On his way to bed he popped his head round the living room door to say goodnight to the Coach. There was a blanket spread on the sofa and he wondered how Frank was going to fit.
'You know, I can sleep here, Coach,' he said. 'It's sweet.'
'No.' The man's voice was firm but then it softened. 'In two days, Danny, you have two heats to swim. You take the bed.'
Coach was right, of course he was. The only thing that mattered was the competition. Not only for Danny, not only for Wilco, but for Coach as well. That was the only thing that mattered.
Danny was freezing in his shorts and t-shirt. He and Wilco were in the back seat of the taxi on the way to the airport. Coach was in front, too big for the cab. But then so too were Wilco and Danny. Wilco's shaved scalp made him look adult, gave strength to his jaw. He was no longer a boy, he was getting to be a man. Danny hoped that his own shaved head made him look older too. He pushed back his shoulders, held his back straight.
Wilco was examining the face of his mobile phone. It was new and he was obsessed with it, tapping the buttons constantly, seemingly astonished by what it could do. But then, with a glance at the Coach who was staring resolutely at the road ahead, Wilco pocketed the gadget and leaned closer to Danny. 'Mate,' he whispered, 'my dad says he can get you an upgrade to business class with me. Want me to organise it?'
It was no longer Martin and Danny. It was now Wilco and Danny.
The driver had the radio on, the car was speeding down the freeway, Danny was sure that Coach couldn't hear them. This would be his first flight. It would be so cool to fly business class. It would impress Martin, Luke would be so envious. But then he thought of his father, of Demet. They'd find something wrong with Mr Wilkinson's money, something about how he got it or what he did or what he didn't do with it. And what about Coach?
Danny mouthed that question.
Wilco whispered, 'No, I can only get one of you upgraded.'
'Then no, thanks.'
'Suit yourself.' Wilco took out his phone again, he couldn't stop playing with it.
Danny was going to get one, he'd save up and buy one as soon as he could. He wanted a phone like Wilco's, exactly that brand of mobile phone.
When the plane started to slowly move along the tarmac, he got scared. That huge and heavy machine of steel and metal, how would it be able to stay up in the air? The Coach was next to him, and there was a woman doing the crossword on his other side. As always the Coach seemed like a giant, too big for the plane. But it made Danny feel safe. He was glad he hadn't gone up front with Wilco. Next to Coach he was safe.
The plane had been moving sluggishly but it began to pick up speed as it taxied down the runway. There was a moment when the cabin was shaking and gravity was being betrayed, when Danny felt that his whole body was going to be flung forward, and then there was the rush of flight, of leaving earth, of reaching height. There was no fear, that was what was flung off.
His face bright, his eyes gleaming, his eyes wide, Danny turned to Coach and cried out, 'It feels like swimming! It feels exactly like swimming.'
The Coach smiled, a rare moment, and he nodded and said, 'You are right, Danny. It is exactly like swimming.'
Danny wanted to keep on rising, going higher and higher and faster and faster until the roof of the sky met the halo of the sun. He told himself to remember the ferocious joy, the inexplicable rightness, it was exactly like swimming, and take it with him all the way to Brisbane, take the experience into the pool. He had to remember that water was the same substance as sky. He would take that feeling into his swim and he would be flying as much as swimming.
When they landed in Brisbane, they were no longer special. There were competitors from all over the country, from places with names like Esperance and Geraldton, Maroochydore and Tuggeranong. They were met by a harried young woman wearing a grey tracksuit, a Swimming Australia nametag stating her name was Ellen. She carried a clipboard under her arm, and on greeting them, she immediately ticked off their names and gave rushed instructions on how to get to the bus. Coach explained that the boys still needed to get their bags, and for some reason that annoyed her. She ripped out a printed sheet and handed it to the Coach. 'Make sure you follow the registration instructions to the letter,' she announced, and then abruptly turned and was gone. Danny was incensed. He'd never heard anyone talk to the Coach like that before.
Once the humid slush of Brisbane air hit them, Danny was glad he was in shorts. The air was thick here, he could sense that it would slow you down. Coach had told them they would have to adjust to that. They would need to slow down the pace of everything they did: walking, talking, eating, and especially their exercises. 'Conserve your energy,' he had said. 'Only push yourselves hard when you are in the pool.'
And then they were on the bus and it was crowded and noisy, it felt strange to be sitting on a bus with girls, he'd forgotten how talkative girls could be, how they whispered close to one another, how they chatted in low voices, as if everything they said to each other was a secret. And there was chattering and shrieking and laughing too, it was deafening.
And then they were at the convention centre and there were huge crowds and what seemed to be hundreds of adults wearing Swimming Australia nametags, and there were queues and more instructions and coaches and trainers and medical staff and more officials. They were signed in and given a booklet to read and one man said impatiently to him, 'OK, you can go now,' and turned around to sign in the next boy and all of this made Coach and Wilco and Danny seem smaller. And then there were the golden boys and the golden girls, the swimmers that Danny had watched on TV winning gold and silver and bronze and breaking world records. Everyone was looking at the golden boys and girls and no one was looking at him or Wilco, no one cared about him or Wilco and no one cared about the Coach. And all of that made them feel small.
They were assigned their rooms. They were assigned their heats. They were given instructions and then they were dismissed.
Except for the golden boys and the golden girls. Everyone smiled and was polite and tried to make jokes and conversation with the golden boys and the golden girls.
Danny couldn't wait to come back next time, to the next Australian Championships, when he would be one of them. When he would be a golden boy.
They passed a huddle of men in crisp white shirts sporting the Australian Institute of Sport logo and one of them looked up and nodded at Coach. The man was beanpole tall, with tanned spotless skin and a clipped salt-and-pepper beard. He peeled away from the others and called Frank's name. The other men looked up, one or two nodding at Coach, but they didn't come over. They went back to their conversation.
'This is Ben Whitter,' Coach said to the boys as he shook the man's hand. 'Ben is a coach at the AIS.'
Ben smiled down at both Danny and Wilco, he was that tall, then immediately turned back to Frank. 'I want to say thanks for sending us young Michael Fraser. He's good, he's very, very good.' He slapped Coach on the back. Danny couldn't believe that someone had done that to the Coach.
'He is good,' agreed Frank. 'But keep pushing him. He has a problem with discipline.'
'Mate, they all have problems with discipline when they come to us. Don't worry, I'm riding him hard.' Ben winked at Coach and again Danny was surprised at such familiarity. 'He just might be your first Olympian, Frank. He just might get there.'
Danny knew that Wilco was thinking the same thing as he was: Frank Torma had never coached an Olympian before.