Chapter 3. Testing the Waters

All characters and events depicted are purely fictional and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

It was a balmy summer evening at the local pool in Clapham, and the atmosphere inside was tinged with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The first day of the annual Proudington Swimming Club assessment was upon them—a week-long ritual that separated the mergays from the minnows, as some of the more competitive members liked to say. This was the time when swimmers could be ‘promoted’ to higher lanes or, to their utmost horror, ‘demoted’ to a lane they’d rather not associate with.

The air was filled with the smell of chlorine and the murmur of voices, punctuated by the occasional shrill laughter. Swimmers streamed into the changing room, each one with their own peculiar mix of hope and dread.

Juan, always the social butterfly, was the first to start the conversation as he stripped off his neon-pink shorts—an enduring choice—and pulled out his swim gear. “So, my darlings,” he began, his voice carrying a tone of mock seriousness, “who’s ready to be judged by the aquatic gods tonight?”

Rooney, who was already halfway through changing, gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Juan, please! If I get bumped down to Lane 7, I’ll have to drown myself in the shallow end.”

Colin, ever the pragmatist, raised an eyebrow. “Rooney, you’re already in Lane 6. It’s not like you’re scaling Mount Everest. Think of it more like… hopping over a speed bump.”

Rooney shot him a look. “Easy for you to say, Colin. You’re in Lane 5. You’re practically swimming with Poseidon himself.”

Tiago, overhearing the conversation, chuckled. “If Poseidon was a middle-aged man in a bright orange t-shirt yelling at us to kick harder, you mean.” Tiago’s voice had its usual edge of sarcasm, and he added with a grin, “John does love to shout, doesn’t he?”

George, who was always bright-eyed and impossibly cheerful, piped up in his rapid-fire way, “Oh, come on, Tiago! He just wants to see us do our best, yeah? Like, he totally believes in us! Even if he does call us ‘babies.’”

“Babies with potential, I’ll have you know,” Juan interjected, winking. “Though, I’d rather be a baby than end up in the Development lane again. That’s where dreams go to drown.”

Marián sauntered over, already in his fitted black swimsuit that clung to him like it had been painted on. “Ah, darlings, don’t be so dramatic. We’re here to dazzle, aren’t we? This assessment is just another chance for me to shine.” He flicked his hair back with a flourish.

Colin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Marián, we’re all well aware of your shining capabilities. Maybe just save some of that sparkle for the water, yeah?”

Leonardo, smiling warmly, chimed in with his smooth American accent. “I think you are all forgetting that John loves us all equally—like his own little mergays. Even if he’s got that scary face.”

“Scary face?” Ross boomed, laughing. “Nah, that’s just his Northumbrian charm. You’ve got to listen carefully. Underneath that thick accent, he’s actually saying he loves us.” Ross paused, flashing a grin that could light up the darkest winter’s night. “Or he’s telling us to swim faster, one or the other.”

Rooney laughed. “I think he’s mostly telling us to swim faster. Maybe the accent just makes it sound more loving.”

As they continued getting ready, the conversation flowed from one topic to another, anxiety and excitement threading through every joke and jibe. George was fiddling with his swim cap, his hands moving so quickly they were almost a blur. “But really, yeah? What do you guys think they’re going to test us on this year? Endurance? Speed? Maybe a new drill?”

Tiago, who had opinions about just everything, was quick to respond. “Hopefully not another endurance set. If I have to do another 400-meter set while John stares into my soul, I’m going to pass out.”

Juan snorted. “Oh please, Tiago. You love it when John looks at you. Gives you a chance to ‘correct’ him on swimming technique.”

Tiago shrugged. “What can I say? Someone has to keep him on his toes.”

Marián, now fully dressed and inspecting himself in the mirror, added, “Well, I don’t care what they test us on. I just hope they’re ready to be dazzled by my butterfly stroke. I’m feeling particularly majestic today.”

Rooney pretended to swoon. “Oh, Marián, how lucky we are to witness such majesty. We’re not worthy.”

Colin chuckled. “Alright, alright, let’s not lose our heads. Remember, we’re here to swim, not audition for a reality show.”

At that moment, Philippe walked in, looking slightly harried but still managing to exude a certain je ne sais quoi. “Ah, everyone, bonsoir! Are we ready for zis, how you say, ‘judgment day’?”

The group groaned in unison, a mixture of laughter and genuine anxiety. Tiago muttered, “Oh great, the French executioner has arrived.”

Philippe laughed. “Non, non, I am only ‘ere to observe… and maybe give some helpful tips. Remember, zis is not ze end of ze world. It’s just swimming, after all.”

Ross clapped his hands together. “Well, thank God for that. I was worried we might have to run a marathon next.”

“Don’t give them ideas!” Rooney shot back.

Juan, always the optimist, gave a little twirl in his swimsuit. “Okay, boys, enough with the doom and gloom! We’re here to give it our best, and if we end up in Lane 8… well, we’ll make it the most fabulous lane they’ve ever seen!”

George laughed, “Yeah! Lane 8 can be the new Lane 1, but, like, with more spirit fingers.”

Leonardo chuckled. “Yes, but let’s hope John doesn’t see it that way. I’m not ready for the Development lane life again.”

Colin checked his watch and nodded toward the pool door. “Alright, it’s nearly time. Let’s get out there and show them what we’ve got. Besides, the sooner we start, the sooner we can stop worrying about it.”

As they moved toward the pool entrance, the sense of camaraderie was palpable. Despite their nerves, the friendly jabs and shared jokes had lightened the mood, reminding them all that whatever happened, they were in it together. They might be anxious mergays today, but they were also a team—and that was worth more than any lane number.

The door to the pool opened with a heavy sigh, releasing the smell of chlorine into the changing room. John stood at the far end, his orange t-shirt bright enough to guide a ship to shore, his cap pulled low over his eyes. His gruff voice carried across the water. “Alright, babies! Get in the water. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

With a collective deep breath and a final grin exchanged between them, the Proudington swimmers marched out, ready to face their watery fate.

As the swimmers entered the poolside, the humid air immediately wrapped around them like a warm, slightly damp hug. The familiar scent of chlorine filled their lungs as they made their way to the lanes. Normally, the pool was set up with four to six lanes, but today, two of them were mysteriously closed, leaving only two lanes available for their club session. John, the head coach, was standing at the edge of the pool, his orange t-shirt looking like a beacon against the pale blue of the water.

“Right, listen up, you lot!” John bellowed, his thick Northumbrian accent cutting through the general murmur. “We’re mixin’ things up today. Only two lanes are open, so we’re gonna have to put swimmers of different abilities together. It’s a challenge, but you’re all mergays, aren’t ya? You’ll manage!”

A few chuckles rippled through the group. John had a way of making things sound like both a compliment and a warning. He looked down at his clipboard and then up at the group with a wry smile.

“So, here’s how it’s gonna go: Juan, Rooney, Samuel, Marián, Colin, Tiago, Ross, and George—you’re all swimming in the same lane today. Good luck!”

The group burst into laughter at the thought of sharing a lane. Normally, they swam in different lanes according to their abilities, but today, they’d all be crammed into one lane, from the speedsters to those who had the endurance of a toddler in a nap contest.

“Oh, this is going to be interesting,” Rooney chuckled, shaking his head.

Juan grinned. “This is like throwing a poodle, a chihuahua, and a greyhound into a race and seeing who comes out on top.”

Ross laughed. “Yeah, and I’m guessing it won’t be the chihuahua.”

George, always the optimist, chimed in. “Come on, guys, let’s give it a go! It’ll be a bit of fun, won’t it?”

Marián, who was adjusting his swim cap with a flourish, smiled. “Oh, I don’t mind leading, but I can’t promise I won’t leave you all in my wake.”

Colin snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Marián. This isn’t a photoshoot for Vogue.”

Samuel, with a sly grin, stepped forward and addressed the group. “Ladies first!” He gestured grandly toward the pool. “Ladies, you go first! Dogs are second.”

There was a ripple of laughter, and for a moment, no one moved. They all stood at the edge, hesitating, not wanting to be the first to jump in and set the pace. It was like a standoff at a spaghetti western, except with much more Lycra and fewer cowboy hats.

John’s patience ran thin. “Oi! Stop yer gigglin’ and get in the bloody water!” he shouted. “We don’t have all day! You’re here to swim, not to socialise.”

Marián, never one to shy away from a challenge—or the spotlight—took a deep breath and dived in with a graceful arc, his body slicing through the water like a dolphin. “Fine, I’ll go first!” he called over his shoulder. “Try to keep up, darlings!”

With Marián taking the lead, the others followed one by one, slipping into the water and starting their swim. John barked instructions from the side. “Four hundred meters front crawl! Keep it steady, keep it strong!”

The group began their warm-up, each swimmer settling into their own rhythm. Marián, to no one’s surprise, was out in front, swimming with a smooth and confident stroke, his movements almost artistic. Juan, in his own lane of determination, was trying to keep up but soon realised he’d have to pace himself. Rooney was somewhere in the middle, his strokes enthusiastic but a little splashy. Colin, ever the picture of concentration, focused on his form, glancing occasionally at John for approval. Tiago, of course, was already muttering under his breath about the inefficiency of everyone else’s strokes.

After they’d finished the 400 meters, John blew his whistle. “Alright, now 100 meters butterfly! Let’s see what you’re made of!”

The group collectively groaned. Butterfly was not everyone’s favourite stroke. Juan immediately shot his hand up, a look of mock distress on his face. “Oh no, I urgently need to wee!” he announced, dramatically clutching his stomach. “I’ll be right back!” He climbed out of the pool with exaggerated urgency and made a dash for the changing rooms.

Ross, laughing, turned to the others. “Typical Juan! Every time there’s a tough set, suddenly it’s a national emergency in the bladder department.”

Rooney grinned. “I think his bladder has an aversion to butterfly. It’s almost… allergic.”

Samuel chuckled, still catching his breath. “It’s okay, guys. More room for us to flail around in butterfly style without hitting each other.”

Marián rolled his eyes but with a smile. “Ah, let him go. We’ll see how long it takes for him to ‘wee’ and magically reappear when the butterfly is over.”

John, overhearing them, gave a gruff chuckle and shouted, “Right, quit the yappin’ and start swimming! I don’t care if you look like a drowning cat—get those arms out of the water!”

The group pushed off again, this time attempting the dreaded butterfly stroke. Marián, still leading, showed off his well-practiced technique, looking almost serene in the water. Ross was just behind, muscling his way through the set with surprising ease, his CrossFit training kicking in. Rooney was somewhere in the middle, his form determined but slightly awkward, while Tiago, ever the critic, was muttering something under his breath about how everyone was doing it wrong.

George, in his usual cheerful manner, was attempting to keep up, his face breaking into a grin every time he surfaced for air. “This is actually… kind of… fun!” he puffed, which only made everyone else laugh even harder.

As they neared the end of the set, John blew the whistle again. “Well done, babies! Except for Juan, who’s clearly havin’ a sit-down protest in the loo. Let’s hope he doesn’t fall in.”

The group laughed, their earlier anxiety melting away into camaraderie. They were a mismatched bunch, swimming together in the same lane against all odds, but they were making it work. And as they prepared for the next challenge, they realised that maybe, just maybe, this strange mix of abilities and personalities was exactly what they needed to get through the assessment—and maybe even enjoy it.

John had announced the next task with the sort of grin that one might expect from a medieval torturer.

“Right, listen up, all!” John called out, his voice echoing across the pool. “We’re doin’ 1,500 metres. That’s 150 metres ten times, with just ten seconds break between each. No dawdlin’, no excuses. You’ve got ten seconds to catch your breath, then off you go again!”

A collective groan rose from the lane. Ten seconds felt like the time it took to blink—twice.

“Ten seconds?” Tiago piped up, his face a mix of incredulity and exhaustion. “That’s not a break! That’s just… less swimming! We need at least 20 seconds, John. Come on, be reasonable!”

John, catching Tiago’s protests, gave a wicked grin. “Oh, do you now, Tiago? Maybe we should give you your own special set. ‘Ow about a nice little 3,000 metres while everyone else has a cuppa?”

The group erupted into laughter as Tiago muttered something under his breath that was lost in the chatter, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “I’m just saying,” he continued, slightly less loudly, “ten seconds is barely enough to catch my breath, let alone fix my hair.”

Marián, never one to miss a chance, teased, “Oh darling, your hair will survive. Focus on those strokes.”

They all lined up again, ready for the next bout of aquatic torture. John blew his whistle, and they were off, churning through the water like a pack of determined but slightly chaotic dolphins.

Juan, however, seemed to have other ideas. About 100 metres in, he stopped, his face contorting into a mock expression of pain. “Oh no, it’s happening again!” he shouted dramatically, swimming over to the side. “Nature calls, I’m afraid. I’ll be back!”

Ross, barely pausing to catch his breath, shouted after him, “Juan, if you spend any more time in that loo, you’re gonna get mistaken for the bathroom attendant!”

Everyone laughed, and Juan waved them off with an exaggerated gesture. “I’m just pacing myself, darling! It’s all strategy.”

As they completed each 150 metres and paused for their ten-second breaks, they took the precious moments to chat and catch up. The group was already starting to show signs of fatigue. Ten seconds was just enough time for a quick, breathless exchange.

Rooney was panting, “Is it just me, or is this starting to feel like a marathon?”

Colin, equally out of breath but ever the realist, nodded. “Definitely not just you, Rooney. I think John wants to see if we’ll drop dead before the end of it.”

Marián, always the showman, added, “Well, if we do, at least let it be dramatic. A flourish, a gasp, maybe a fainting spell. We’re in the spotlight, after all.”

George laughed, wiping the water from his eyes. “Just make sure you faint in a fabulous way, Marián. I’m sure there’s a style guide for that somewhere.”

Tiago grumbled. “Ten seconds really isn’t enough time for anything, you know. I think John just wants to see how much we’ll suffer.”

John, hearing Tiago’s muttering, called out from the side, “Oi, Tiago! Less chattin’, more swimmin’! Or I’ll give ye an extra lap just for fun!”

Another burst of laughter echoed across the pool. They were tired, yes, but their spirits were still high. Somehow, despite the grumbling, the joking made it all bearable.

After each set, they came to the wall, panting and breathless. Juan, reappearing from his latest ‘emergency,’ slid back into the water just in time. “See, back just in time!” he announced, to which Ross responded, “Mate, you should just get yourself a poolside loo at this point.”

Juan waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just keeping things interesting. Besides, it’s better than watching Tiago lecture us on swim technique every lap.”

Tiago shot him a mock glare. “I’m just trying to help, Juan. Not my fault if you can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

Colin, grinning, added, “Less critique, more kick, Tiago. We’ve got another 1,200 metres to go.”

With each 150 metres, the fatigue was setting in. Muscles were burning, and the laughter was slowly becoming more of a wheeze. Still, they pushed on, driven by a mixture of determination, camaraderie, and the knowledge that John wouldn’t accept anything less than their best.

“Only 900 more metres!” George called out, somehow still smiling. “We’ve got this, guys!”

Ross, catching his breath at the wall, grinned. “George, I don’t know how you can be so cheerful right now. I’m dying here.”

George shrugged. “Just think of it like CrossFit, Ross. But wetter.”

Ross laughed. “And with less heavy lifting, thank God.”

Marián, looking more tired than usual but refusing to let it show, added, “And less glamorous outfits. Although I do think we’re all working these swimsuits quite well.”

Rooney, whose strokes were starting to flag, nodded. “Well, at least we’ll have a good reason for a pizza and pint after this. Or several.”

John blew the whistle again. “Come on, you lot! Only 300 metres to go! Push yourselves. You’re almost there!”

They pushed off the wall for the final rounds, their strokes growing heavier, their breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. The pool felt longer with every lap, but there was a shared sense of determination. No one wanted to be the first to give up.

When they finally reached the end of the last set, they all clung to the edge of the pool, panting heavily, muscles burning, but grinning like madmen. They’d made it.

John, standing over them with a look of stern satisfaction, nodded. “Not bad, mergays, not bad at all. Now get out, dry off, and don’t forget—we’re doing it all again tomorrow!”

The swimmers dragged themselves out of the water, limbs heavy, breaths coming in short, exhausted bursts. The poolside, which had once felt like a battlefield, now seemed almost peaceful. The assessment session was over, and they had all survived—barely.

Juan, usually so full of energy and charm, felt like he had nothing left to give. His swimming trunks hung heavily on his hips, weighed down by water and fatigue. He walked slowly toward the showers, his legs feeling like jelly.

“Blimey, that was brutal,” he muttered to no one in particular, though he was pretty sure he heard Tiago mumbling something about needing longer breaks and a personal masseuse.

Rooney came up beside him, a tired grin on his face. “Well, we made it, Juan. Barely, but we made it.”

Juan nodded, too tired to do more than offer a weak smile. “I feel like I’ve swum the Channel… twice.”

They reached the showers, and Juan turned on the water, letting the hot spray hit his tired muscles. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the tension start to melt away. The warmth was comforting, the noise of the water almost meditative.

As he stood there, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Samuel was heading towards the shower right next to his. Samuel’s dark hair was slicked back, droplets of water glistening on his skin. Despite his exhaustion, Juan felt a small flutter of excitement in his chest. He kept his eyes closed, allowing his mind to wander, imagining for a moment what it might be like to lean over and kiss Samuel. Just a gentle, spontaneous kiss, a little moment of courage in this fog of fatigue.

He smiled to himself, lost in his daydream. In his mind, Samuel’s lips were soft, his touch warm. Juan could almost feel the pressure of Samuel’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer—

And then, suddenly, he did feel a hand on his shoulder.

His heart leapt into his throat. Could it be? His mind raced as he turned around, eyes half-open, a nervous smile already forming on his lips, only to be met with… Rooney’s grinning face.

“Gotcha!” Rooney laughed, his hand still resting on Juan’s shoulder.

Juan let out a startled yelp, then immediately burst into laughter, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, you prat! You scared the life out of me!”

Rooney wiggled his eyebrows. “I could see you standing there, eyes closed, looking all dreamy. Thought I’d help you snap out of it.”

Juan, still laughing, splashed a bit of water at Rooney. “Well, thanks for ruining my perfect daydream. I was having a moment there, you know?”

Rooney chuckled, his face beaming with mischief. “A moment? Looked like you were planning an entire romantic comedy.”

They both laughed, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls of the shower room. The fatigue, the aches, and the long day all seemed to fade just a little under the weight of their shared amusement.

The rest of the group was finishing up, some still joking, some just silently towelling off, too tired to speak. Marián, of course, was chatting animatedly to anyone who would listen, still basking in his own perceived greatness from earlier in the session.

As the water continued to pour down on them, Juan shook his head with a smile. “It was a tough day, but… I suppose it wasn’t all bad.”

Rooney grinned. “Not bad at all. Even if you almost got your heart racing for the wrong reason.”

They finished their showers, the warmth of the water helping to soothe their tired muscles. As they left the pool area, their bodies were still aching, but their spirits were lighter. The assessment had been gruelling, but they had faced it together, jokes and all.

They gathered their things and made their way out of the building, the cool evening air hitting their damp skin. Juan glanced back at Samuel, who was chatting with Colin near the exit, and allowed himself a small smile. Maybe next time, he thought.

As they all stepped out onto the street, ready to head home for some much-needed rest, Juan sighed happily. "Alright, mergays," he called out, "same time tomorrow?"

They groaned and laughed, but there was a shared understanding. No matter how tough it got, no matter how gruelling the sets were, they’d always be back. After all, Proudington wasn’t just a swimming club; it was a family. And families stuck together, even if they occasionally had to tease each other in the showers.

With tired but happy smiles, they parted ways, each heading home, already looking forward to doing it all over again.