Page 29 of Diving In
But I can’t control this.
“There isn’t a cure” rings in my head again as I exchange the kickboard for a pull buoy and start the next set.
I pull off my goggles at the end of the lap as I take a drink of water. Luckily, no one can see my tears through the water already on my face. I duck my head underneath, facing the back wall of the pool, and let out a silent scream.
It doesn’t make me feel any better.
How am I supposed to keep training? Ihaveto keep training. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. And when will I have time for driving lessons? I obviously need to be able to get myself to and from practice now, but I’ve got exams this summer. And the British Championships.
Fuck. I’m spiralling. I just need to stick to the training plan. I pull myself out of the water, forcing my breathing to slow, but my chest hurts and everything looks oddly bright at the edges.
“Everything OK?” my coach asks as I wring out my cap.
I frown at my hands. Why the hell are they shaking?
“What do you mean?”
“You looked a little tight out there.”
I want to snap. Of course I look tight—I’m thinking about my mum. I want to tell him everything, unload the weight pressing on my chest. But he doesn’t know about her diagnosis yet, and I don’t have the energy to explain.
Forcing a shrug, I mutter, “Sorry. Long day yesterday. I’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Don’t let outside distractions get to you,” he warns. “Swimming first, remember. You’ve got some big races coming up.”
I give him a jerky nod.
Afterwards, I stay in the showers longer than usual, letting the hot water pound against my back. In this controlled space, nothing’s changed. Maybe if I just stay here, I can pretend it still hasn’t.
Dad’s waiting in the car as I leave the sports centre.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when I slide into the passenger seat.
I stare out the window. “Maybe later.”
I realise I’m angry. At him. At Mum. How long have they kept this from me? Have they known for weeks? Months?
Dad’s voice is calm, careful. “We’ve told Kath and Josh’s families.” He pauses at a red light. “Do you want one of them to come over tonight?”
I let out a short, humourless laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Mum’s dying, but hey—I can have as many sleepovers as I want?”
Dad’s hands turn white on the steering wheel. “Be more respectful,” he snaps. “She’s my wife as well as your mum.”
The words hit like a slap, and for a second I just sit there, stung and blinking. The anger burns for a moment longer before guilt pushes it down.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I don’t mean to take it out on you. I just…” I trail off, struggling to put words to the feeling clawing at my chest. “I don’t know what to feel.”
“You don’t have to know.” His voice is quiet. “But, Sam—you don’t have to train if you don’t want to. Everyone will understand if you need a break.”
I shake my head. “I have to train.”
He nods once. The rest of the drive is silent.
When I get home, I go straight up to my room. I don’t want to see my mum right now. I don’t want to have to talk about this again. I collapse onto my bed and my gaze drifts to the photo on my nightstand. It’s one of Kath and I at the Olympics. Mum took it right after my race. I’m in my swimsuit, still dripping wet, and Kath is leaning across the railing, pulling me into a hug. That photo was taken less than a year ago. I reach over and turn it face down. I don’t want to look at the best day of my life on the worst.
Before I even realise what I’m doing, I pull out my phone and call Kath.
She answers on the first ring. “Hi,” she whispers.
