mentally pulled herself into shape.
‘I’ve decided not to go back to my old job,’ she said, finally answering the question. ‘It’s time for a change. Managing the swim school is too much the same thing I’ve been doing for ever.’ She attempted a carefree laugh. ‘Although I can’t imagine a job where my office doesn’t smell of chlorine!’
Teagan, ever the good friend, smiled back, but she wasn’t about to let her off the hook. ‘So, the new plan is...?’
On the TV a rider toppled off his horse when the big grey animal slid to a stop before a hulking log fence. Lanie watched as he immediately jumped to his feet. She could see what he was telling everyone with his body language—I’m fine!—but the commentator was explaining in a clipped British accent that this meant he was disqualified. His dream was over.
The man patted his horse’s neck, then leant forward until his silk-covered helmet rested against the horse’s cheek.
Lanie knew exactly how he felt.
‘I don’t know—maybe I’ll finish my business degree,’ she said with a shrug. Three-quarters finished years ago, she’d abandoned it leading up to the national titles, intending to defer only for a semester or two. But then she’d made the Australian team, and everything had changed.
‘Still living here?’ Teagan’s wrinkled nose conveyed exactly what she thought of that idea.
Lanie didn’t know. She’d moved back in months earlier, after the selection trials. At the time it had seemed sensible—she’d taken extended leave from her job, needed a break from swimming entirely, and without an income she couldn’t afford the rent on her little one-bedder in Scarborough without putting a huge dent into the savings she had earmarked for a house deposit. Her mum and sister had been focused on Sienna—not unusual in itself—so she’d reasoned that it wouldn’t be too bad.
But they’d both be back soon.
‘Maybe.’
Teagan raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm. You’re always welcome to crash at mine. Or I can put a good word in for you at my temp agency?’
‘And I can inadvertently work for an international drug cartel?’ she asked with a smile.
Teagan stuck her tongue out at her.
So the conversation was over—for now.
Some time during one of the rowing finals Lanie noticed Teagan had fallen asleep sprawled against the front of her sofa. She padded over to extract the empty wine glass from her friend’s hand, and then took her time washing up and tidying the kitchen.
She wasn’t at all tired. Quite the opposite. In fact with every passing minute she felt more alert, more awake.
Before Teagan had arrived she’d considered not watching the race at all. She’d told herself that it wasn’t as if anyone would know—and she’d find out the result tomorrow, anyway.
But she hadn’t really believed she could do that, and now she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t quite the same, but she recognised how she was feeling: as if she was racing today.
The anticipation, the adrenalin, the nervous energy. Muted, but there.
From her kitchen bench Lanie watched the swimmers walk out for the men’s hundred-metre breaststroke final. Watched them stretch and roll their shoulders, wiggle their legs about.
Then she watched the race—listened to the crowd, to the increasing hysteria of the commentators, and then watched the moment the winner won gold.
Automatically she smiled in reaction to the winner’s smile, and then grinned to herself when she realised what she’d done.
See? She could do this. Tonight was just like any other night in front of the television. She’d watched her sister win two medals and been genuinely nervous and then over the moon for her. If she was going to have regrets, or be overwhelmed by jealousy or resentment or something equally unpleasant and inappropriate, she would have done it by now.
It really was just another race.
On the screen, groups of swimmers began to walk out to the pool. Sweden, in their uniform of vivid blue and gold. Japan, with all four women holding hands as they waved to the crowd. The Dutch in orange and grey.
And then the Australian team.
‘Lanie?’ Teagan poked her head over the top of the couch and blinked sleepy eyes in her direction.
‘Perfect timing!’ Lanie said, managing to sound remarkably normal. ‘The race is just about to start.’
Her friend raised an eyebrow.
Okay. Maybe she didn’t sound totally normal. But surely a little bit of tension was to be expected?
The swimmers had all discarded their tracksuits and onto the blocks stepped the lead-out swimmer. Australia was in lane four, sandwiched between the United States and the Netherlands.
Teagan’s eyes were glued to the television when Lanie sat beside her, but her friend still managed to reach out and grab her hand. She shot a short glance in Lanie’s direction as she squeezed it—hard.
‘You okay?’
Lanie nodded. ‘Totally.’
‘Take your marks.’
Pause.
Complete silence.
BEEP!
And they were off.
The first leg was good—strong. The United States touched first, but there was nothing in it. By the end of the second lap Australia had drawn level.
Then the third Aussie girl dived in, sluicing through the water like an arrow.
This was her leg. The girl was just like her—the fastest of the heat swimmers, awarded with the final relay berth amongst the more elite girls.
She was doing a brilliant job. Holding her own.
Would Lanie have?
She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tight.
She imagined herself in the water. Remembered the way her focus became so narrow, so all-encompassing, that she didn’t hear the crowd—didn’t hear a thing. It was just her body and the water, and all she could control was her technique.
Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke...
The crowd—a world away—was suddenly much louder, and Lanie’s eyes popped open. The anchor swimmer was in the water, and Great Britain had a chance for a medal. The crowd had gone wild.
Teagan squeezed her hand again, harder, and Lanie blinked, refocussing her attention.
Australia had pulled ahead. They were going to win.
And just like that—they had.
The
