Finally, he turns to me.
“…and I’m resting you again this week, Elizabeth.”
The girls around me, celebrating their selection, fall suddenly silent.
That doesn’t please him; I didn’t intend it should. It’s a battle of wills.
And nothing to do with swimming.
When he leaves, the others crowd round me.
“Report him, Lizzie, we’ll back you. You’re the best, we all know that.”
In my head, I hear my grandmother’s familiar drawl.
Fine words doth butter no parsnips, girl.
But at Saturday’s gala, lane 3 remains empty throughout the entire competition.
And the Team-Coach leaves on Monday.
Friday Fictioneers are looking forward to your safe return.And this photo, I think, represents Rochelle’s happy place, where she does a lot of her thinking. Hope you’re enjoying your visit to Israel, Rochelle. The