Тим Леббон - New Fears 2 - Brand New Horror Stories by Masters of the Macabre

He found himself contemplating the colour of the bronzed man’s tan as he swam. Perhaps it was the morning light, but he appeared almost aureate, shimmering on high like a statue or idol. If it weren’t for the occasional movement as he shifted position or extended his grasp along the balcony railing, it would have been easy to take him for the gilded figure of a man.

The hotel complex was coming alive, guests emerging bleary-eyed on their way to breakfast, pausing to reserve clusters of sunbeds, the circumference now littered with emblems of footballs clubs and Disney characters in terrycloth. Eamon heard the familiar shrieks of the Two As , spotting Sherry in the distance with the pushchair and he stopped mid-stroke to rise onto his back. He stretched out his limbs to float, his ears beneath the surface so he was deaf to everything except the sound of water. And he watched the bronzed man at the summit stretch upwards in imitation, reaching toward the sky.

After breakfast, Eamon decided to take a walk around the complex. He wanted to see how high he could get. He took the elevator to the top floor, but came out beside a conference room full of stacked chairs and trestle tables. He leant against the glass and looked down at the pool, spying Sherry asleep in the sun, but it wasn’t nearly as high as the bronzed man’s platform. The only staircase descended back to the foyer, so he made his way down, taking another set of elevators to a parallel accommodation block. Though he emerged at a roof terrace, he couldn’t find a way across to the bronzed man’s balcony. Chancing upon a cleaner, he tried to ask in broken Spanish for a way up to the topmost floor. But without the bronzed man there it merely looked like part of the roof and the cleaner shook her head blankly, whether in answer to his question or due to misunderstanding he was unsure.

Making his way back down and resuming his place poolside, Eamon saw that the bronzed man had likewise returned to his station. But his arms were folded as if he were displeased by Eamon’s wandering. Eamon sank into his sunbed, lifting his book to block out the bronzed man’s gaze. He forced himself to read, though the words held no gravity and he glanced up every few pages to check if the bronzed man was still there.

He felt better in the water. Despite the fear of colliding bodies, he began to swim with more dexterity, weaving between children crowded on lilos and novice swimmers lacking spatial awareness. In the afternoon, he took turns pushing the twins across the water in their swimming rings and taught them to jump off the edge into his waiting arms, making a big show of lifting them into the air as he caught them. It would have been easier with one, instead of having to partition his attention between each child, but eventually Sherry rose from her sunbed to join in their game and they were able to all play together.

The bronzed man continued his vigil into the peak of the day. Even when Eamon wasn’t looking directly at him, he seemed to cast a golden light over the complex. Eamon’s hippie sister practised Reiki and was always talking of auras and mystic energies. Aura was not a word he would typically use but the bronzed man did seem to radiate an ochroid glow that extended beyond the mere colour of his tan. Looking at him for too long was like staring at the sun; you had to blink away while the afterimage blurred on your retina.

The Two As cried at being returned to the crèche after so much fun in the water. They gripped the safety rails as if they were prison bars. Sherry turned her sunbed round, hoping they would calm down if they couldn’t make eye contact. Their whimpering increased when the kidz club mascot tried to pacify them.

“Ignore them,” Sherry said. But Eamon was watching the way the gold light fell across the play area and trickled onto Annabelle’s face.

Back home the twins were Eamon’s usual alarm clock, but here he woke before them and made his way down to the pool. He liked this nascent hour before the hotel was overrun with people, when he could swim in the adults’ side of the pool instead of being stationed opposite the crèche, before he was called upon to change nappies and placate tantrums. It also meant getting out of dressing the twins and the tedious process of covering them both in a milky film of suntan lotion, and he would continue to swim until he was summoned away for breakfast. Of course, there would be a reckoning for enjoying so much free time, but he didn’t care how many jobs and errands Sherry devised when they got home to satisfy her sense of fairness, to atone for being an unrepentant sun-worshipper.

The bronzed man was always in his customary position when Eamon arrived, leaning over the balcony railing, presiding over the complex. Eamon had considered getting up even earlier to see if he could be at the pool before the bronzed man, but he felt intuitively that the bronzed man wouldn’t approve and was reminded of the defensive posture he’d assumed when Eamon had tried to make his way to the top of the complex. The bronzed man clearly did not want to share his dais.

Eamon assessed his own tan as he took off his T-shirt, literally pale in comparison to the bronzed man’s, though certainly possessing a healthier glow than when he’d arrived. He wondered what kind of spectacle he made. He was overweight for sure, but he felt better moving through the water, becoming more proficient with his swimming each day. He wondered if the bronzed man had noticed the improvement; keen to be more than just another idle holidaymaker.

Why the bronzed man never deigned to come down to the pool often occupied Eamon’s thoughts as he swam. Surely, he would want to cool off, to dip his feet at the very least as the day drew on. The roof terrace offered no shade, and in all this time Eamon had not seen the bronzed man pause to apply sunblock or to take a drink. He just remained at his post, apparently without fear of sunstroke or melanoma, as the sun beat relentlessly down.

With a flourish, Eamon dived underwater, surprised at his own confidence. He emerged seeking the gaze of the bronzed man and his inward applause. But the bronzed man was looking into the distance, beyond the arc of patio umbrellas, the coconut fibres like witches’ tresses. They cast shadows on the ground, knotted mounds resembling bonfires. Eamon heard the cry of a baby before he saw the young man in the baseball cap, rocking the infant in his arms. He watched him walk toward the edge of the pool whilst trying to hush the child. The man nodded at Eamon when he caught his eye and, as Eamon returned the greeting, he noted that in all this time he had never exchanged such a simple courtesy with the bronzed man.

Eamon tried to continue swimming but the young father pacing beside the pool put him off his stride. The sound of his flip-flops against the paving, the whimpering of the baby, all served to distract him. Eamon observed how tired the young man was; the way he rocked the baby with his eyes closed as if encouraging the child to do the same. The young father tried lying back against the sunbed whilst maintaining a cradling position, but whenever he got comfortable the infant would stir up. The child sought movement and the man rose again, rocking with renewed conviction.

Eamon had little sympathy. Though the Two As were better sleepers now, he was not out of the woods yet and he had two to contend with, after all. Try having twins , he wanted to shout at the young man. But he sank into a breaststroke instead, swimming toward the pool ladder, not wanting to advertise the fact he could devote a portion of his day to leisure.

But the man was too preoccupied with the baby to notice Eamon. He walked and rocked, walked and rocked. He came closer to the water, stepping into a stream of light peeling down from the mountains and the baby’s crying became louder. The young man didn’t step back into the shade, however, but looked up towards the bronzed man, lifting the peak of his cap so he could see more clearly. It was then Eamon saw the flash of understanding across the young man’s face, the expression so transparent it was as if he were mouthing his intentions. He began to rock more vigorously, gaining momentum, and for a moment Eamon was sure he was about to release the baby into the water.