Weirdly, she felt just as sad for the version of her who had never fallen in love with the simple beauty of Thoreau’s Walden,
or the stoical Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, as she had felt sympathy for the version of her who never fulfilled her Olympic potential.
“Oh, I don’t know... I just came across some of his stuff on the internet.”
“Ah. Cool. Will check him out. You could drop some of that into your speech.”
Nora felt herself go pale. “Um, I’m thinking of maybe doing something a little different today. I might, um, improvise a little.”
Improvising was, after all, a skill she’d been practising. “I saw this great documentary about Greenland the other night.”
“Made me remember when you were obsessed with the Arctic and you cut out all those pictures of polar bears and stuff.”
“Yeah. Mrs Elm said the best way to be an arctic explorer was to be a glaciologist. So that’s what I wanted to be.”
“Mrs Elm,” he whispered. “That rings a bell.” “School librarian.” “That was it. You used to live in that library, didn’t you?”
“Pretty much.” “Just think, if you hadn’t stuck with swimming, you’d be in Greenland right now.”
“Svalbard,” she said. “Sorry?” “It’s a Norwegian archipelago. Way up in the Arctic Ocean.”
“Okay, Norway then. You’d be there.” “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just still be in Bedford. Moping around. Unemployed. Struggling to pay the rent.”
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