Finding Abby

2

The mixtape stays under my pillow that night. The next day I bring it with me to swim class. I shove it right down deep in my bag in my locker in the change room. I wouldn't dare to leave it at home when Mum's alone in the house. I know she probably wouldn't go through my things but I don't want her to take the mixtape away before I've found out its secrets.

I stand on the side of the indoor pool after teaching my regular swim safety class for the kids from my surf life-saving club. The echoes are all laughter, inaudible voices and muffled splashes. The huge windows down the sides looking over the car park are framed with condensation, and the smell of chlorine stings my nose. A few people are in the water along with my group. The class has been fun. I've been teaching the kids Tumble Turns and they're getting good at them. I always stick around after the lesson because my kids like to hang out and I want to keep my eye on them.

It's a good atmosphere but it's not the same as being at the beach. I'm training to be a lifeguard because while I love the water I also know it's dangerous. I love that feeling of being part of something bigger than me. It's the huge sound of the ocean and the pull of the waves and the whole 'power of nature' thing that's terrifying but makes me feel alive at the same time. But I want to understand the waves and the rips and the drag and know I can fight against them if I need to.

I'm about ready to leave when Jake, one of my kids, waves at me from where he's bobbing about in the water. He yells and points to the far end of the pool.

A lane rope separates the lap swimmers from the rest of us. Right near the middle where there's a pretty steep drop off to the deep end, flapping arms flail around.

I tell my kids to get out of the pool and holler at Jake to find the lifeguard while I unzip my hoodie to my bathers. There's no time to take off my shorts. I dive cleanly into the water, slicing fast towards the deep end.

Under the depths I make out a kid stuck under the lane rope, taking in big gulps of water, spluttering, struggling. Wrapping my hands under his armpits I heave him up so he's lying on top of me with his head out of the water. He grabs at the air with tiny fingers, chokes in big breaths – a chunky little kid with fair hair flying around his face. His eyes bulge up at me. He coughs hard as I swim to the side with him.

The lifeguard drops the rescue float to reach over and help drag the kid onto the tiles and my crew are there to help too.

"Why weren't you watching?" I burst out at the lifeguard from the water.

He ignores me and pats the kid's shoulder then asks him where his parents are.

The kid sniffs. Snot and water drip down his chin. He's only little. He gathers big, shaking, gasps of air into his lungs causing his ribs to bulge under his skin. His small fingers clutch the edge of the pool. We won't get any sense out of him.

All that matters is he's alive.

I'm about to heave myself out of the water when a man dressed in grey business pants and a shirt with his tie loosened around his neck batters in between my crew.

"My boy," he whimpers as he gathers the kid up in his arms, pools of water darkening the cotton of his shirt from the kid's wet skin. "My baby boy."

The kid wraps his legs and arms around his dad's body, clutching at his shirt with clawing fingers.

The man's tearful gaze floats down to where I'm still in the pool, shaking slightly.

"Thank you." I can tell he's embarrassed. "Thank you."

I heave myself out of the pool with my shorts weighed down with water. My blood pumps hard through me – adrenalin and all that.

I shouldn't say anything but can't help it.