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carefully as I could.
    We had light training during the week, which was about all I could have handled. We even did some fun stuff, like a game of basketball. I hate to admit it, but Crewcut knew what he was doing when it came to coaching. I’ve had a few swimming coaches in my time, including Mr Ho and Toy Canavan, the Man himself, who took me for twelve months when I was in the Junior Talent Squad, and who I thought was just a big wanker. But Crewcut was sharp. Linley was lucky to have him. What am I saying? They were lucky to have me but I was still waiting for the cigars. Meanwhile Crewcut and I were almost starting to get on. Wednesday afternoon I was standing near him at the edge of the pool while he was talking to Robyn Jerrick, who was in the water. Just as he finished talking Robyn let off this enormous fart. The water boiled and bubbled like the sea floor was shifting position. I was impressed. It was the first I knew that girls farted.
    â€˜Robyn!’ said Crewcut. ‘If you want a cheap spa, go down to the City Baths.’ I laughed — quite a lot. I thought it was a funny line. Crewcut looked at me and grinned. ‘We ought to fill you with baked beans before your next race. Give you a lot of power.’
    We worked pretty hard that afternoon. I mean, not physical work, mainly practising starts. I was toey; about two out of every three were false for a while. But we got it right.
    â€˜Your father told me on Saturday that you’d practically dropped out of swimming the last couple of years?’ Crewcut — whose real name, by the way, was Scott — said to me.
    â€˜Yeah, I guess.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I dunno, the usual reasons, too much training, too many other things to do.’
    â€˜Have you thought any more about going to the Federal Swimming Institute?’
    â€˜Yeah, a little. I don’t want to rush into it. I was sort of waiting to see how I go on Saturday. This Savvas guy from St Jude’s, the one all the kids are talking about — what’s he like?’
    â€˜No guts. You hit the water hard, use your strength, get well ahead. He doesn’t have the spirit to close a gap when it opens up. He likes to lead.’
    â€˜Maybe I don’t have the guts.’ I don’t know if I was fishing for compliments or what. I think I really was unsure, but Crewcut shocked me.
    â€˜You have more determination in the water than any swimmer I’ve coached. The way you swam in that Open team at the District meet showed that. Win, lose or draw Saturday, you’ve done well.’
    I was standing on a block while he was saying all this. As he finished I closed my eyes and with my hands held stiffly at my sides did a mock faint into the water. Always the joker, folks, that’s me.
    There were no girls’ events at the CCS; it was a pompous old collection of schools for boys, all founded in the days when girls had to send their servants out to do their swimming for them. But a week after the CCS Melanie had the Metropolitan diving titles to go for, so she was putting in the hours, mostly in the gym on trampolines. It was lucky we had so many dets together — it was getting to be the only time we saw each other. We did three hours on Saturday morning. As soon as we finished, it was time to get our stuff and make for the big one.
    â€˜Good luck,’ said Mel, ‘I’ve got my fingers crossed.’ Fingers, hell. I had my toes, knees, teeth and eyes crossed.
    The school ran a bus to Pelham that would get us there in plenty of time.
    â€˜God, I’m dying for a smoke,’ I said, as we rode along.
    â€˜Just what I was thinking,’ said Melanie.
    â€˜I’ve got stacks,’ said the ever helpful Georgie Stenning, who was with us.
    â€˜Shut up Stenning,’ we both yelled, beating her savagely about the head with bags, towels and a year seven kid. The bus driver started pulling into the kerb to abuse us so we had to