Swim Until You Can't See Land by Catriona Child Page B

again following this.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first stage of your training. Some of you may well have guessed from your interviews why you are here. For the rest of you, I’m sure it will soon become clear. This isn’t a holiday camp. You are all being thrown in at the deep end and it’s up to you whether you sink or swim. You’ve all been chosen as we think you should be able to swim, but we’ve been wrong before.
    ‘So, before you get too comfy, up, up on your feet, that’s right. You too, Miss. Everyone starts with the obstacle course. We time you now, and then again at the end of the training, give you a score, hopefully you’ll have improved. No complaining, I told you this wasn’t a holiday camp. Line up over there, yes, that’s right. Now, I’ll send you off in pairs. Right, you two first, then the rest carry on behind. Okay, you two, on the count of three. Three, two, one, off you go.’
    He blew his whistle.
    Marièle lined up beside her roommate, Eliza. They were next, dressed identically in the khaki blouse and loose-fitting trousers they’d been given to wear. Some of the other girls had fastened their leather belts tight around their waists, attempted to give some definition to the shapeless outfits. Marièle undid her already loose belt, slipped it back a few notches. There was no way she’d make it over that first obstacle if she couldn’t breathe properly. Eliza’s belt accentuated her curves, her bosom. She’d already attracted attention from the male recruits, despite her wedding ring.
    ‘I’ll never make it over,’ Eliza said, her eyes on the girls in front of them. They both struggled to ascend the first obstacle, logs of wood piled high into a wall. Doris had managed to swing one leg over the top, but Celia’s jumps had failed to even take her that far.
    ‘It looks like Miss Lewis needs a leg up,’ said the trainer.
    ‘I’ll go!’ one of the men shouted.
    ‘This is not an opportunity to get fresh with the other recruits, Captain Ramsey, you wait in line please.’
    Marièle watched their trainer march towards the wall. Doris seemed to sense his approach, hauled herself over and disappeared. Celia clung to the top of the wall, tried to scrabble her feet up the wood.
    ‘What do you call this, Miss Lewis?’ The trainer glanced at his watch. ‘Three minutes in and you’re not even over the first obstacle.’
    ‘It’s too wet, my feet keep slipping,’ Celia replied.
    ‘This is Scotland. What did you expect? Now up you get.’
    He bent down and pushed his shoulders under her bum, hoisting her up. Marièle watched her swing her legs over and she was gone.
    ‘This is silly,’ she whispered to Eliza. ‘Are we not meant to be using our wits too? My wits are telling me to go around.’
    ‘Is that right?’
    Marièle jumped as she realised the trainer stood beside them.
    She made a face at Eliza, who winked back.
    ‘Right you two, ready to get going?’
    He blew his whistle and Marièle set off running towards the wall. The trick was to get a bit of speed up. George was the school track and field champion and she remembered him explaining the high jump to Mama.
    Speed, Mama, speed. The faster you go, the higher you jump.
    Gosh, what would George think if he could see her now?
    The wall loomed in front of her, closer and taller, closer and taller. She kicked off from the ground, gripped the top of it, felt a splinter stab into her hand, her plimsolls sliding and slipping as she tried to scramble up the damp wood. Her forearms burned as she heaved and tensed, pulled her body weight up. Eliza struggled next to her, panting and out of breath.
    ‘Holy mother of goodness.’
    Marièle giggled as Eliza swore.
    No, no, no. Laughing made her muscles weak, she slipped back down the wall. Come on, come on, you’re almost there.
    ‘The mother of our lord is not going to help you here,’ the trainer shouted.
    Not him again.
    Marièle couldn’t face another of his