The Perfect Neighbours. Rachel Sargeant

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       10

      Tuesday, 4 May

      The water rippled as Helen lowered herself into it, the misty atmosphere absorbing her splash. She was tempted to float there like the old couple the day before, to clear her mind. But she couldn’t shake off the sticking, spiky thoughts she had about her neighbours. She stretched into a steady crawl, upping the pace after two lengths.

      What the hell was going on last night? Some kind of Stepford Wives’ pantomime? Mel was certainly dressed for comedy. And the blatant way she rifled through Helen’s hall, was that some kind of prank with Helen as the butt of the joke? She jabbed her hand deep below the surface, challenging the water’s resistance. But the water won and broke the rhythm of her stroke.

      Or was Mel the stooge? It was more likely that Louisa rather than Mel wanted to nose around. Was the whole “have you got any ironing” set-piece a scam masterminded by Louisa? Helen rocked from side to side as she tried to get control of her arm pulls. There was something not right about that woman, about both women. She wouldn’t be giving Mel ironing again however well she did it. And it wasn’t any wonder Damian was playing away. Louisa must be hard to live with.

      Creepy Chris must know what Damian was up to. Helen slowed her leg kicks to give her arms time to settle. That would explain Damian’s angry body language by Chris’s car last night. Maybe he’d caught Damian on his phone to Shelly Sweetheart like Helen had. Was he threatening to tell Louisa?

      The lot of them had been in their expat bubble so long they’d forgotten how normal neighbours behaved. She would never become like them. Thank God she had this pool to escape to. She pushed her hand down and this time hit the catch point. The water worked with her and her rhythm came back. She kicked hard and stepped up the pace. She settled into a twenty-length speed swim.

      She was resting when the young man – Sascha – got in beside her. Already flushed from her swim, her face got even hotter.

      “How many laps have you made?” he asked, fixing his goggles on his forehead.

      She knew her distances to within five metres but she couldn’t think. “I’ve … just started.”

      He took off his goggles and fiddled with the strap. “We could make a few laps together.”

      Her gut told her to decline and glide away; to accept would land her in the heat of something she couldn’t control. But, before she answered, he said: “I’ll get the Schwimmbretter. I don’t know the name in English.”

      He pulled his lean body up onto the poolside and headed over to the cage of swimming floats. A baby brother, nothing more.

      She matched him over several lengths but, when they sprinted the final four, she hadn’t raced so hard in months and thought blood would burst through her eardrums. She gulped for breath and put her head down for the last push. When her fingertips reached the wall, he was already standing up.

      “Unentschieden,” he panted. “We both won.”

      “A draw? How chivalrous,” she said, heart racing.

      “Schiffalrus?”

      “It doesn’t matter. Let’s swim.”

      Their last set degenerated into a leisurely breaststroke as they lifted their heads to recapture the air that racing had taken out of them. He told her he’d captained the school swim squad. She played down her own swimming career, saying she’d won the odd race now and again. For the first time in weeks she didn’t feel the need to assert her capabilities. Her companion accepted her as an equal. Condescending Louisa and belittling Chris faded out of her mind and she relaxed.

      ***

      Sascha was waiting by her car when she came out to the car park. They’d said their goodbyes poolside. A chill crossed her shoulders and she fastened her jacket. Why was he still here?

      “Are you going back to school?” he said. “The office needs me in work. It will save much time if you drive me there.”

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