Lucky red goggles

The water’s diamond finish rippled in front of a setting sun. Dragged by a cool breeze towards the man’s feet the water lapped over his toes. His half drunk G and T was raised, an acknowledgement of the departing light. A picture of serenity dressed in ill-considered lime-green swimming trunks and lucky red goggles.

‘Gordon, you’ll miss dinner if you don’t come now,’ burst the melodic warning of a woman’s voice from inside the house. It was the third such warning, and would be the last. Sarah knew better than to keep pressing her husband. He would remain out by the pool all night if he was feeling stubborn enough.

Sarah wished they hadn’t got the pool. Gordon’s idea of course. Typical of him to invest in something he couldn’t do. He had sworn that he would learn to swim.

Outside the water came for him, cloaking him up to his waist. An empty glass bumped the side of the pool, overwhelmed by the volume of liquid it couldn’t contain, while Gordon submarined, his lucky red goggles on.

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