Ink put his hand in the back pocket of his trunks and pulled out a small yellow duck.
Tay chuckled.
Ink threw it a little way ahead. “Oh no, Duckie’s drowning. Save him!”
Tay took a deep breath and launched himself into the water. He grabbed the duck and turned to see Ink splashing his way towards him.
“You saved him. You’re my hero.”
“Shut up.” But Tay laughed.
As they swam around the pool, Tay felt more and more confident. The water wasn’t deep, so if he did get into trouble, he could just stand up. Ink looked in more danger than him.
“Who taught you to swim?” Tay asked.
“A merman. Summer Splash School. Want to go on the slide?”
Tay gaped at him. “I can’t.”
“Who says? All you have to do is sit and slide.”
Tay looked up at the curving green and yellow tube. “And climb all those steps.”
“Take it steady. You can do it.”
“Okay then.”
It felt like a marathon, negotiating the winding stairs, every step an effort. Ink stayed behind him, and Tay was reassured by his presence, but he didn’t need to help. Kids raced past Tay, but he finally made it to the platform. He had a bit of trouble sitting down, but he was glad Ink didn’t step forward to give him a hand.
“Need to carry Duckie?” Ink held out the duck.
“You bring him.”
Tay pushed off hard and lay back. It wasn’t a fast ride, but it was fun. In and out of tunnels, around bends, down steep sections and moving faster and faster. All over in seconds. He flew out of the end of the tube into a small pool, surfaced smiling, and swam forward to the steps. When he heard the muffled sounds of Ink yelling as he came down the tube, he turned to see the duck emerge first, then Ink, with an almighty splash, arms and legs splayed. He swam over to Tay, collecting Duckie on the way.
“That was fantastic. Want to do it again?” Ink beamed at him.
Tay managed one more go before he couldn’t face another ascent of the stairs. Ink persuaded him into the exercise pool which had been marked off into lanes. Tay used the metal ladder to get in. Ink jumped. Once Tay found his rhythm doing the crawl, he felt as if he could keep going and going. Ink was much slower than him and only did one length to Tay’s three.
“Are you part fish?” Ink gasped. “Show me your gills.”
Tay was treading water because the pool was deep at that end. He could almost feel his muscles thanking him. That wouldn’t last.
“Tell me when you’ve had enough,” Ink said.
“Ten more lengths?”
“Bloody hell. Duckie and I will get out and count.”
He almost choked with laughter when he made his first turn and heard Ink say “Seventeen” followed by “Four” on the next turn.
Tay nearly gave up after seven lengths, but he pushed himself on. He ought to have come swimming before now.
BY THE TIME THE FLAT was in sight, Tay was rethinking his plans to go swimming four times a week and dropped it to once—if he felt up to it. In his excitement at actually feeling normal, he’d overdone it. Everything ached. Everything except his head.
“I need to lie down,” he told Ink. And take a few pills.
“Let’s go into the garden,” Ink said as he pushed him up Rimmington Road. “I want to lie flat on my back in the sun and remind myself I’m not a sea creature. You can join me.”
Lying in the sun did sound good.
“There’s a blanket on the chair in my room,” Tay said.
“Suntan lotion?”
“Bathroom.”
“Want a book?”
“One by the side of the bed.”
Ink locked the chair while Tay pushed to his feet and made his way up the steps. Hurts, hurts, hurts. By the time Tay opened the door of the flat, Ink was behind him with the wheelchair.
Dog came running up and it was Tay he fussed around first. Tay was surprised how good it felt for someone—something to be pleased to see him.
“Make your way to the back door with Dog and I’ll get the blanket,” Ink said. “Those steps aren’t safe, so I’ll help you down.”
Tay leaned against the wall by the back door and waited. Ink came past him with the blanket and spread it on the grass. Dog bounded down the steps, did his spins, lay in the middle of the blanket, and Ink laughed. He came back to Tay and took the crutches from him. “Leave them inside. They’re