Page 37 of High Season

TWENTY-SEVEN

ONE WEEK BEFORE THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

The month that Josie taught Tamara to swim had stretched out like a long, late summer sunset. Achingly slow at first and then over quickly, like the sun dropping beneath the sea, day turning into night.

They hadn’t used the pool at the pink house.

Josie’s mother had recently started her job as housekeeper, and had already warned Josie not to mix with the Drayton kids.

She was nervous, Josie told Tamara, that Josie would say something to annoy or upset her mother’s new charges, something that would get back to Evelyn.

Tamara had her own reasons for wanting to stay away from the pink house. Her mum had recently split from her latest husband and was on the warpath. Tamara preferred to be out of the way as much as possible.

Instead, they met at the salt pool early most mornings, before it got busy.

Tamara didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing her there—everyone she knew had their own pools, their own private places to swim.

Here, Tamara could strap on the armbands Josie brought from the dive shop without feeling self-conscious.

Josie could bellow out instructions, telling Tamara to kick harder, to tilt her head forward.

The two of them could float, Josie’s hand supporting Tamara, her touch gentle against her waist as she showed her how to keep her body flat and firm, the feel of her hand sending a strange electricity beneath the surface of Tamara’s skin.

On the day before Tamara returned to England, Josie brought her to a part of the beach she had never been to before.

A rocky platform, the sea lapping up against it, the dark kind of blue that suggested immediate depth.

A flight of rusting steps screwed into the rock, as if the entire ocean was Josie’s private swimming pool.

“Do you feel ready?” said Josie.

“Not really,” said Tamara.

Josie smiled and reached down to squeeze Tamara’s hand.

“Good,” she said. “That means that it’s the perfect time.”

Josie had gone in first. She swam a few meters out and trod water. Tamara could just make out her legs beneath the surface, the white of her skin as she kicked.

“Are you good?” she shouted.

Tamara was shivering, even though the morning was warm, only the faintest breath of autumn in the air. She nodded. Gave Josie a thumbs-up. Took a deep breath. Lowered her foot onto the ladder.

The water was so different from the calm, lukewarm salt pool.

Immediately the chill of the sea took the air out of Tamara’s lungs.

The swell of a wave lifted her, the spray against her face.

Driving her back toward the rocks, salt in her mouth and eyes.

A spark of panic in her gut, her legs scrabbling for the ground and finding only water beneath her.

She swallowed a mouthful of water and choked on it.

It was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She was going to drown out here, just like she’d always been scared that she would.

And then, just above the rise and fall of a wave, she saw a flash of white. Josie, bobbing in the distance. Waving, beckoning Tamara toward her. Tamara took in a gasp of air. Leaned her body forward, the way Josie had showed her to. Started to kick her legs.

It seemed to take a very long time to reach Josie.

Tamara counted each kick, each hard, scissoring motion of her legs, each drag of her arms against the resistance of water.

At first, she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

Josie remained, a flash of skin, the bob of her ponytail, far away.

Tamara lost sight of her behind a wave, and then when she emerged Josie was closer.

Larger. Tamara kicked harder. Each stroke carried her toward Josie now.

The waves seemed to level and slow. She could hear Josie’s voice, carrying on the wind. Cheering. Chanting her name.

She swam the final few strokes with salt in her eyes, her vision blurred.

When she reached Josie, their limbs collided, and all Tamara could hear was Josie whooping.

Tamara caught hold of her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, both kicking their legs frantically to stay afloat.

Dragging each other down at the same time as they held each other up.

“You did it!” Josie said.

Tamara was laughing. There was seawater in her eyes, on her skin, in her mouth. She felt alive. Invincible.

This was how she would always remember them.

Tamara is leaning out of her bedroom window smoking when she hears Josie downstairs. The click of the front door, the murmur of voices.

“Yeah,” Josie is saying. “Yeah, I can come back tomorrow.”

She sounds tired. Tamara knows that she’s been taking care of Nina all day, ferrying her down to the beach, reading her picture books. Keeping her out of Evelyn and Harrison’s way.

For the last two summers, since their dad stopped inviting Blake to stay with him in Italy, Tamara and Josie have spent time together less frequently. The days down by the sea have thinned.

Their friendship has always been a secret, ever since those days at the salt pool.

It had remained a guilty delight, knowing that their mothers wouldn’t approve—that Patricia would be on edge about it, and Evelyn would inevitably make some snide comment about the Jackson girl, about how she was a bad influence.

But recently, Tamara has found herself inventing other excuses.

Early-morning swims and late-night meetings have faded to occasional encounters when Josie is working at the house.

Tamara has found herself wondering if their mothers are really the reason for her own desire for secrecy, or if there is something more that she is afraid to admit to.

She does not like what this might say about her.

Tamara stubs out her cigarette and scrambles to her feet. She darts downstairs, out to the side of the house, where she knows that the garden exit will intersect Josie’s path up the hill. She emerges when Josie is still a few steps away, her spine hunched, eyes fixed down toward the ground.

“Hey,” Tamara says.

Josie’s head jerks up.

“Hey.”

Her voice is weighty with suspicion. The ease and warmth that used to hum between them like a current has flickered down to a faint pulse. Tamara finds herself wanting another cigarette, even though her throat still burns with smoke from the last one.

“Are you doing anything right now?” says Tamara.

Josie shrugs, wary.

“Not much.”

“Do you wanna go down to the beach? We could sneak some vodka out of Evelyn’s alcohol cupboard.”

Josie sighs. Rubs the heel of her hand into her eye.

“I’m kind of tired,” she says. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, come on,” says Tamara. “We haven’t hung out in ages. Just for an hour?”

Josie hesitates. Between them, Tamara sees the truth that neither of them will speak. They haven’t hung out for ages because of Tamara. Because of the distance she has laid between them.

Because they’re not children anymore, and the differences in their lives feel too vast, too awkward, to bridge.

“Fine,” says Josie. “An hour. But then I’m going to bed.”

Tamara feels a smile spreading up but fights to keep her mouth still. Tilts her head to the side, casual.

“I promise,” she says. “An hour.”

When they get down to the water, Tamara hovers at its edge.

“Do you want to go in?” she asks.

She so badly wants Josie to say yes. She wants to be in the water with her. She believes, in some impossible way, that it will take them back to who they once were. Two girls, without all the complicated things that have arisen between them over time.

Josie screws up her nose.

“I don’t have a swimming costume with me,” she says.

“We could paddle?”

“I’m OK. Thanks.”

“Vodka, then?”

Josie accepts the bottle and they sit on a broad, smooth rock. There is a chill in the air, and Josie pulls her knees up to her chest as she passes the vodka back to Tamara.

“What have you been doing this summer?” Tamara says.

“Working, mostly.”

“Right. Obviously.”

Tamara takes a swig from the bottle and then offers it back to Josie. Josie shakes her head.

“I’m good,” she says. “Mum will freak out if I come back hammered.”

Tamara removes her hand, stung. Already, the night is not unfurling how she had imagined. She had hoped that they’d get tipsy. That they’d swim. That she’d see Josie ease back into herself, her guard gradually falling away.

“My mum, too,” she lies, knowing that Evelyn will not care—perhaps will not even notice.

Josie shifts slightly.

“She’d freak out if she knew you were with me,” she says.

Tamara doesn’t answer.

“I guess she doesn’t know about Hannah and Blake yet?” Josie says.

“Hannah and Blake?”

Josie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” says Josie. “Hannah’s a good person. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

The words sting. I’m a good person, Tamara wants to protest. Or at least, she wants Josie to think she’s a good person. Josie had always treated her as if the fact that she was a Drayton didn’t matter. As if she didn’t see all the darkness inside Tamara.

Tamara knows how close Josie and Hannah are.

She’s jealous that Hannah gets Josie all year round.

Tamara doesn’t mind that their friendship has always been a secret from their parents and siblings.

It stops people asking questions; makes it feel more special somehow, sacred.

But sometimes she wonders why Josie doesn’t at least tell Hannah about her.

Wonders what Josie feels like she has to hide.

“It won’t last,” Tamara says.

“What makes you so sure about that?”

There’s a defensive spring in Josie’s words. The same spike that Tamara heard in the pizza restaurant. He’s not better than her. Tamara had kicked herself afterward for letting Josie think that was what she meant, realizing that she had inadvertently laid another inch of distance between them.

All of a sudden, she is tired of protecting her brother.

“He has a girlfriend,” she says.

She feels Josie stiffen beside her, alert.

“A girlfriend?”

Tamara lifts the bottle of vodka and takes a swig. Too late to go back now. “He’s been with her for a while,” she says. “Her name’s Cordelia.”

“ Cordelia? ”

Josie says the name like it’s a bad punchline.

Tamara shrugs.

“She’s old money,” she says. “Like, proper old money. Her dad’s an earl.

Mum’s descended from some European royalty or something—Spanish, or maybe Portuguese.

I can’t remember. Anyway. Blake’s obsessed with…

well. Not with her exactly. But, I guess, what she means.

What she represents. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder, about us being new money.

Always been embarrassed about it. I know, I know…

” She breaks off, preempting the snort of laughter that emits from Josie’s mouth.

“But, look. It’s big, being associated with a family like that.

It legitimizes you. Gives you access to all these parts of society that no one else can touch.

Sure, Mum knows a load of has-been actors and supermodels from the seventies.

But you have no idea the power that families like Cordelia’s have.

The connections. The doors they can open. ”

She hates herself for saying it, for knowing these things. For understanding these fine distinctions, the knowledge of the intricacies of class and wealth that have been baked into her since birth.

“He’s not going to break up with Cordelia,” she says.

“Not for Hannah. He needs Cordelia. Or, at least, he needs her family. Her dad’s got him an internship at a big investment bank next summer in Switzerland.

He’s talked about renting out this beautiful house for him and Cordelia in Zurich.

Then, they’ll go and stay with her family at their place in Lake Garda.

It’s everything he wants, Josie. He’s not going to throw it away for—”

Josie stands then. Brushes sand off her thighs.

“I should go,” she said.

“But we just got here.”

“I’m not in the mood, Tam.”

Josie hasn’t called her that in a long time. Their eyes meet. Josie looks so sad.

“Everything’s different now,” she says. “It’s not how it used to be, when we were kids.”

Then she turns and walks away. Leaves Tamara alone, with only the sound of the waves. The endless stretch of the sea.