How to Save a Lifeguard by Penny Rogers, a bottle of Chardonnay

 The splashy butterfly stroke stopped and Judy’s head popped up out of the disturbed water.

‘Did you see what that man did?’

Suse, concentrating on her backstroke, had been unaware of anyone else in the pool. She’d only stopped to adjust her goggles.

‘He just blew his nose into the water,’ said Judy crossly. ‘I’m going to have a word with him.’

Suse watched as her companion remonstrated with the man. He didn’t seem to care about pool hygiene and Judy wasn’t about to give up. Suse fiddled with her goggles and returned to her backstroke.

‘He called me a stupid … word beginning with c. I told him he was very rude.’

‘Well done for standing up to him. Perhaps he won’t come here again.’ Suse watched the portly figure waddle into the changing rooms.

‘If he does I’ll tell the manager.’ Judy was not going to let him get away with either his nose blowing or his language. ‘What are you looking at?’

The lifeguards were changing over. Suse watched as the young woman with a mass of red hair was replaced by a young man. ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head and changed to a front crawl.

 

‘Fancy a coffee?’ Judy rubbed her hair vigorously. Unable to think of an excuse Suse agreed, though she really wanted to get away from the pool. ‘Let’s go into town. Try that new place next to the cinema.’

While they drank their lattes, Judy chattered, scarcely stopping to take a breath or sip her drink. For once Suse was glad of the stream of words, it meant she didn’t have to contribute anything except an occasional ‘hmmm’ or ‘spect so’.  She could let her mind wander, back more than forty years and up to today when the lifeguards changed over. Out loud she said, ‘It couldn’t be.’

‘Oh yes it could. I was in the group changing room last week, all those youngsters waxed and smooth and me feeling like a real old frump with my hairy foo foo.’

Suse spluttered; fortunately her mug was almost empty. ‘Sorry I was miles away.’

Her friend stopped talking. ‘Are you OK? You’re very quiet.’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to make sense of something.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘Nah. Maybe, I’ll let you know. Want another coffee? Or something stronger?’

 

‘I knew there was something the matter.’ Judy re-filled her glass, ‘Sorry to sound smug, but it’s not like you to be evasive. C’mon, tell me everything’.

Suse examined the rim of her glass. ‘I like chardonnay; they say it isn’t cool nowadays. But I like it.’

‘You’re doing it again.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Being evasive.’

‘Get another bottle, Judy, I’ll tell you what I can.’

Judy came back with the bottle and plates of tapas. ‘No excuse now. Spill the beans.’

‘You know that lifeguard at the pool, the one with the curly hair and lovely dark eyes.’ Judy nodded encouragingly, not at all sure that she knew who Suse was talking about or where this conversation was going. ‘Well, I think he might be my grandson.’ Suse gulped her wine and reached for her handbag. ‘Damn smoking bans.’

‘Carry on. You haven’t smoked since I’ve known you, that’s at least ten years. Just tell me how that young man could possibly be your grandson. You told me you’d never had any kids!’

‘Well I did. Forty-two years ago to be precise. A boy.’

‘Go on.’ Judy passed a packet of tissues to her friend.

‘No need for those thanks. Enough tears have been shed for my little boy. I called him Luke.’

‘What happened to him?’ Jude thought she might need the tissues.

‘Adopted. I couldn’t look after him. No money, no home, I wasn’t much more than a child myself. You see I think my baby’s dad, Terry, died.’

Judy raised an eyebrow, ‘what do you mean THINK he died.’

‘Well, he worked away quite a bit, something to do with phone cables, and one day I got a letter supposedly from his dad to say that he’d been taken ill and died in a hospital in Wales.’

‘Sounds fishy to me.’

‘I thought so at the time, but there wasn’t much I could do. Afterwards I reckoned that he must’ve been afraid it was all getting too serious. Then I found out I was pregnant.’

‘That was awful Suse, and very sad; a lot to deal with. But coming up to date, what makes you so sure that the lifeguard who’s sometimes on duty when we swim is your grandson.’

‘He looks just like Terry, same eyes and curly hair.’

‘So are you going to talk to him?’

‘Don’t be daft, Judy. What could I say. “Hello is your dad forty-two years old? Does he have curly hair, and by the way, is his name still Luke?” They’d call the police’.

Judy munched on a crispy anchovy. ‘You’re right. Lots of people have curly hair and dark eyes. That isn’t enough to go on. Here have some of these little beauties.’

 

Two months later they were back at the swimming pool. Judy had looked for other exercises to distract her friend from what she was afraid could become an obsession. They tried Nordic walking (too wet and cold), line dancing (too many people in the class), Yoga (bossy teacher) even Boxercise (too physical). 

‘Don’t worry, Judy.  When “you know who” is on duty I won’t keep looking at him. Or pretend to drown.’ She added the last bit to lighten the mood. ‘Whether he is or isn’t my grandson is neither here nor there. I gave up my baby and that’s it. Back to perfecting my backstroke.’ Suse jumped in the deep end. She doesn’t want to talk about it, mused Judy. It must still hurt, though she makes a good job of pretending it doesn’t.  Both of them were relieved that there was no sign of the dark-eyed lifeguard with curly hair.

 

In fact he seemed to have disappeared altogether. ‘He must’ve got another job, or gone to university or emigrated.’ They were enjoying wine and tapas in what was becoming their favourite place to meet. ‘Better to be fixated on crispy anchovies than fantasies,’ Suse observed, picking up the local free community magazine that had been left on a chair.

‘Oh my dear lord, look at this!’

Judy took the paper from her friend’s shaking hand.

“Lifeguard’s Search for Donor” screamed the headlines. ‘Jamie Fuller, a popular lifeguard and swimming instructor at Wavy Days Leisure has been diagnosed with a rare kidney disease. His blood type is unusual and the search is on for a suitable donor. His mum Emma said ‘We need an exact match, preferably from a close relation. So far no luck, but we keep hoping. Meanwhile Jamie’s really grateful for all the support he’s been getting, but time’s running out.’

 

In her comfortable sitting room, Suse poured herself a cup of Earl Grey. Judy, for once unable to say anything, stirred sugar into her coffee.

‘It’s all done, Judy. I’ve signed the consent forms.’

‘Well done, Suse, you’re very brave.’

‘No I’m not. There really wasn’t another option. Once all the tests showed a good match then I had to go ahead. They’ve explained what will happen, the risks and everything, but at my age it’s fine. It’s not as if I’ve got a family to worry about – I’ve got good friends…’ she smiled at Judy, ‘…but I could give that young man the chance of a life.’

‘So, is he your grandson?’

‘Probably. But d’you know when it came to the crunch I asked the hospital not to say anything.  After all these years it didn’t seem fair. And I’m not sure how I’d cope with having a family, they might not like me. Let’s just say it’s a happy accident that I’m a good match.’

‘But Jamie’s dad, your son Luke, will put two and two together. He must know that he’s adopted and that any close match is likely to be with his birth family.’

‘I’ve really thought about it, Judy. I used to imagine what Luke looked like as he grew up. I still do if I’m being honest. You know the sort of thing; seeing anyone of the right age on the television, a politician, a sportsman, a rock star.’ She paused, looking determinedly into the middle distance.  ‘Sometimes I wonder, could that man be my son?’

‘And now you really have seen your grandson.’

‘It seems so. But you must understand why I’ve decided to stay anonymous. Such a lot of water has gone under the bridge.’

Judy smiled at the cliché. ‘It’s quite hard to keep a secret these days, so much on social media. And it’s relatively straightforward to track people down, even after many years. I expect Jamie Fuller’s family have left no stone unturned to find his relations.’ She paused and took Suse’s hand. ‘Look I know I’m a blabbermouth but I’ll never breathe word of this to anyone. By the way, do you know who came swimming yesterday?’

‘No idea.’

‘That awful man who swore at me when I told him off for blowing his nose into the pool!’

‘Oh dear, what happened?’ Suse was glad of the distraction.

‘He winked and smiled at me! I didn’t know what to do or say. D’you think he was goading me or chatting me up?’

‘What he said to you was offensive; if he is giving you the glad eye I’d be inclined to…’ 

The doorbell rang, interrupting Suse. ‘Talk about it in a minute. Whoever can that be?’ She went to her front door.

Judy settled back in her chair and helped herself to a chocolate biscuit. Looking around the room she was struck by the absence of photographs. Her rooms, and those of most of her friends’, tended to be dotted with generations of family pictures. It struck Judy as rather sad that Suse had none.  From the hallway she could hear a male voice, talking too quietly for her to catch any of his words. Then she heard Suse speaking.  From the other side of the wall she could sense uncertainty and emotion in her friend’s voice. She wondered what was going on. The answer came as she heard Suse say just one word. It was clear although muffled, as if spoken through a blanket.

‘Terry?’

About the author

Penny Rogers lives in Dorset in the south of England. She writes mostly short stories, flash fiction and poems and facilitates an informal writing group. She is a regular contributor to CaféLit. When she’s not writing Penny makes jams, pickles and preserves from home grown or foraged produce. 

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