Chapter 33

Think of the most awkward thing you can. Go ahead.

Trying to lick chocolate off the back of your elbow?

Farting during the commemorative minute of silence at a veteran’s funeral?

Having to explain to your parents that the thing you ordered (that was supposed to come in discreet packaging) is a ‘muscle tension massager’?

Your super Anglo cousin who got back together with his Nordic blonde fiancé after she found out she was pregnant, only to become the proud(?) father of a bouncing half-Indian baby boy?

Try working with the high-school ex-girlfriend who topped your world-record Olympic gold medal with two golds, a silver, and one each of new world and Olympic records.

Oh, and she acts like you had never met each other before.

“Jimmy, do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you need?” I was standing in the equipment shed, counting out kickboards into a pool cart.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I threw the last of the brightly coloured foam wedges into the bed of the cart and turned around. Standing there was Tim, head of the aquatics program and the head coach. My boss. Standing next to him was Nao.

“This is Nao MacRae. She’s taking over Julie’s roster. Nao, this is James Connor. He looks after the junior boys.”

“Uh...” I began.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Nao.

What?

“Uh, sure,” I said slowly. “But, uh, we—um...”

“Of course. You must have met at the Hamburg Games,” said Tim.

“Actually,” I began, intending to set the record straight.

“We were on different schedules,” butted in Nao. “So, we never actually spoke. But I did see your butterfly final, Jimmy.” Her voice was so familiar, but a much more pronounced Englishness to her vowels.

“Oh, uh. Yeah.”

There was an uneasy pause. Tim looked between Nao and I, trying to hide his curiosity at the obvious awkwardness between us.

“Well!” he said, a little too cheerfully, “I’ve got to keep on showing Nao around, but you’ll have a chance to chat this afternoon before your squads start. I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

“Sure,” said Nao. And they left me alone in the shed.

What was that all about? ‘Nice to meet you’? That was super weird.

I watched her go. Needless to say, Nao looked amazing. Her hair was longer than the last time I’d seen her in Hamburg. She had it pulled back in a tight ponytail with a short fringe. It was still dark, but shone brown in bright light. Her face was a little softer than I’d seen at the Olympics but in a good way; we were both a little older and no longer on competitive training routines or the dietary requirements. She was wearing a thin hooded pastel-coloured shell that hung open off her shoulders, revealing a tastefully contrasting t-shirt that crested off the swell of her slight bust, divided by a lanyard with keys and hot pink whistle on it. Like all of us she was wearing comfortable trainers, but she paired them with cute ankle socks and was wearing leggings that moulded to her callipygian form. She looked better than she ever had before. I watched as Tim showed her around the pool, waiting for her to look back at me but she never did.

Things didn’t improve later in the day when she returned to meet her squad and start her real job. Nao was nice enough – painfully polite would have been an understatement – but she made no reference at all to the fact we’d ever met before. No “Nice to see you again,” or “It’s been ages,” or “I’m sorry that I never wrote like I promised and then fucking ghosted you at the Olympic Village.”

She was all straight up business; ‘Where is the gear kept? How hard are our squads working? Any particular talent I should know about? Any jokers I need to be aware of?’ kind of stuff. You know, professional, but nothing personal.

I couldn’t figure it out. And it wasn’t just a one-off occurrence.

It was frustrating and it really put me off for the next few weeks. When I wasn’t at the pool, I would prepare and teach undergraduate classes three times a week, and the rest of the time I would be either at the library or at home researching and working on my degree. I would work my roster as a junior coach in the mornings, afternoons, and some evenings, always alongside Nao. It was so hard to focus. Obviously, we would see each other at the pool, but everything was strictly professional; she didn’t go out of her way to avoid me, but she didn’t actively seek me out for conversation either. She wasn’t rude or dismissive or catty to me. She was just emotionless. I wondered if it would have been easier to have her actively being mean to me – at least then I would have some indication that she felt some kind of emotion towards me. The indifference was far worse.

To avoid my mind drifting to thoughts of her, I was working overtime, constantly forcing myself to return to the task at hand. I didn’t realise how obvious this might have been to others until one evening about a month after Nao started at the club.

“Coach! Hey, Coach Connor! Co-oach!”

I turned around. It was Owen and his buddy Peter. I was standing by the pool, clipboard in hand. It was a Thursday night, and we were about an hour into our three-hour session.

“Sorry, guys. What’s up?”

They shared a smirking look, as only fifteen-year-old boys can.

“Uh, nothing’s ‘up’,’ Peter said with a snort.