A small shoal of flatfish with yellow tails paddle over to my left, each one reluctant to take charge of where the rest are going. In the distance, smaller, brighter fish swim in and out of coral, some attached to the tops of big silver fish with fat lips. Another comes flying out of nowhere, fins flapping like wings as it soars over my head and out of sight.

And then a blue-tipped shark. Strong arrow tail propelling the rest of it forward, left, right, like a soldier marching.

My lungs putter out of air and I gasp a mouthful of water. But I must have gills, because I’m breathing. Finally. Breathing.

Or perhaps I am a mudskipper after all. A fish with legs. I am land and sea and mountains and fire. I am unstoppable. Unbreakable. And I put out my hand and watch as my long fingers drift through the water. Feel it flutter. Watch as my skin becomes transparent and peels away to reveal silver scales underneath.

And then I’m floating. Up. Towards the surface. And I can see it, where the light is and the bubbles break, and I hold my breath so the taste is all the sweeter. I stretch my hands out further and can almost feel the edge – the line between water and air – like I might be able to grab hold of it and pull it back and reveal a whole world of in-between, where a fish can Live in both at once.

But I’m not quite there. Not quite. So instead I turn. Pirouetting like a dolphin until I’m not looking at the light any more. But there aren’t any jagged rocks, either. Instead, I’m looking at a boy lying on the floor of an aquarium tunnel, watching me as I swim overhead, his long dark hair fanned out under him. He looks at me and I wonder if his eyes are almost entirely black, until I see the glittering somewhere in the middle, where the light reflected from the top can make gems out of the hardest of stones.

For one suspended moment, I look at him like he’s just another fish. Powerful. Colourful.

Beautiful.

But then I come to my senses in a way that feels like

sinking

because

this boy

this boy is Rowan.

44

Alice

I wake up to humming and see that Mum’s brought me some pink tulips from the garden, still cupped like dancer’s feet. I smile and she sees.

‘Good dream?’

She takes the vase from my window and fills it with water from the bathroom sink.

‘I’ve been swimming,’ I say, watching the ceiling swirl.

I fell asleep almost the moment I disconnected from Rowan and it was like my head never really left. All night, I replayed the moment I turned and saw his face as he lay on the dusty floor of the aquarium tunnel and fish swam above.