Alex by Tessa Duder

Author:Tessa Duder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: OneTree House Publishers
Published: 2021-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Staking out the territory

That first night I went to bed while it was still daylight and Zoe and all the others were having dinner. I slept for thirteen hours. No 5.30 alarm, no nightmares of Andy drowning, car accidents, swimming in glue or making a fool of myself on a stage; my first total zonked-out sleep for two years. Mrs Churchill got all peculiar about the idea of me missing dinner, but the very thought of food and another roomful of strangers made me feel ill.

Besides, I had this new and heady sensation of lightness. No one here knew anything about me or my times or the fact that I’d never swum in an international race in my life. No one expected me to win a medal or even get into the final. Back home, they knew I was up against Dawn Fraser and the American wonderkids and they just wanted me to do my best. I went off to sleep naked under a sheet, light-headed and smiling.

I’ll never know if the bells were real. Did I dream them, the bells ringing at dawn, the magical beginning of the third act of Tosca when the shepherd boy sings to his sheep? I listened to the record at home often enough. Or did I really hear the distant bells of the city, St Peter’s and the rest, all on different notes, calling? Real or dreamed, no matter, I slid blissfully back to sleep, hearing bells.

‘Alex? Are you alive? Wake up.’

Behind my eyelids I registered light, warmth, sweet female smells, my own hot smell. Voices outside, not English, traffic, car horns. Where on earth was I?

‘Alex!’ An older voice, worried. A weight sat on my bed. Someone had hold of my toe. ‘Alex?’

I’d become paralysed in the night, I’d picked up polio in Calcutta, I was about to be carted off to an iron lung.

I prised a sticky eyelid half open, and saw a prim lady with fuzzy grey hair and glasses, wearing a white embroidered blouse of the sort bought in Singapore. Mrs … Churchill, ah, right, my chaperone and I’m in Rome for the Olympics.

‘How do you feel?’

I’m in Rome to swim in the Olympics!

‘How do you feel, Alex?’

‘She’s okay, Mrs Churchill. Look at her grinning.’ That must be Zoe, my high-jumping room-mate, sounding quite chirpy.

‘It’s breakfast time, Alex. You must have some food.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Nearly eight. You’ve been asleep for thirteen hours.’

‘Mmmmmmmm.’ No cat ever had such a stretch. Did I dream that beautiful pool surrounded with pine trees, the turquoise water? No, I didn’t. For the first time in months, despite a low-down gut-ache, I couldn’t wait to go training.

‘You were out cold last night,’ said Zoe, brushing her long hair. You just died. I’ve never seen anyone drop off so quickly.’

‘Were you here?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’ I must have sleepwalked too. At the pool, with me upright, but only just, we’d got a taxi after some lengthy pidgin English-Italian chat and a long wait. There’d been a small problem with Italian money, because neither of us had any.

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