“For how things were before I left. You know over the summer…” I trail off. She’s still watching me. Eyes wide.
“Alright, you two; let’s go and dance,” someone calls, and I groan grumpily as Austin pulls Kath up and towards the dance floor. I don’t resist as Kath grabs my hand. As I watch the lights bounce off her hair, I wonder once again why we can’t be together. I might only be in America another few years. Maybe I could make things work this time.
The question echoes around my mind as I put my hand on her waist and we start to sway.
Chapter 31
Twenty years old
Kath
Morning sun filters through the hotel blinds, casting a striped shadow across the starched white bedsheets. I’ve been up for an hour, but I haven’t had the heart to wake Sam yet. After how much he drank last night, he needs the lie-in. I ended up bringing him back to my hotel room because, in his state, I didn’t trust him to find his own. He passed out almost immediately.
Now, as I sit on the edge of the bed, I remind myself,again, where the lines of our friendship are. Where they should be. The problem is that when we’re together everything feels easy and the sharp edges start to blur in my mind. And the way he stroked my hair and danced with me last night? That isn’t helping. Nor is the way his nose grazed the side of my throat, or how his hands felt on my waist. Or the things he said to me; about how much he missed me, and that he was thinking about the summer before we went to university.
Still, it’s not just that. I’m worried about him.
I know drunk people say things they don’t mean, but as I wrestled him out of his shoes before he collapsed into bed, he kept mumbling that he didn’t deserve good things. And something about his mum, how she wouldn’t be proud of him. I wasn’t exactly sober myself, but I know whatI heard. Now, in the cold light of day, I don’t know how to bring it up. Especially not when he’s this hung-over.
Sam groans and rolls onto his back, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Morning,” he mutters, eyes cracking open. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine.” I hold out a glass of water. “This is the longest lie-in you’ve had in ages. Surely you should feel amazing.”
He glares at me. “That’s just cruel.” He sits up and takes the glass, draining it in one go before groaning. “I feel like someone’s playing the drums in my skull.”
“You’ve just won a few medals; I think you have permission to feel a bit rubbish.” I smile. “You need to shower before your media block, it starts in just over an hour. Can you handle some breakfast?”
“Ugh.” He sinks back down onto the pillows. “I forgot about that. Kath, I can’t do it. I get so nervous and always say stupid things.” His face has turned from relaxed to panicked in only a few seconds.
“Up, up, up,” I chivvy him. “You can’t cancel this. You have two minutes to get out of bed before I refill this glass and tip it over you.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, pushing himself up and stretching out. OK, I take back what I said; even dishevelled he looks unfairly good. I try to clamp down my feelings again.
Friends, Katherine. Just friends.
Whilst he showers, I try to work out when my feelings shifted. When did I go from knowing we were only friends to feeling something more? Was it that summer? Was it when he visited Exeter, and I realised how much I missed having him around? Or have I always felt like this and been kidding myself since I was fourteen?
I’m worried it’s the latter.
“Why do you get so nervous about interviews?” I ask over breakfast. He still looks green and is eyeing his second slice of toast like it was involved in the events of last night and can’t be trusted.
I’ve always been curious. Sam isn’t exactly wildly extroverted, but I don’t think he’s as shy as he worries he is. He never had any problems making friends at school, and from what I can tell, he has a large group of friends in Florida too. I’ve watched him give interviews before, and he hasn’t ever said anything stupid.
“I always feel like I’m going to mess up.” He runs a hand through his hair. “People have so many expectations of me, or versions of me that they’ve created based on watching me previously. One of the youngest Olympians. The British swimmer who trains in America. The guy who’s meant to break the records. But no one actually knows me.”
He manages a wry smile. “But if I’m just myself, I’m not living up to the persona that they’ve created. Being in America the majority of the year, I’m not up to date on things I feel I should know about. Like, I don’t know much about the state of community pools in the UK anymore, or about the swimming charities and stuff. But if I don’t mention them, I’m letting them down because the work they do is so important.”
I get it. Sam always wants to be the best. To do the right thing. It’s just hard to know what the right thing is when you're juggling the expectations of thousands of different people.
He pauses. “Sorry. That was definitely a hung-over ramble that made no sense.”
“No, it made sense.” I sip my tea absentmindedly. “I guess I don’t know what it’s like. No one would ever recognise me in the street or think that they know me. There are no expectations of what I should or shouldn’t say.”
He pushes the plate away, most of the food untouched.
“But, Sam.” I push the plate back towards him. “That’s on them. Just be yourself and people will like it. I like you as you are; you don’t need to change into a different version of yourself. You love what you do. That’s more than enough.”
