I saw the same parents from one competition to the next, particularly the mothers. We exchanged a few words. Our stories were similar; our children fuelled by the same passion. Some parents were even former divers themselves and showed no restraint in shouting direction from the bleachers. Competition days were long. I generally took a magazine and some hand creams to keep myself busy between events. The twins never came to sit with me, preferring to stay together at the side of the pool when others performed. I watched them engage in critical, concentrated discussion of the other competitors’ execution.
One Saturday, we were in Kitchener for the regional championships, and the boys were waiting for their second turn. They had done well on their first dive and were up for the semi-final. I was concentrating on reading Garden Design when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a woman in her forties, with greying hair, dressed for a yoga class.
“You’re the twins’ mother, aren’t you?”
I didn’t know her.
“I remember you,” she said. “We met at an APAR meeting. I’m Marie.”
I nodded, still embarrassed at the recollection of the assault.
“So your children are diving now.”
“Yes, they’re with Dive Toronto.” I pointed to the boys, sitting together in their uniforms, their long hair spilling down their backs.
“My daughter dives too,” she said.
This woman was making me uncomfortable. I remembered her now; she was the mother who already had a biological daughter and had adopted a baby from Russia after that. Her hair was brown back then. I had nothing to say to her, but she seemed in a mood to pursue the conversation.
“How are things with your boys?”
“Good. And with your son?”
“Alexei is in foster care five days a week. His autism has become unmanageable, and we were eligible for relief care funding.”
“He doesn’t live with you?” I closed my magazine.
“Only on the weekends. We decided it was best for him and for our daughter.”
So they rejected the adopted child in favour of the biological one? I couldn’t conceal my frown. The mother looked off into the distance and said nothing else. I brought my attention back to the pool, where the competition continued.
The twins were now in the line for the three-metre board. They had to execute a 401C. Daniil went first. His tuck looked perfect to me, but the movement was a little too slow and he was still angled when he hit the water. I watched Vanya close his eyes and react along with him. Then Vanya energetically climbed the steps for his turn, assumed his position, back facing the pool, heels at the very edge of the platform, arms perfectly extended. His jump was explosive and his tuck very high, allowing him to establish a perfect vertical, winning him the Most Promising title for the region.
At first, I thought the competition would create rivalry between the boys, but Daniil seemed as satisfied with the accomplishments of Vanya as his own, and vice versa. Even their way of speaking reflected this reciprocity; they never said “I won the title,” but “we won the title.” I was impressed by their team spirit.
“Congratulations,” said Marie before leaving the sports complex. Her voice carried a twinge of regret.
I was astounded when the twins announced that, three years after stopping, they’d gone diving. I forgot I had to do something about the Munro books they hadn’t gone to pick up. “Where did you go?”
“To the pool at Christie Pits.”
Daniil shot Vanya a look, as though he wanted him to shut up. Christie Pits was a poorly equipped, poorly maintained municipal pool. The university athletic centre where they’d trained until they were eleven was on Spadina Avenue, where the facilities were much more luxurious and appropriate for diving. They didn’t have access anymore, since it was a private pool. The Dive Toronto team was very disappointed to lose two of its greatest hopes, but the penalty was permanent. The offence had been too great.
It happened in 2010, during the national competition. Toronto was hosting, and the boys would be competing in their own pool, giving them the home advantage. Their trainer, Marc, had put a lot of pressure on them because he knew there was a chance they’d take the gold. The month before, he had gone so far as to double their number of training sessions; the boys had to show up at the pool after school as well. The stakes were so high that Gregory had cancelled a trip to Germany in order to watch the competition.
But the day before, Jules had disappeared. I noticed when he didn’t show up for his morning kibble. He was an indoor cat and he was old. I worried about him getting outside. The twins had to attend a final training session, and I explained to them that I would drop them off and come back to look for Jules with Gregory during their lesson.
Searching for the cat with increasing concern, I told myself that the boys must have misjudged the severity of the situation, remembering how casually they’d left for training. I searched the flowerbeds, crawled under the
