The man with Speedo goggles sliced violently through the water, passing her in the adjacent lane. Judy stopped mid-stroke and tilted her head away from the spray. She hated to get her hair wet, it was thinner since the menopause, and chlorine caused the tips to straggle. She began again, a practised breast-stroke, her limbs perfectly synced, her legs gracefully bending. It was the only time she could enjoy the movements of her body, forget about the folds of skin around her stomach, and the stretch marks from having Alison. She used to enjoy walking around London, but lately she was always being jostled, or pushed down in to the gutter aware by other women, arms linked with men. As a teenager she had been perpetually irritated by the attentions of builders, the wolf-whistles, the “Alright, darlin’”s, but now she envied the visibility of young women, their long legs.
At the end of the length she switched to back stroke, seeing as her hair was already soaked. Resting her head against the pillow of water, she focused on the grey clouds forming beyond the glass roof of the sports centre. The underside of a gull heading away from town. There were only four hours left until her date. She imagined James in his house in the countryside. Perhaps he would be shaving, ironing a shirt. Planning his underwear.
She felt horribly aware of the loose skin on her arms as they rose from the water. She only had four hours to cancel, if she was going to. She couldn’t keep spending Saturday nights in front of the telly, she was starting to put on weight, and neither could she keep turning up at her daughter’s house for company. Alison was so hopeful for her, she had to go. It would probably be good for her.
By now she had lost her rhythm, so she turned her body upright, her feet searching for the floor. She waded the last length, and eased her body up the metal steps into the sudden chill. She grasped for her towel, to conceal goose-bumped thighs, the shock of cellulite in daylight. The showers were busy. She waited by the sinks and tried to avoid looking at her reflection, but couldn’t help staring at the other women queuing. Thank God she had kept up the swimming, and still had a waist. She was certainly in better shape than the large woman in the black costume, but there was a group of teenagers in the doorway wearing bikinis. Their slender stomachs so taut compared to hers. Tonight could be the first night a man saw her naked since Henry. Not that he would, of course.
The floor had tangles of coloured hair, shifting like starfish in pools of water. Clods of chewing gum surrounded the bin. Judy wished she had worn flip-flops. She would have to shave her legs when she got home, it’d been weeks. Perhaps she would try the fake tan that her daughter swore by, there had been a sample of it in one of her magazines. Turning to the mirror she tried to work out if she needed to bleach her upper lip.
She hoped that James would look like his photo, his dark eyes had seemed warm, not nearly as penetrating as Henry’s. He was tanned, because he enjoyed gardening. Not like Henry, who would get sunburnt at the suggestion of the outdoors. Perhaps James would be disappointed by her, women always aged worse than men, and Alison had put a photo of Judy on the site from at least five years ago.
“Everyone does it, mum.”
Her biggest fear was not recognising him at all. Of asking a stranger,
“James?”
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