The Art of Not Breathing (21 page)

He opens one eye lazily.

“When will you get naked?”

“Soon,” I say.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, then covers my mouth with his.

We roll around in the sand until some kids climb over the rocks that were shielding us, sniggering. As I gather our wetsuits, Tay stares at something in the water.

“Do you see that?” He’s beaming. I have never seen him look so beautiful, with his stubble and his new long hair. The salt in it catches the light, so it looks like he is covered in glitter. I look toward the spot that he’s peering at, but I can’t see anything.

“Look closely. Can you see that reddish stone? You can see the light coming through it.”

“What is it?” I ask, even though everything looks red to me.

“It’s called jasper,” he whispers. “Actually, it’s a mineral, not a stone.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “I had a toy frog called Jasper. It had red eyes.”

He walks across the beach to the water, his soles stained pink from the sand. He crouches down and scrabbles around for a bit, lifting some of the rocks and throwing them back so they make a
clonk
sound when they land. Then he walks back, grinning.

“For you. Jasper quartz. I hope it’s better than a frog.”

I take the mineral and inspect it. It nearly fills my whole palm and it’s beautiful—marbled red, pink, and orange, covered in crystals. It’s smooth on one side and rough on the other and looks like a pink pear drop candy. I want to put it in my mouth.

“Can I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s yours.” Tay sits back down beside me, looking pleased. “We could always take it to the Grotto and add it to the collection of stones,” he says. “Did the boys show you all the rocks we’ve collected? We take one in with us each time we dive there. For luck. We definitely don’t have a jasper quartz in there.”

“I saw the stones.”

I remember seeing something red when I was in there with the boat boys, but I can’t remember what kind of rock or stone it was.

I curl my fingers around the quartz, and something else comes to me.

“What are you smiling at?” Tay asks.

“Just happy,” I reply. I have thought of another part of my plan.

13

NOT LONG AFTER MINE AND EDDIE’S NINTH BIRTHDAYS,
I came home from school one day to find my parents running up and down the stairs with boxes and plastic bags. Eddie was sitting in the hallway, inside a large cardboard box that he pretended was an airplane. “Brace, brace, emergency,” he was saying.

My father, carrying a black bin liner under one arm and a small box in his hands, majestically stepped over him.

“The seat belt sign is on,” he said to Eddie in his announcement voice.

“Are we moving?” I asked, dropping my school bag by the door and kicking off my shoes. My parents were always talking about moving.

“We’re having a rearrange,” my father explained, and nodded for me to go upstairs. All my toys were gone from my bedroom, and in their place were Dillon’s muddy trainers and smelly swimming shorts.

“Where’s Jasper?” I asked, wanting to cry. Jasper. I couldn’t sleep without Jasper the frog and his lovely velvety fur.

“He’s in your new room!” Mum suddenly appeared behind me with an armful of Dillon’s clothes. She dumped the clothes on my bed and danced off across the hallway to Dillon’s room.

Dillon was sitting on his bed, arms folded, looking cross.

I turned to Mum, confused, and she sat next to Dillon and pulled me onto her lap. Dillon said I was too old to be sitting on Mum’s lap, but I let her wrap her arms around me, making the most of Eddie not being around.

“We think you’re old enough to have your own room now. It’s better if the boys share.”

Dillon huffed.

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I’m the oldest, and I should have my own room.”

“It’s not for long, Dil. Just a year or so until we can afford a bigger place.”

“But Eddie is so messy. He’ll ruin all of my stuff, and I won’t have anywhere to do my homework.”

My father appeared in the doorway and smiled at us all sitting on the bed. His long legs made angular shapes against the frame.

“We’ll make sure that Eddie doesn’t disturb you,” he says. “You can do your homework in here after school, and we’ll keep him downstairs.”

“But what if I want to listen to my music at night? It’s not fair!”

“Can I paint my walls green and silver?” I asked.

My father laughed and Dillon stormed past him, kicking the skirting board as he went.

“I’m serious, Dad.”

“No, you can’t paint your walls green and silver, Elsie. But you can help me give it a new lick of white.” My father was always painting things white. He came into the room and kissed Mum on the forehead.

“You two are gross,” I said.

After I’d moved all my clothes, I climbed into my new bed and pulled the covers up to my neck. It was cold and drafty in my new room, but I liked it. Jasper’s red eyes rattled next to me as I tried to get comfortable. I nearly didn’t get to sleep with Jasper, because Eddie wanted to have him in his bed. Mum pried Jasper from his hands and said that he had his own toys. I still felt guilty, though. As I snuggled down, I saw a movement under the door and heard a small scratchy sound.

“Eddie the ghost, is that you?”

“Brace,” I heard him say softly. “Emergency, emergency, crash landing,” then something clattered down the stairs, and I heard Dillon yell at him to get back into bed. A door slammed.

“This is illegal!” Dillon shouted. But nobody responded.

14

I PLUG MY MEMORY STICK INTO MY FATHER’S OLD LAPTOP AND
sit on my bed scrolling through the PDFs I’ve downloaded from Freedive.com. Eventually, I find what I’m looking for: weighting for deep dives. I write down the information on the back of a leaflet about adopting a porpoise.

If diving over forty meters, you should have neutral buoyancy at ten meters. Check by taking extra weights down to ten meters and gradually offload until you hover.

I feel the jasper quartz in my hand and try to work out how heavy it is. Probably not even a pound. I’m going to need quite a few weights.

I scroll to the bottom of the PDF and read the paragraph about deep-diving ascents. The last few meters of the ascent are the most dangerous, it says.
With risk of blackout.
But I’m not worried about this—if I get my weighting right, everything will be okay. I note down a few reminders for myself: keep vertical, don’t tilt head, relax.

I feel a wave of determination as I think about how good I will feel when I’m down there, how soft the sand at the bottom will be. I don’t think about how the depth might mess with my mind. I don’t think about the cold and dark.

That night, I dream of rocks and seaweed and Eddie, and I wake up at midnight gasping for air.
I’m coming for you, Eddie. I’ll be there soon.

15

THE NEXT DAY, I GO TO THE POOL ALONE AND PRACTICE.
I duck dive to the bottom and then dolphin kick back to the surface, and I do this over and over again, using all my power to resurface in one kick until my fingers go wrinkly. My legs feel strong now, thanks to Danny and his incessant squat routine that I’ve been doing every day. I will thank him one day.

When the pool closes, I’m alone in the changing room and take advantage of the huge mirrors. I look at my naked self and notice that my body looks different. I still have large hips. But my stomach is flatter and tighter and my breasts are slightly smaller. They are still not as round and as perfect as Lara’s, but they look nicer, less wobbly, and my hair is so long now that it rests on top of them, just above my nipples. I stare at myself for a long time, seeing what I look like from all angles, what I look like when I hold my breath. When I raise my arms above my head as though I were ascending from the bottom of the ocean, my body sideways to the mirror, I almost look like Scotland’s deepest girl. I’m still in this position when Ailsa Fitzgerald and Lara burst out of one of the dressing rooms, giggling. So Ailsa wasn’t up north for long. They wear matching gold bikinis to show off their slim figures and tiny waists. They must have been in the other pool, or in the Jacuzzi. I wrap my towel around me and turn my back to them, but it’s too late.

“Urgh, she’s so disgusting,” Ailsa whispers to Lara. I cling to the towel with one hand, ready to fight them off if they come near me. Ailsa parades around me, circling like a hyena. Lara watches, her lips tight. When she catches me looking at her, she hangs her head and pushes water into the drain with her foot.

“Are you anorexic like your brother?” Ailsa asks. She runs a bony finger down my cheek. “Have you been starving yourself in a desperate attempt to be
pretty?
Hmm. Not quite skinny enough yet. Still got flabby thighs. It’s a shame about your brother, though. He used to be quite fit. I saw for myself, you know. And now he’s an ugly mess of skin and bone.”

I pretend I’m not hurt by her comments and hold my head high.

“That’s odd,” I say. “I wonder why you still follow him around.”

“Hey, you said nothing happened between you and Dillon,” Lara says to Ailsa, her tone bitter.

“Relax, dopey. I’m just winding her up,” Ailsa replies. But from the look on both their faces, I’m not sure that she is just winding me up. I’m disappointed in Dillon. But he’s still my brother, and he doesn’t deserve this. These girls are not worth my time and effort. Especially Lara right now. What a bitch. I can’t believe I wasted my blue mascara on her. I start to gather my clothes, but it’s difficult with one hand.

“As if I’d touch him with a barge pole. He’s pathetic,” Ailsa continues. “They both are. Lara, I can’t believe you hung out with either of them. They’re so crazy, they should both be locked up.”

Ailsa swings for my face but misses and grabs my towel instead. She could let go, and we could all go home, but in a split second everything changes. She yanks the towel out of my hand. It falls to the floor and she kicks it away. I am naked, exposed, and livid. I go for her. I push her against the lockers and she slips to the floor, taking me with her.

“Lara, grab the towel,” she yells as I reach for it.

Lara, like a little lap dog, hops over me and snatches the towel, then runs to a dressing room with it. She stands in the doorway, chewing her hair, watching.

“Do you need a towel?” Ailsa teases. “You should cover up. You look like someone’s roast dinner. All lumpy and fatty.” She gets to her knees and looks me up and down. I try to cover myself with my hands.

I will someone to come in and help me, but the changing room is quiet. I look toward the door. I could make a run for it. I’d be naked and everyone would see me, but at least I’d be safe.

Ailsa sees me planning my exit, and then she pounces. She pins my arms above my head and straddles me. Her long blond hair hangs in my face and tickles my nose. I grab it with my teeth and tug, but she pulls away. I spit the stray hairs from my mouth.

“Lara, help me!” Ailsa cries. “She’s such a lump, it’ll take two of us.”

Lara doesn’t move.

“Lara, what’s wrong with you? Grab her arms. Now.”

“Let’s just go,” Lara whispers.

“If you don’t help me, I’ll tell everyone about your laxative habit.”

Lara moves then. I see her stick legs running across the wet floor, and then she sits on my arms. Ailsa grabs my breasts. She pinches them really hard, both of them at the same time. Lara gasps, and Ailsa laughs with glee as I cry out.

“Get off me,” I cry. “Help!”

I manage to lift my head up enough to bite Ailsa’s arm.

“You little bitch.” She gobs into my hair and then shoves her knee between my legs so hard, it sends shooting pains right up to my neck.

“What have I ever done to you?” I gasp.

“You were born. You’ve been in my way ever since I met you, making my life difficult.”

“You made life difficult for yourself,” I say.

Finally, Lara shifts her weight and I break free. My head connects with Ailsa’s nose, and she flies back and slides over a drain. The metal catches her gold bikini and I hear it snag. When I stand up, I look down to see blood streaming from her face. While Lara fusses over her, I pull my trousers and T-shirt on over my damp skin and thrust my underwear into my bag.

“You little slut,” Ailsa calls. “I’ll get you suspended for this.”

“See if I care.”

I look at Lara one last time and give her a chance to explain. She looks torn, her eyes dancing back and forth between the blood and my wet T-shirt. Eventually, she moves closer to Ailsa.

“Funny how there’s always a fight when you’re about,” I say. “And isn’t it annoying how you’re always the one left mopping up the blood.”

“Elsie, wait,” Lara calls. “It wasn’t me who told everyone about Dillon. Everyone’s been saying how sick he is. He needs help.”

“I thought we were friends,” I say to her, even though I knew the truth all along. She was using me to try to get Dillon back.

“We are,” Lara says to the floor.

“
Were
friends,” Ailsa says. “Tell her, Lar. You don’t want anything to do with her, do you?”

Lara glances down at Ailsa and bites her lip.

“You’ll just have to make do with your weird bully boyfriend,” Lara finally says. But when I look into her eyes, I see that she is crying.

Ailsa heaves herself off the floor, still holding her bleeding nose.

“As if that ugly bitch could ever have a boyfriend,” she mutters.

“At least I can get a boyfriend without following someone around.”

But that’s not really true. I went to look for Tay in the boathouse night after night, and he still left me. And even though he left me, I still went off with him after he punched Dillon. The memory of me leaving Dillon in the road bleeding makes me feel sick. But the thought of Tay leaving me again makes me feel worse.

Without my underwear on I feel exposed. My breasts are stinging, but I don’t dare touch them. I don’t look in the mirror again. I don’t need to see how ugly I’ve become when I can feel it seeping out of me every day.