The Wall by William Sutcliffe

said.
    He shrugged a reluctant yes, so I swam to the edge of the pool, checked that he was following, then went ahead to the diving tower and waited for him at the bottom step. I could see Mum at the far end of the pool, watching. I gave her a wave, and as soon as Liev was near, began to climb.
    Up I went, past the low board, then past the medium board, hearing the metallic echo of Liev’s footsteps behind me, feeling his weight judder the frame of the ladder. I didn’t stop or look down until I’d made it all the way to the ten-metre platform. I’d never been up to this level before. A glance between my legs showed the swimmers looking miniature and foreshortened, their screams and yelps blending into a continuous shrill drone. The drop had always looked high from the pool, but it seemed enormous when viewed from above. The idea of walking to the end and throwing yourself off was sickening. I shuffled from the top of the ladder to the railing that ran along the edge of the platform, my knees feeling loose and unreliable as I lurched for the metal bar, which I gripped with all my strength while I waited for Liev.
    I knew he was on a mission to prove himself to Mum, so he wouldn’t be able to dive from a lower board or turn back. It was a long time before he appeared at the top, and when he did his face was pale, his lips puckered into a hard white ring. The saggy muscles of his arms juddered as he hauled himself up.
    Trying to hide my smirk, I turned back to Mum, picking her out far below and giving her an enthusiastic wave with my right hand while holding on tight with my left. I couldn’t make out her expression as she waved back.
    Liev clambered on to the platform, clumsily heaving himself from his knees to his feet, then inching towards the railing, which he clutched with knuckle-whitening force. For a while, he stood with his head bowed, catching his breath.
    When he looked up, every scrap of friendliness had vanished from his eyes. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said, his voice cold and flat.
    ‘Did I go too high?’ I replied, all innocence and smiles.
    ‘I know exactly what you’re doing.’
    ‘My dad was a really good diver,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t afraid of anything.’
    He held my gaze, breathing slowly through his nostrils, as he lifted his index finger and gave me a sharp jab in the ribs, just below my heart. ‘Do you think you’re smarter than me?’ he asked.
    I tightened my grip on the railing, feeling suddenly vulnerable, higher up than was safe, more naked than I wanted to be. It struck me that I’d never been alone with him before, out of earshot of my mother. His body was positioned to conceal me from her view.
    ‘Don’t play me,’ he said. ‘Don’t ever think you can play me. You won’t win.’
    He reached out, and with one finger raised my chin, forcing me to look at him. His mouth was stretched into an affectionate a friendly smile that was somehow also the opposite.
    ‘So are we going to be friends?’ he said.
    I shrugged, staring at a single droplet that was clinging to the tip of his beard.
    ‘Friends?’
    I still didn’t answer, but he carried on as if I had.
    ‘Then let’s shake on it,’ he said, as if we were now, at this moment, meeting for the first time, on a high diving board. In a way, we were. This, I realised, was the real Liev.
    There was nothing to do but raise my limp, soggy hand and shake. His fingers were puffy, soft and warm. He pumped my forearm up and down, as if I was a lever-operated machine. This gesture seemed to satisfy him, and he took a single contented breath.
    ‘Good boy,’ he said, ‘good boy,’ repeating it twice with a sing-song intonation, like a trainer rewarding an obedient dog.
    With that, he tilted his head back and rolled his neck through one slow circle, then turned and walked towards the end of the diving board. He tried to appear confident, but his walk was hunched and uncertain, his knees never quite straightening, his hand