Read Online Swim Until You Can't See Land by Catriona Child - Free Book Online

weird to think Calum and I could have been brother and sister.
    ‘Your mum was amazing yesterday,’ I say.
    ‘She’s always been pretty good in a crisis – been on her own so long.’
    Opposite of Dad. Getting up, going to work. Every night in the pub, living off beans and toast.
    ‘So what’s the plan?’ I ask.
    ‘I was thinking as little as possible. Then enjoy the rest of the weekend in freedom.’
    ‘After yesterday, a quiet day sounds perfect.’
    Calum turns the radio on behind the counter.
    ‘Fuck sake, you two listen to some pish.’
    ‘That’s your mum’s choice, not mine.’
    Forth One blares out some chart nonsense. Calum messes about with it, flicks through stations until he finally finds something that seems to please him.
    ‘How can you listen to that every day?’ he asks.
    Every day. Every day. Every day. Every day.
    ‘I just tune it out, Shirley never has it on too loud.’
    (white noise of the pool) 
    50 m. 100 m. 200 m. 400 m. 800 m. 1000 m.
    Stocking shelves. Serving customers. Stocking shelves. Serving customers.
    Every day. Every day. Every day. Every day.
    It’s still a routine, just not the one I wanted for myself.
    ‘Frightened Rabbit are great, eh? They’re at T in the Park this year,’ he nods at the radio, drums his fingers on the counter. ‘You going?’
    I watch the glass either side of the crack bounce up and down, up and down, up and down.
    ‘I doubt it.’
    ‘Aww, you should, it’ll be awesome.’
    ‘Yeah, T’s always kind of passed me by, what with training and that.’
    ‘You’re not training now though.’
    (never again)
    ‘Yeah, I guess.’
    It’s funny. Now that I have the opportunity to do all the stuff I missed when I was swimming, I don’t care all that much.
    I miss my routine
    ( 800 m, 1000 m, 2000 m)
    Calum sings along with the radio. Looks a lot older than his age, but gives himself away with the goofy grin, the air guitar. The seventeen-year-old boy peeking out from that stubbled chin, pierced eyebrow, scruffy hairdo.
    I run my finger along the crack on the counter.
    Fuck, it’s sharp.
    I flinch, pull my finger away as the glass nicks me. I suck at the blood, the tang of it on my tongue.
    ‘You alright?’ Calum asks.
    ‘Yeah, it’s my own fault. That was a stupid thing to do.’
    The blood keeps coming, the end of my finger throbs.
    ‘Hang on,’ Calum disappears into the back room, comes back with a plaster.
    She gasps for breath, fumbles with the buttons on the collar of her blouse, blood pours down onto her hands but I don’t think she’s noticed she’s bleeding.
    The blood smears across my painted fingernail.
    Blue. Bloodless. Dead.
    I feel a bit queasy so I sit on the floor behind the counter.
    ‘Sure you’re alright?’ Calum asks, kneeling in front of me. I can smell his body spray, strong and musky.
    ‘Yeah, the sight of blood, you know?’
    ‘I’ll do it,’ he says as I reach for the plaster. I hold my finger out for him. He undoes the plaster, slips it round the cut and sticks it down for me.
    Calloused fingers.
    Gentle.
    A chill runs up the back of my neck, tingles the roots of my hair.
    ‘Not too tight, is it?’ He asks.
    ‘Nah, that’s great. Like mother, like son. Good in a crisis.’ 
    ‘Anyone here?’
    We both jump as a guy appears on the other side of the counter. Nervous laughter catches in my throat and I blush. I thought we were alone. It feels like we’ve been caught doing something wrong.
    ‘Yeah, can I help?’ Calum asks, standing.
    I look up at Calum’s back. His t-shirt has risen, I can see the top of his checked boxers, a line of downy hair at the base of his spine. It looks soft, I have to stop myself from reaching out and stroking it.
    ‘These are out of date, by the way,’ the guy says, putting a packet of Hob Nobs on the counter as he pays for his paper and a can of Irn-Bru.
    ‘Are they? Shit, I mean sorry, sorry for swearing too.’
    ‘No bother,’ the man laughs, ‘I’ll take these