Chapter 14

When we arrive home, Gordon is waiting for me. He comes over to me as I cross the lounge swinging my bag to and fro.

"Hey Tin-Tin," he says. "I'm sorry I kinda laid into you earlier. You know, about going off with Scott." He stands shifting from foot to foot looking very sheepish.

"That's all right, Gordon," I tell him. "I suppose I can understand why you were confused. But it's not as if I don't go out for trips in Thunderbird 2 with Virgil, or Thunderbird 3 with Alan. No-one ever says anything about that."

"I know," he shrugs. "I don't know what it is. I guess it's just weird to see you hanging out with Scott." His grin is crooked and endearing, his thick auburn hair flops into his eyes. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. He blushes. "Tell you what, Gordon. Let's make a date for you to take me out in Thunderbird 4. Then we'll all be happy."

He blinks his light brown eyes. "It would be my pleasure!" he grins.

It's mid-afternoon and the sun is high and bright. I stand in front of my closet looking at all my swimsuits and bikinis, trying to figure out which one Scott likes. It gives me untold pleasure to think that at any one time, while I was splashing about with Alan or doing my laps up and down, his eyes were watching me with admiration. I try to think of any time that I might have caught him looking, but I can't think of a single one.

It must be the black bikini. I pull it on and check myself out in the mirror. I decide that I'm not in too bad a shape. I am not a tall, ice-cool blonde, but everything is where it should be and I make sure I get enough exercise to stay reasonably toned. The bikini is high on my hips and ties in a fetching halter around my neck. It sets off my creamy cappuccino skin. I pull on my kimono, grab my towel and head for the pool.

Gordon is at the pool making routine checks on some of his scuba equipment.

"Want to try one?" he says, indicating a nearby tank.

I pick it up by the shoulder straps. "It's very light!"

"It's a new design. Brains and I have been working on it."

I pull the tank onto my back. I adjust the straps and clip the belt around my waist.

"What's new, Scooby Doo," Gordon says, handing me a face mask and a pair of fins. "You look awesome, Tin-Tin. You know I've got a fetish for girls in diving gear."

"Oh yes. What was her name? Audrey?"

"Angie. The Babe From 500 Fathoms." He sighs.

With my mask in place I descend the steps into the water and pull on my fins. Oxygen flows smoothly through the valve and into my lungs. I submerge myself and kick along the bottom. It may only be a swimming pool but it feels like another world when you can breathe in it. It makes me think of Scott. He said I swam like a dolphin. I pretend to be one now. I barrel-roll, I twist and turn. I spin in circles and arc over backwards. I stretch my torso until my muscles burn. Thousands of bubbles cascade all around me. I am dancing in a world of my own making.

I look up through the filmy water. Someone is standing with Gordon. I kick up and break through the surface. It's Scott, wearing Oakley swimming shorts and an old Velvet Underground T-Shirt. His arms are folded across his chest. His forearm muscles are well-defined but not bulky. His Tag Heuer watch is waterproof.

"You didn't tell me we had a mermaid, Gordon."

"I found her this morning, Scott. She was washed up on the beach. She said she'd swum thousands of miles to see these creatures called 'men' that she'd heard about, who were highly evolved beings far superior to herself."

"I see. And did she find any?"

"Yeah. She found me."

"In that case, you must have caught her while she was trying to escape."

They start to play-wrestle. Gordon lowers his head and butts Scott in the chest. He tries to push Scott towards the pool. Laughing, Scott grabs the younger man's shoulders and twists him round, pulling his arms behind his back. He struggles with Gordon to the edge of the pool and heaves his brother over the side. Gordon lands with a thunderous splash and rocks me with the force of his wave. Scott yanks his T-Shirt over his head and jumps in after him. The two of them swim underneath me. I put the oxygen valve back in my mouth and dive down. With my mask on I can see clearly. They are like sleek water creatures- Gordon lithe and athletic with a crisscross of faded scars across his back, Scott broad and strong with powerful shoulders. Their legs kick wildly as they head back to the surface for air. I swim under Scott and tickle the sole of his foot. I send a cascade of bubbles up his legs. I swim away fast with my fins, but still he catches up with me, grabbing me by the ankle. He wrestles with me underwater. The bubbles of our muted laughter soar like millions of jellyfish to burst on the surface. He swims away to the edge of the pool and I watch his legs disappear as he climbs up and out. I head for the surface and watch him towel off, his wet hair as shiny as sealskin.

"Had enough already?" I call out.

"Hey, he's old. He gets tired easily," laughs Gordon.

I swim to the steps, remove my mask and fins and climb out. I want Scott to look at me. I want him to see the scuba tank strapped to my back and the belt buckled snugly around my bare waist, my high-cut black bikini, my dark, dripping hair. I want him to think I'm a sexy action-girl, like Lady Penelope. I want him to want me more than he's ever wanted anybody.

He is certainly looking. "Nice tank," he says. "Hey, Gordon- this is a nice tank. What are the specifications?"

Gordon starts rattling off facts and statistics. They pretend to have this nerdy conversation about diving equipment while I stand there dripping wet and trying to look like The Babe from 500 Fathoms.

"I don't know why I bother," I say indignantly, starting to unbuckle my belt.

Scott chuckles. "Here, let me." He moves behind me and helps me off with the tank. I smell the pool water on his skin. He hands me a towel. We watch Gordon gliding underwater. I look up at Scott shyly.

"Is this the one?" I ask.

His blue eyes appraise me slowly. The corners of his mouth tilt up. "I'll never say," he smiles.

That night I don't feel like socialising. I go to my room and sit on the bed. I pick up the framed photo of Alan that sits on my bedside table. It's a picture he gave me on my 22nd birthday. He looks very dashing and grown-up in scarlet and yellow racing gear, standing next to a powerful looking car with wide tyres and tail fins. The sun is trapped in his white blond hair and he is laughing at something off camera. He is dear and sweet, and I suppose I do still love him in a way, but he has never lit me from within the way Scott has done.

I fetch my old photo album from the chest of drawers and sit cross-legged on the bed. It's full of loose photos that I never got around to mounting or framing. I find the one I'm looking for and settle back against the pillows, holding it gently in both hands.

When I was fifteen, and Scott was home on leave, Virgil bought a brand new state of the art camera.

"It takes pictures in 3D!" he said in a tone of awe. He started taking pictures of everything. Trees, cars, trains, hundreds of images that leapt out of the frame at you. The photo of my cat Twister almost seemed alive. He took photos of Alan and Gordon, Alan and me, Gordon and me, and all three of us together, tongues protruding cheekily and arms outstretched.

And this one.

I am sitting on the balcony railing at the back of the house. I'm wearing a white T-Shirt and pink denim shorts. My hair is tangled in my eyes, my face is creased with laughter. Scott stands in front of me wearing a dark blue polo shirt and jeans with a hole in one knee. My left arm is slung over his shoulder, my fingers laced together over his chest. His shirt is open at the neck, exposing the hollow of his collarbone and the top of his smooth, tanned chest. His mouth is open wide and laughing, his eyes such a vivid blue it's as if he is actually there in the photo looking out at you. His dark hair is tousled, a thick lock of it falling over his forehead. I thought he was so grown-up, but he was just twenty three years old, only one year older than I am now.

I remember Virgil taking that picture. I remember him asking me and Scott to pose. As we stood there feeling silly, a wasp flew at Virgil's face and he jumped back, startled, and fell over Mrs. Tracy's rocking chair. Scott and I howled with laughter. Neither of us made any attempt to help Virgil up. Luckily, Virgil saw the funny side and went on to take several shots of us splitting our sides at his misfortune. I don't know what happened to the other photos, but I'm glad that I got to keep this one.

At 2am I am still awake. I have been tossing and turning for hours. I get out of bed and go to the window, pulling the drapes aside. Trees stand silhouetted in the moonlight and the dark ribbon of ocean gently shimmers.

I leave the room quietly. The house is dark and silent. I pad down the hall in my bare feet. My heart quickens in my chest. I hurry along like a fugitive. I don't know what I'm going to say if I get caught. I'm lost? I'm sleepwalking? I've completely taken leave of my senses?

I reach Scott's door. I'm shaking like a leaf. I press my finger against the door chime. I won't ring it again. I'll wait, but I won't ring it again. I'll just stand here for a few moments and then I'll leave. The moments pass slowly, as though weighted down with bricks.

The door opens. Scott is standing there wearing only jogging trousers. I plead with my eyes for him to let me in. He stands aside. I go through. He closes the door behind me. He takes me in his arms.

"Did you read my mind?" he asks softly.

"I couldn't sleep," I whisper back.

He plants small, tender kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my chin.

"Ah, Tin-Tin," he murmurs. "What are we going to do with you?"

I kiss him back. His neck, his Adam's apple, his collarbone, the middle of his chest. He makes a low noise deep in his throat. He lifts my chin and kisses me on the mouth. He pulls the sash of my kimono. It opens like petals on a flower. He slips it off my shoulders and it slides in a satiny heap onto the floor. He lifts the hem of my nightdress and slips his fingers underneath.

I have never known anything like it. If every nerve ending in my body was stripped open and set alight, it still would not feel half as hot as this inferno!

He takes me, raw and shaking, to the edge of brief insanity, and then he takes me by the hands and leads me to the bed.

I have likened Scott to a fire, but he is also like the ocean. Not just the blue of his eyes, but his body and mind as well. He can be calm, he can be tempestuous, he can startle you with his clarity and confuse you with his changing currents. He can cloud over one minute and sparkle the next. He will rock you and capsize you and throw you breathless and gasping onto the shore. But he won't drown you. Not completely. Just as you fear your last breath is coming, he will buoy you up and hold your anguished face towards the sun- and if you're lucky, then on a warm and moonlit night like this, he might just lead you down below the surface and reveal to you his secret, hidden depths.

Tonight, he does all this for me.

Tonight, at last, it's my turn.