Rapids by Tim Parks Read Free Book Online Page B

paddle. The rain pours on the rushing water. Unnoticed above, the mountains have dissolved in cloud. And take it easy when you capsize, Michela repeats. You’re hurrying. There’s always more time than you think. Imagine you’re in a swimming pool.
    Dad, don’t overdo it, Louise shouted. You’ve got to drive me home, you know.
    On the fourth attempt, having once more capsized without reaching the wave, Vince rolls his boat upright in the worst of the turbulence. The paddle is suddenly in the right place. He arches the arm, moves his hips and with no effort at all there he is, tossed out on a boil of water, disorientated, floundering, but up, breathing. Things could still go right.
    Last night, Keith was saying later, I asked everybody to introduce themselves. But then, as you know, there have been two late arrivals.
    It was raining still, but uncannily warm. They had trailed the boats back to camp. They had strung up lines between the trees to hang the equipment. At least if it doesn’t dry, the rubber won’t stink. They had showered. The Louts had cooked. The three teams are the Louts, the Pigs and the Slobs. This had been young Max’s idea during the trip out. A spirit of healthy emulation, he said in his precocious little lawyer’s voice from beneath the straw hat. Now they were all crowded into the kitchen tent in the light of the gas lamp. Across the site the French boys were drumming under their awning. Occasional thunder rumbled over their heads. The church clock has just chimed eight. It was time for the evening meeting. Sitting in his canvas chair again, Keith wears a permanent smile of self—congratulation.
    Louise?
    Yeah, I’m Louise, Vince’s daughter said. You all know me anyway. Fifteen. Chatham Grammar. Not cool, I know, but there you are. I’m here because I love the water and the company.
    All right, Brian clapped.
    That’s all. She was trying to catch Tom’s eye.
    Verdict on today? Keith insisted. There was something evangelical about the man.
    Great. Really. Learned a lot. Apart from having Phil push in front of me about every two seconds in the eddy by the wave.
    Yes, a Wally nomination coming up there, I suspect. Vince?
    Sorry?
    Could you introduce yourself?
    Vince still doesn’t understand. His mind has been captured by the drumming.
    Let people know who you are. A few words.
    Someone sniggered. It was a beat that seemed to go round and round in rapid circles.
    Yes, of course.
    He was standing by the entrance of the tent. Michela noticed that his eyes were clouded, his mouth always slightly open.
    Well, I work in a bank.
    There was an adolescent groan.
    Vince smiled. Right, he agreed. Very boring. Anyway, probably some of you will have known my wife, my wife Gloria, since she was an instructor with Waterworld until a year or so ago. He took a breath. Anyway, after … after what happened, well, she had booked a place on this trip, and I just thought I would … He couldn’t go on. The drums pattered.
    Vince’s wife, Keith cut in, was national sprint champion in her age group at Henley, when was that, Vince?
    Vince was staring at the lamp—lit faces under canvas.
    1998, Adam said.
    In the night, he opened the fridge and she was crouching there inside. He wasn’t surprised. The fridge was her domain. I can live for ever here, she told him. He was looking for eggs to scramble. What else can I cook? He took them from her hand and closed the door, then went back and opened it again. There was something I should have said. She didn’t seem cramped. She was in her gym kit. No need, she said. Her smile was condescending, like a mother’s. There’s something I want to ask, he insisted. Don’t keep the fridge door open, love, you’ll waste the cold. She smiled. You’re wasting electricity, love. There’s something … It’s precious. Close it. He closed the door. But he was in the flat in London, not at home. Gloria never comes to his London flat. The fridge is tiny. There’s something