonstrated how her arms should strike the water. ‘You try now.’

It was better this time. She turned back to him with a hesitant smile.

‘You’re getting it,’ he said. ‘Kick a bit more.’ She got the knack after a while, though she still insisted on sticking up her head as she swam. ‘Okay,’ he coaxed. ‘Can you swim all the way to the other end? Take it easy, don’t rush.’

He swam alongside her until she lunged for the side of the pool.

‘Made it!’

‘That’s a girl! You’re a quick learner. At this rate, you’ll be able to swim a whole length next time.’

Surprise and delight flashed across her face. She responded to his praise like a plant to the sun. There was a long way to go before she became a half-decent swimmer, though.

He watched her swim some more, calling out suggestions from time to time. An elderly woman swimming on her own gave him a friendly nod.

She thinks I’m Emma’s father .

None of the other swimmers seemed to suspect anything either. Why would they? There was no sticker on his forehead announcing: THIS MAN CAN’T BE TRUSTED. In any case, he told himself, he had no intentions towards this girl other than to help her swim better, and for her to enjoy their outings. Anything else wasn’t worth the risk.

‘I’m tired,’ Emma announced after less than fifteen minutes. ‘I want to get out now.’

‘Okay.’ Paul pointed to the café tucked behind a glass wall. ‘Get changed and wait over there for me, okay? I’m going to swim a few laps.’

He watched her swim over to the steps, climb out and remove her cap. Damp hair tumbled down her back. Before she turned away, he saw the outline of her breasts under her costume. For a split second he could see her naked.

He pushed himself off the wall and swam lengths as hard as he could, until his arms ached.

When he saw Emma again, her hair was blow-dried straight and her lips were glossed. She sat with her elbows on the table, studying the menu.

‘Can I have something to eat?’

She pleaded with her big brown eyes. Something about her reminded him of Laura at that age. He forced his mind back to Emma’s question.

‘What would you like?’

Instantly, her face brightened. ‘Coke and chocolate fudge cake, please.’

He sipped his coffee as Emma consumed her cake in large, almost continuous, mouthfuls, ignoring the fork he’d got for her. She ate as if the cake was the only thing that mattered in the world. Her fingers became flecked with brown. A brown smear appeared below her mouth. Crumbs fell into her lap.

Their outing had gone okay, hadn’t it? He considered. She hadn’t been badly behaved, only a little offhand. That would change, next time. Maybe. The girl seemed to like him, but she wasn’t sure of him yet. She would let him see a glimmer of her real self, and then retreat, afraid of letting him get too close. But she would start enjoying herself soon enough. They were only on the first square of the board.

‘What did you do for Christmas?’

‘Granny and Granddad came over.’ Emma frowned, swallowing cake. ‘Then we went to stay with my uncle.’

‘What about the rest of the holidays? Got any plans?’

A roll of the lower lip. ‘Don’t know. Watch some DVDs. Maybe go ice skating.’

It didn’t matter if they didn’t talk. Silence was fine.

He watched the last piece of cake disappear into her mouth. Emma slurped Coke through her straw, meeting his eyes. He couldn’t help smiling. What was it about her? She was just as Laura had been – floating inside her own secret world, a mysterious, ever-changing creature.

Emma licked each finger in turn then wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. Without warning, a smile transformed her sullen face – a come-and-get-me smile, he thought. As if she was daring him to react, to do something. Was she playing with him? Or was it just his imagination?

‘Do you like school?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like the teachers, and the subjects are so boring. I hate having to learn things I don’t like.’

‘There’s no subject you like?’

She took a while to answer. ‘I like art. And sport.’

‘What’s your favourite?’

‘Netball.’

‘Do you have lots of friends at school?’

‘Hannah’s my best friend.’ She coiled an elastic hair band around her finger. Her voice was low and musical, a rain of silky notes. ‘My other friends are Zara and Kylie. And Mandy, sometimes. But my mum doesn’t like her, she’s always getting into trouble at school.’

‘Do you see your friends during the holidays?’

She hesitated. ‘Sometimes we go to each other’s houses and stuff. I go to them if Mum can take me – she doesn’t let me go on the train on my own. Anyway, I usually have to look after my little brother when she’s out at work.’

‘That’s not so easy, I guess. Little brothers can be tough. I didn’t have a brother but my two sisters were bad enough.’ He waited for her to respond, not wanting to turn the conversation into an interrogation. But she’d turned her attention to her Coke.

He wondered how it would end, their first outing together. Would it be their only outing? That would be up to Emma, partly. Jane wouldn’t force Emma to come to the pool with him if she told her she’d hated it.

Suddenly, the thought of Emma not wanting to swim with him again was unbearable. He knew it was gaining strength, this urge inside him. He knew he should tell Jane he wouldn’t be able to take Emma to the pool again. He was too busy, or she was too difficult, any excuse would be fine. It would be the right thing to do. Then there would be nothing to tempt him.

‘I enjoyed our swim, Emma,’ he said as they got up from the table. ‘I’d like to do it again soon, if you would?’