When Lena left it was like losing Mam all over again. I kept expecting to see her, only instead to be faced with the space she’d left behind. I missed having her to talk to. There was no one who listened like she did, no one else I’d want to share everything with. I couldn’t imagine talking so freely to anyone ever again.
As for the swim, what was the point in chasing sponsorship money I no longer needed? The plan was stupid, anyway, thinking Nate and I could swap places. I was ready to give up on the whole idea.
That first day without Lena, Ma Blackwell was kind. It was natural to miss her, she said, when we’d been like two peas in a pod. But by Wednesday she’d had enough of my moping, and with Mr Blackwell – and Mam’s headstone – took me on the bus to the new 215cemetery where my mother was now buried. There were acres of graves in every direction, with pathways to walk along and benches on which to sit. The graves moved from St Mary’s formed a freshly dug row at the cemetery’s furthest edge. Mr Blackwell, who’d brought his spade, made a trench for the headstone which Ma Blackwell and I then eased into place.
‘There,’ said Ma Blackwell afterwards. ‘Don’t that look grand?’
Mr Blackwell stood aside so I could have a proper look. The headstone was as pristine as ever – no chips, no scratches; we’d made sure of that. Yet in such a big, open graveyard it looked smaller and plainer, somehow. A bunch of yellow roses would’ve helped.
Ma Blackwell took me firmly by the shoulders.
‘Now then, Nellie, we’ve all lost people,’ she said. ‘But you need to make a fresh start – new house, new school, and you’ve still got next week on the boat to look forward to.’
I cried then, thinking she didn’t understand.
‘You know how it feels,’ I sobbed, turning to Mr Blackwell. ‘You had to give up Perry and Sage.’
His eyes misted over. ‘Aye, but it comforts me knowing they’re getting fat on Devon grass and living the life of kings. Tis no good dwelling on the past when there’s a 216big, bright future out there.’
I’d never had Mr Blackwell as the optimistic type, and his answer didn’t help.
*
Then there was Nate. He too was patient at first. Yet when he asked me why I’d missed Thursday’s training session, we both lost our tempers.
‘It’s all off then, is it?’ Nate demanded. ‘We’ll tell the swimming people? Forget the whole thing?’
‘You could do the swim.’ I was being difficult: we both knew he wasn’t up to it.
‘And this is all because of Lena leaving?’
‘Course it is!’ I cried. Crikey, he was stupid sometimes. ‘You know why I was doing it.’
‘For the money? Only the money?’
‘Easy for you to say,’ I shot back. ‘You’ve never been poor.’
‘I’ve never wanted to swim the English Channel, either, or had an incredible talent that would make me the best of my age in the whole world.’
‘You only want me to do it so you don’t have to,’ I muttered.
‘At first, maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But you know where 217I’d be now if it wasn’t for you, don’t you? I’d be back at prep school, totally and utterly miserable, even if it is the last week of term.’
‘Then you should know how I’m feeling without Lena,’ I replied.
‘Geez! Lena’s not the only person on the planet! I’m your friend too, you know!’
I glared at him.
‘Look, I know how driven you are,’ Nate went on. ‘You’ll regret it if you give up this chance.’
‘But I don’t care about the sponsorship any more,’ I argued.
‘Nellie.’ He grew very stern. ‘You know there’s more at stake here – far, far more.’
‘Is there?’
But deep down I understood what he was telling me. I’d wanted to swim the English Channel long before I met Lena. Mam had told me not to be ordinary. Lena said she’d follow the swim story in the news. There were plenty of good reasons not to give up now.
Though it was hard to think of a future without Lena or Mam in it, if I did this, and succeeded, I’d be the first child in the world to swim all the way to France. If the officials didn’t like it, if Nate’s dad was furious, then I’d still have proved myself. And who knew what exciting 218possibilities might come next? After all I’d lost – mother, best friend, home – the swim was the one thing giving me hope that dreams really could come true.
The fight in me hadn’t gone anywhere, I realised then. I was still me, still a swimmer, still as stubborn as anything.
‘All right, I get it. I’m doing this for me,’ I said.
Nate gave a huge sigh of relief. ‘Glad to hear it, old thing! France is rather splendid in June, you know.’
‘You’ve been?’
‘Twice, actually.’
Of course he had: I rolled my eyes at him, laughing.