The Drowning of Arthur Braxton. Caroline Smailes

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       No Swimsuits Allowed:

      It’s been nearly a week now and I’m proper shattered. I’ve got no energy and I feel proper sad inside. There’s so much pain and upset in the air in The Oracle. Some days I’ve wished I was wearing my fluffy pink earmuffs. Apparently that’s normal. And that’s why Madame Pythia came in earlier to tell me that part of my job was to take a weekly swim in the Males 1st Class pool. She said the spring water would take away all the weight I’d absorbed during my first week here. That was a couple of hours ago.

      Now I’m practically being carried by Silver and Martin. They’ve each got me under one of my arms and my DMs are off the ground. I’m worried that they can see my knickers ’cause my dress is silly short and with the dragging it’s going up and up. I’m practically making tiny running steps in the air as they take me to Madame Pythia.

      She’s standing next to the wooden steps going down into the deep end of the pool. Martin and Silver let me go, my knees buckle, and I fall to the mosaic floor.

      ‘You’re being ridiculous, Laurel, this is for your own good, and hiding—’ Madame Pythia says.

      ‘I wasn’t hiding,’ I say, and then, ‘I don’t have a swimsuit.’

      ‘No swimsuits allowed,’ Madame Pythia says.

      I feel sick. I don’t like my body. I don’t like the hairs, I don’t like my tiny titties. I don’t like how the three of them are staring at me, waiting for me to strip down to starkers.

      ‘Strip, or Martin’ll do it for you,’ Madame Pythia says, and then, ‘I know this is making you uncomfortable, but there’s no other way. Let the water help you, Laurel.’

      I look to Martin Savage and he licks his lips. I can’t let him be touching my skin, I can’t let him be getting that close to me. There’s something about him that I don’t like, there’s something about him that makes my stomach do hula-hoops.

      ‘Can I change in there?’ I ask, pointing to the blue changing cubicles that line the side of the pool. I like their pink-and-white stripy curtains.

      ‘Strip, now. It’s for the best, it has to be now. Please, Laurel,’ Madame Pythia says. Her voice is gentle, yet firm. Her voice, her eyes, they make me trust her. I trust that this needs to be done, but still Martin Savage is staring and I hate that he’s staring.

      So I do what Madame Pythia asks me to do. I do it because I want this job, I need this job and, if I’m honest, I want the pain and sadness to go away. I start undoing the buttons of my little flowery dress. I slip out of my DMs ’cause they’re never done up tight, I let my dress fall to the floor. I fumble trying to undo my bra at the back. It used to be Mum’s but it don’t fit her no more. I’m still rubbish with the catch. I take my bra off, let it fall to the floor and I cross my arms over my titties so that Martin Savage and Silver can’t see my nipples. I feel stupid.

      ‘Now your panties,’ Martin Savage says.

      I do as I’m told. I feel their eyes on me and my little-girl nipples. I wish I had big brown nipples like Mum.

      ‘Get in the water,’ Madame Pythia says. I look at Silver and he nods his head.

      I walk to the edge of the pool, not sure whether to put my hands over my titties or my fanny, and grab the metal handrail. I take the wooden steps slowly, worrying that I’m going to slip and drown and Mum’ll always be wondering why I’ve died swimming with my titties out.

      One, two and my feet are in the water. It’s icy. It nips at my breathing. Three, four and the water’s to my waist. I hate cold water; I’m shaking already and can’t stop myself from wondering why on earth I even thought about getting a job with these nutters.

      ‘Swim,’ Madame Pythia says.

      ‘Swim?’ I ask. She nods.

      I let go of the metal handrail and I flop forward into the cold water. I hold my breath and I flap my arms about. It’s ages since I’ve been swimming.

      ‘Swim,’ Madame Pythia says again. I don’t look at her or Silver or Martin Savage. I look down through the water; the white tiles are too far away for my toes to touch. I look to the shallow end, I see the wooden stairs, and I reckon that I’ll swim to there and then out.

      I swim badly. Mum never could afford the lessons and the ones I had with the school were pretty basic and more about avoiding being drowned by Sheldon Frances.

      ‘I’ll do it,’ Martin Savage says. I think that’s what he says. I look up with water splashing on my face, dripping from my fringe, and I see that he’s undoing his jeans. I feel sick. I’m going to throw up into the water and I know that’ll get me in proper trouble off Madame Pythia. I don’t want him near me, I don’t want him with his willy near me. I start to panic. I flap my arms up and down through the water, trying to make me go faster, trying and trying. But the more I flap my arms, the more it feels like I’m being pulled underwater. It’s like the water’s trying to stop me escaping and it feels like there’s fingers grabbing my ankles and pulling me down. The water’s filling my mouth and my ears and covering my head and I want to scream. I think I’m dying, I’m definitely sinking.

      And that’s when I hear Madame Pythia.

      ‘Stay calm, Laurel, let the water help you,’ she says.

      And that’s when I feel his arms around my waist. I try to kick him but my legs aren’t working like I need them to work and them fingers are still squeezing my ankles. He pulls me to the side, the fingers let go of my ankles, and then he puts his hands on my naked bum cheeks and pushes me up. Silver’s standing on the edge of the pool. He drags me out from the water and onto the mosaic tiles.

      Madame Pythia is next to me. ‘You need to trust,’ she says.

      I nod. I know she’s right. I know that it’s important that I prove to Madame Pythia that I can do my job, that I trust in both her and in the water. I roll so that I’m sitting up, I’m not at all graceful, then I shuffle to the edge of the pool and lower myself into the water again.

      I hold onto the side. I turn, I look at Martin Savage. He’s still in the water. He’s still naked. He smiles.

      ‘Lie back and float,’ Madame Pythia says. I nod, then I lie back and push my feet off the wall of the swimming pool. I feel Martin’s hands under my back, I try not to think about his touching me, instead I trust, instead I ignore his fingers stroking and prodding. I float, and I float some more.

      And that’s when СКАЧАТЬ