Swimming Upstream Read Online Free PDF

called out “Hey, Tyler” as he passed them on the stairs. I lay and
watched the shadows cast on the ceiling by the passing traffic, while the music
throbbed below. After ten minutes had passed, it started to dawn on me that
maybe he wasn't going to come back. Of course he would, eventually, since this
was his bedroom but I couldn't just stay there, not for much longer, not if he
didn't want me there. I wondered if Jude had come back from Marion's and was
once again crying on his shoulder over the elusive Brian.
    I turned over and buried my face in the pillow. It
smelled sweet and musky, an indefinable aroma of sleep and shampoo and sweat,
of Larsen. I inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Five more minutes, I kept
telling myself. Five more minutes, then I'll go. But every five minutes was
followed by another. Eventually, I sat up and felt around on the floor for my
shoes. I was about to get up when the door opened and Larsen stepped into the
room, holding the remains of a bottle of vodka and two paper cups.
    “Why, oh why, oh why,” he said, “do people bring
brown ale to parties?”
    “Because it's cheap and no-one likes it,” I said,
almost laughing with relief. “And they’ll still have something to drink when
they’ve drunk what everyone else has brought.”
    “Spot on. Bloody scroungers.” He looked at me. “And
where do you think you're going?”
    “Nowhere,” I smiled and lay down on the bed again.
    “Look, I got this. Took
me a while to find it.” Larsen kneeled down on the floor beside me and poured
two generous measures of vodka into the paper cups, and handed one to me. “So,”
he said. “Where were we?”
    Several hours later I became aware that the music had
stopped and that the house had fallen silent.
    Larsen leaned over, pushed my hair away from my
forehead and kissed me gently on the lips. His breath was sweet and warm.
    “What time is it?” I asked.
    “I dunno, three or four.”
    “Do you think everyone’s gone?”
    “Yep. Or crashed out.”
    I propped myself up on one elbow and peered around
the room, blinking and trying to focus in the dark. The moon had shifted. All I
could see were darkened shapes and Larsen's silhouette above me.
    “Do you think I should go home?” I asked.
    “No,” he said. “I think you should stay here, with
me.”
    There had been many times in my life when I had
been indecisive, many times I'd felt ambivalent about things and unsure of what
I really wanted (especially when I got it). But I knew beyond a shadow of a
doubt that I wanted Larsen, more than I'd ever wanted anything or anyone in my
life.
    Larsen sat up with his back to me while he unlaced
his trainers. I could just about see his shoulder muscles moving up and down
inside his t-shirt. With a deep-seated sense of foreboding I wondered if I was
going to have to pay for this at some point in the future, if the Gods would
get jealous, as the saying went; but I didn't care.
    “How're you doing, are you okay?” Larsen was
leaning over me again.
    “I'm okay,” I said. “I have to admit, horizontal
is good.”
    “It's good for me too,” he confided, as he slid
under the covers and covered my body with his own.

3
    Martin stood by the car in silence and held the back door
open.
    “Uh uh, sprained ankles in the front,” said
Catherine, tugging at the passenger door and helping me inside. She climbed
into the back seat with my crutches.
    Martin got into the driver’s seat beside me and
started the engine. He drove silently out of the hospital gates and out onto
the ringroad. Once or twice I caught him glancing in my direction. When I
glanced back at him, he looked back at the road ahead of him and smiled. I was
a little taken aback at his cheek. Here he was, engaged to be married, and yet
he was chatting up strange women at the swimming pool and inviting them for
coffee. Surely he must at least be wondering if I was going to tell Catherine? The
tension between the two of us was palpable.