Page 121 of Swim To Me

“Grey?” I pat the space above his heart gently. “Grey?”

“Mm?”

“I’m off to work. I’ll be back in about an hour, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” He smacks his lips, eyes fluttering beneath his lids but never fully opening.

I wait half a second for his breathing to return to the deep pattern of a restful slumber before I head out, locking the door as quietly as I can behind myself.

My usual tube line is packed to the rafters, unsurprising seeing as it’s a Saturday, but I manage to secure myself a seat by the doors and keep my head down, engrossing myself on the latest novel I’ve just downloaded on my e-reader.

Somebody unfolds the morning newspaper right beside me, the scent of old-fashioned ink and parchment heavy in my nose. I spot the weekly sports results on the back of the paper and turn away in my seat, unbothered by the contents of the paper, and wishing it wasn’t so far into my personal space.

Although evenIshould know by now, there’s no such thing as personal space on public transport. I should be used to it.

Tuning out the people around me, I return to my book, the noise of the overhead Tannoy announcing which line we’re on and what the next stop will be, diving in one of my ears and swimming right out of the other side.

“This is the… line to… our next stop will be…”

When the carriage begins to slow down, swaying from side to side, I peer out of the rather grimy windows, spotting the name of my stop, highlighted under the awful florescent lights and embossed into the soot-stained white tiles on the platform.

I jump up from my seat before the automatic doors can open, hoping to beat the crowd up the steps to London above to makeit to my meeting on time and not have to be stuck behind a bunch of chattering tourists.

“Doors opening. Please mind the gap,” says the monotone voice of the Tannoy lady. I swear sometimes I can hear her standard British voice in my sleep.

“Excuse me?”

Politeness has me turning around to see who’s calling, stopping short of stepping out of the now open tube doors and onto the platform, when I see I’m the one the young girl is calling for.

“Yes?” I look at her and then back at my now occupied seat, wondering if I’ve accidentally left something behind. My keys or my phone? But my handbag sits, as it always does, on my shoulder, containing all my items. I know I haven’t left anything behind, so why—

“Doors closing. Our next stop will be…”

I feel both of my eyebrows raise in a silent question to the girl, but she shies away suddenly.

“I—” I watch as she licks her lips nervously. “Never mind.”

I don’t say anything else, there’s nothing for me to say, I have no clue who the girl is,was, or what she wanted, but I can’t be late for my meeting, so I turn swiftly on my heel, bolting from the platform.

Those extra few seconds mean there’s been time for a crowd to grow, and so I’m stuck behind groups of friends and families, couples and even a tour guide, who is speaking rapid French into the mini microphone clipped to his collar, allowing the people in the tour guide to hear him clearly through their earpieces.

None of whom are in a rush because it’s a Saturday and most people don’t have an important meeting to attend.

Except for lucky old me.

By the time I emerge onto the busy streets of London, I have minutes to spare unless I want to be late. Something I don’tthink I’ve ever done in the entirety of my career working at my current publishing firm.

My calves are burning, my heart is racing and I’m thoroughly out of breath by the time I see the familiar tall building up ahead. I put on an extra burst of speed, thankful I put my trainers on today instead of my heels, making it through the foyer with a minute to spare.

“Good morning, Miss Clark,” chimes the receptionist, looking up from her computer with rather wide eyes. She looks different… she’s looking atmedifferently, but I chalk it up to the way I’m panting for oxygen. And my lack of timing skills.

“Morn…ing!”

“Everybody is already in board room number two. Would you like something to drink while you’re in there? Tea? Coffee? Water?”

I wet my dry lips and crack a smile.

“Water, please,” I croak, quickly heading along the corridor to the board room.

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