Carried Away

Briony woke to sunlight, gloriously warm and bright in her room. It was from one moment to the next that she jumped, from drowsiness to excitement as the implications of the weather dawned on her. She had planned to spend the day writing on the prompting of her sister’s bedroom, where – there was no denying it – the faint smell of smoke had hidden itself beneath strewn clothes and between the pages of Cecelia’s dog-eared books. But all this was forgotten in that moment when the sunbeams illuminated her face, and replaced by another – Robbie, after she’d begged him, had promised to take her swimming, and there was no better day than today. 

With a determination that came with the rarity of such weather, Briony fetched her things and roused her family in the process, before trotting off to summon Robbie. To her relief, he had already anticipated her request and was preparing for the lesson as well, and so Briony returned to the house to wait, her heart thrumming in her chest. It could have the result of the brief burst of speed that had pushed her body a little further than what she was used to, or perhaps it was her eagerness to make use of the sunshine, but she couldn’t deny that while her body had relaxed in the wait, Robbie’s appearance had sent yet another rush of excitement through her, so much so that she found herself positively beaming at his quiet greeting.

As they made their way to the pool, Briony was hesitant with her words, unsure of how he would respond. With eight years separating them, she didn’t quite understand him; he and Cecelia both had that air of maturity and adulthood, but where Cecelia was haughty and aloof, Robbie was quiet and thoughtful. But she still did not know how to approach him – her mouth seemed to fumble as it shaped every syllable and sound, the words falling clumsily from her lips, and so she opted to share with him her stories, beginning with the one stemming from her sister’s untidiness. She hoped to start with something familiar, as Cecelia was the only bridge between them, but then her ramblings seemed to branch off from suspected hidden secrets to her entire imagination. Writing, she confided to him, was a difficult process, where each word was as fleeting and delicate as a butterfly and the process of catching them was long and arduous but in the end, fruitful. Briony loved each and every one of stories, in her own way, and some more than others – after all, she had nurtured and raised each one of them herself, and she had felt every fluttering of pride and joy, shame and despair as she sought to capture and contain the vastness of her own imagination.

Robbie had remained lost in his thoughts during the walk, making occasional sounds of vague interest in her musings although there was no comment when she had dared to take his hand. There was no doubt in Briony’s mind that he simply saw it as an innocent gesture, and perhaps it was; even she could not be sure, but the lack of rejection had emboldened her, and so she continued her confession. She wondered if it meant anything, this revealing of her heart and mind, to him – after all, her family had only ever seen the finished products of her imagination, oblivious to the strenuous process of creating her stories, and here she was, divulging every last detail.

Her chatter continued until they entered the woods again, where the familiar sight of the pool and the accompanying excitement silenced her. The pool, Briony had been told, had been dug out in her grandfather’s time, and Robbie had warned her that although the weir slowed the current, it was still dangerous for a beginner like her.

Robbie grinned and set down the basket holding their towels and dry clothes, before diving in, lost for a moment in the murky water. She envied his swimmer’s grace, how the water seemed to embrace him like a long lost friend where she was still alien and new to the current’s possessive hold. But it was here that her determination and her trust in Robbie won out; with a shriek, she leapt into the water and into his arms, where she knew safety and security lay. 

It was under his watchful eyes that Briony trod water, fighting against the current to remain beside him. It was more difficult than she remembered – no doubt her body was rather lethargic from the days spent writing at her desk, and the water, too, seemed to push more forcefully against her, still opposed to her presence in the pool. Each time she was carried away, however, she used the iron ring to resist the pull of the current until Robbie was there to bring her back, as was his duty as her teacher.

Eventually, Briony thought her body had accustomed enough to the current and made her attempts at breast stroke. Her initial try resulted in momentary blindness as she sank beneath the surface, but then Robbie’s strong hands were under her, lifting her up until she could breathe. He kept his hands there as she practiced, but each time he took his hands away she found herself sinking, carried away by the current until she reached the weir. Perhaps another person would have panicked, or tried to fight the inevitable, but Briony remained calm in the knowledge that Robbie was there, and that Robbie would find her. And find her he did, patiently tugging her back so she could resume her swim uphill.

She was content to ignore the numbing of her fingers and toes as she swam, but Robbie was not, towing her over to the banks and climbing out easily. Here the water was reluctant to let her go, smooth and insistent in its need to keep her, and she, too, was reluctant to leave. But those fifteen minutes of swimming had tired her out more than she cared to let on, and it was with quite some ease that Robbie pulled her out and wrapped her towel around her. It was blissfully dry against her clammy skin, and Briony pulled it tighter around her shoulders as Robbie disappeared into the woods to change. Her own clothes remained in the basket, untouched and forgotten, as she stared into the pool.

She could always count on Robbie, and this trust was a beautiful thing. Surely it meant something, all the time and effort he spent teaching her, the way he was so patient with her mistakes and more importantly, his willingness to rescue her time and time again.  Was it purely moral obligation, the patient retrieval from the weir, or was it something more? She couldn’t be sure.

Heavy footsteps signalled his return and the passing of time; she’d been lost in her thoughts for too long, and the water on her skin had dried ages ago. And now her hands clutched her towel tighter, for Robbie had only promised her this one lesson, and he was always so busy and she didn’t know if knew if she’d ever see him again.  

The words came tumbling out, one moment in her mind and the next in her mouth; though impulsive, they were strong and sure, and they came as something of a surprise to both of them. “If I fell in the river, would you save me?”

“Of course,” came the answer, instant and dismissive in a way that suggested it would be an entirely natural act.  There was a certain vagueness to his voice that told her he wasn’t paying full attention, and then she smiled.

The towel was dropped to the ground and then Briony threw herself into the water.

Her bare feet are shy against the river banks. There is no easy way to enter the water, and she’s certainly not up to the graceful dive Robbie does, so she stands and waits, faltering in her determination. From this distance, it’s impossible to see what lies below the surface – strange creatures, ready to drag her down.

“You’re going to have to jump in,” he tells her, impatience colouring his voice as he treads water. But still she hesitates, because she knows that when she does, she’ll be helpless against the current. He picks up on her silence, then, and coaxes her in. “I’ll catch you.”

At this, Briony looks at him. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Robbie says firmly, and he holds his arms out.

She screams as she jumps, a loud splash marking her entrance into the water. It’s shockingly cold against her skin, and for a moment, terror freezes her body and the water engulfs her but then Robbie’s arms are around her, holding her up as her head breaks the surface. She takes a big, gasping breath, clinging to him, and exhales it with delirious laughter. And then Robbie laughs with her, or maybe he’s laughing at her, but it doesn’t matter because he caught her, just like he promised.

The shock of the impact made her gasp, and with that, what little air she had in her lungs was lost as the cold water swallowed her. Still, she was careful not to open her mouth, opening her eyes instead. Muddy water blinded her, and she fought to keep herself underwater, to conceal herself, but she floated to the surface anyway. It was impossible to resist the air against her face, and as water trickling down her face blurred her vision, she gasped loudly and sank down once more.

Suddenly her arm was caught in a familiar grip, followed by a familiar hand under her arm and then water streamed off her body as Robbie hauled her up. She blinked wildly when she saw him, hardly daring to believe even though she knew he would come for her, and then it hit her – Robbie had saved her. A great and fierce joy filled her then, and without thinking she threw her arms around him, her chest shaking with – not tears, despite the water dripping down her face – but laughter.

“Thank you,” Briony gasped, and then, because he gave no sign of hearing her, again: “Thank you.” But by then the words had become a mantra, for she could get nothing else out but that or laughter, and so she found herself saying it, over and over again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Robbie’s voice was a shock. “That was a bloody stupid thing to do,” he said, so low and so furious that she quieted. But she refused to back down, refused to let her happiness leave her.

“I wanted you to save me,” she said simply.

“Don’t you know how easily you could have drowned?” His voice was rising steadily, and his face was red from both exertion and anger.

She didn’t know what else to say, or how to explain herself than what she had already said. “You saved me.”

“You stupid girl,” Robbie said, but the insult meant nothing to her; she could see, in the way that his chest was still heaving for breaths, that he was genuinely worried for her. His next words, however, silenced her. “You could have killed us both.”

He turned away and kicked off his shoes, emptying out the river water that had collected there. “You went under the surface,” he continued. “I couldn’t see you. My clothes were weighing me down. We could have drowned, both of us.”

And then, loudly, angrily: “Is it your idea of a joke? Well, is it?”

Briony was stung by the cruelty of his words, that he dared think that she would risk both their lives for a mere joke. In her mind, it made perfect sense, this strange test of hers, but she knew from previous experiences that not many understood her mind; his anger made him irrational, and it was for his sake she searched for a plausible explanation.

She dressed silently, thoughtfully, and found the path that would take them home, and knew from the squelch of waterlogged shoes that he was following. Reluctantly, she knew that he had every right to be angry with her, and the sullen silence indicated this as they walked through the woods. But her intentions had been pure, and Briony did not want him to stay angry; instead, she resolved not to apologise for her actions. She had found her explanation and prepared to justify and redeem herself in his eyes. “Did you know why I wanted you to save me?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, feeling small and suddenly shy against the fury that had not quite disappeared from his posture.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Because I love you,” Briony declared, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin with pride, to match his impossible height, and refusing, above all, to be ashamed.

Robbie seemed unimpressed by her confession. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

“I mean what everybody else means when they say it,” she said, almost desperately. His tone was dubious, with a hint of cruel amusement to it but still she stood her ground. “I love you.”

“You love me, so you threw yourself into the river,” he said, on the brink of mockery as recalled her actions.

A wave of despair carried her hopes away. He seemed so beyond understanding, too stubborn to understand her logic. “I wanted to know if you’d save me.”

“And now you know. I’d risk my life for yours,” Robbie said, gentle before his voice took on a harder, reproving edge. “But that doesn’t mean I love you.”

She wanted to demand why it didn’t, but it was now, as the magic from her confession faded, that she realised how childish it would sound. “I want to thank you for saving my life,” she said instead, taking an abrupt turn from her script. “I’ll be eternally grateful to you.”

“That’s all right,” he agreed, slightly condescending and then even more so with his next words, as if he was rebuking a child. “But don’t do it again, for me or anyone else. Promise?”

There was nothing she could do but nod. “I love you,” Briony said for the third time, and it was as if a spell had been broken over her, for suddenly she was tired and cold and wanted nothing more than to return to her stories, where happy endings were guaranteed. “Now you know.”