Until Death by Ali Knight Page B

insulated with rubber against the cold and neither was she. That weakness was why her husband had been easy to pluck.
    She watched Kelly spend a moment stretching her neck from side to side before she turned and climbed down off the jetty. She looked vacant, lost in some other place. As Kelly began to strike out for the middle, Sylvie walked to the end of the jetty, took a deep breath and dived in.
    It was fucking freezing. So biting cold she was astounded her poor heart could still beat. She struggled to the surface, unable not to gasp. She saw Kelly front crawling to the rubber ring in insulating neoprene and used her anger to fight off the paralysis brought on by the arctic water. These mad English bitches! She gritted her teeth and struck out after her. With every stroke she got angrier and angrier, her panting not warming her. Kelly turned in a lazy swirl and headed back, passing Sylvie as she went. As they came level Kelly finally saw her and came up short, gulping in some of the murky water. She made a small coughing sound that made Sylvie smile. Behind them a woman screamed as her skin made contact with the water.
    Sylvie saw Kelly swear and her mouth contract in an unbecoming line. She watched Kelly swim away faster. Sylvie ploughed on in the debilitating cold for the ring, touched it and turned. She was doing breast stroke now, it was too cold to get her head under. Kelly was nearly at the dock and turning again for another lap. ‘Bring it on,’ Sylvie muttered and began to swim after Kelly, determined to overtake her, but she hadn’t reckoned on Kelly being such a good swimmer. She liked that it was more of a battle than she had been expecting. They were both swimming hard now, Kelly front crawling ahead with a good technique and the right equipment. Sylvie toiled on, her feet and hands numb. She saw Kelly turn at the ring and head back; she dug deep and sped up further, feeling ridiculous, dragged far from her comfort zone. The lizard in the hat was already limping back to the changing rooms.
    Sucked under by the cold water, Sylvie felt the indignities of playing the waiting game, of being the mistress, an object of pity and scorn, always waiting and hoping he would leave his wife. Well, she wanted to shove their pity down their fucking throats. The cold bit down and she powered on, gaining slowly on Kelly ahead of her. What women did for men, what she did! Agreeing to take the little whiny one horse-riding! The anger inside her began to warm her up.
    Kelly reached the jetty and turned again, passing Sylvie for another lap. She had a look of triumph which made Sylvie mad. Real mad. She began to front crawl, head under the water, going all out to catch up the wife ahead. She was going to win, it just required more effort. She got to the ring and had gained a few metres; she powered on. She was stronger, faster, more agile, more determined than her rival. Of that she had no doubt. The outcome was already set. She was level with Kelly’s feet, the jetty a few metres ahead. They were locked in a race as important as an Olympic final. She gave a last push, her muscles and tendons straining, her heart burning, as they reached the jetty at the same time. Sylvie grabbed a hold on it, gasping with the cold and the exertion.
    A wave of water slapped her in the face, Kelly planing it with her palm at her. ‘Stay away from me, stay away from my kids.’
    Sylvie swooshed the water back. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She reared up and dunked Kelly’s head under the water. She felt her rival flailing as she let go.
    Kelly flew up out of the water and tried to slap Sylvie round the face. ‘Why did you tell Florence I was going away?’
    ‘Because you are.’
    ‘You’ll be waiting for ever, you stupid cow, he’s never going to leave me.’
    Sylvie laughed. Her emotions changed in an instant – now she was enjoying this. She liked it when she got under people’s skin, when she made them show their hidden selves.