Nora shook her head quickly, like a dog shaking off water.
She didn’t want to be confronted with that long interminable list of mistakes and wrong turns again.
She was depressed enough. And besides, she knew her regrets. Regrets don’t leave. They weren’t mosquito bites. They itch for ever.
“No, they don’t,” said Mrs Elm, reading her mind. “You don’t regret how you were with your cat.”
“And nor do you regret not going to Australia with Izzy.”
Nora nodded. Mrs Elm had a point. She thought of swimming in the pool at Bronte Beach.
How good that had felt, in its strange familiarity.
“From an early age you were encouraged to swim,” said Mrs Elm. “Yes. Your dad was always happy to take you to the pool.”
“It was one of the few things that had made him happy,” Nora mused.
She had associated swimming with her father’s approval
and enjoyed the wordlessness of being in the water because it was the opposite of her parents screaming at each other.
“Why did you quit?” asked Mrs Elm. “As soon as I started winning swimming races, I became seen and I didn’t want to be seen.”
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