Closing the Pool

The leaves from the tulip tree are beginning to change colour. They will be falling in a month, but before that happens, I have one last job of the summer, winterise the pool. It’s a five-step process, but today it feels like a tactical retreat.

First I have to clear out any leaves and debris that have accumulated since the last clean. I don’t use the pool vacuum although it cost a fortune to buy. This pool doesn’t backwash, so the leaves will end up in the big filter in the pump, and it’s really hard to pull apart. Instead, I use a hand vacuum with a long pole. The leaves get sucked into a net bag. It’s a slow process because the bag's not that big. I empty it once, twice, three times, dumping the wet, decaying sludge into a bucket. There are still leaves floating on the top. I scoop these out with a long-handled net. It hurts my shoulders a lot—dipping in, dipping out, flinging the leaves across the pool deck. I’m also getting wet which I absolutely did not want to do.

You used to call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

"Yes?… What? …Who told you that?… Well, of course it’s not true! You really don’t know me very well, do you. Look, I have to go. I’m doing the pool.”

Next come the chemicals. I have a bottle of winterising chemicals, bought on Amazon, to make things easy. Pool Closer. It’s supposed to prevent algae, but right now, I hope it acts as a deterrent for everything else, too. I walk the sides of the pool, tipping in the chemicals, which turn an alarming shade of purple. It reminds me of the witches’ potion in Macbeth. "By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes."

I watch the liquid slowly spread beneath the surface, clouding the clarity we enjoyed only a week ago. The chemical smell hits the back of my throat, sharp and artificial, a stinging reminder that things are changing whether I like it or not.

You used to call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

Call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

"I'm busy! …No, I’ve already said it’s not true. And, really, did it happen? …No, no, you don’t have to come over! …No. Don’t.”

Now the cover. That’s easy. It’s on a roller, and I pull it out with a sharp, definitive yank. The heavy plastic, baked in the summer sun, groans as it unrolls and scrapes against the pool ladder. I walk the length of the pool pulling the cover across. It’s heavy work, but finally it sits snugly on top. The water is now in darkness for the next five months. With the pool hidden from sight, the backyard suddenly feels a little more like a fortress. The shimmering hint of a careless summer is gone.

The shadow of the tulip tree is beginning to stretch across the deck. I need to get a move on and these ridiculous phone interruptions are not helping. Now the black netting. That has to be stretched tightly over the cover to catch the leaves and rubbish that fall from the sky. I drive nails straight into the timber deck, splintering the smooth wood to anchor the net. My wrist aches with every blow. It’s pure structural vandalism, but right now, the aggressive pounding is a relief. For me, each blow is a physical denial of the hateful rumors, a blunt punctuation mark at the end of a season I want to erase.

I will have to remember to pull every single nail out in the summer.

A single, premature yellow leaf drifts down, landing precisely in the center of the netting. It sits there, trapped above the dark water, unable to sink, unable to escape.

You used to call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

Call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

And I know when that hotline bling

That can only mean one thing

"Yes?! …Outside the gate? Jesus, why?! …You shouldn’t be here. We agreed.”

I let her knock. The wood of the gate rattles against its latch but it is high and locked. I stand perfectly still, holding my breath. A heavy silence drops over the yard. I wait for her to call out my name, but there is only the sharp rustle of dry leaves scraping the fence line. I think she’s gone.

Finally, the timer. It’s in the shed behind the pool. I follow the path to it. Only four hours of filtration needed in winter for a 24,000-liter pool. The timer is digital. First key in the date and enter. Then the time and enter. Then the timer start and enter. Finally the timer finish and set. I programme it firmly for the dead of night when power is cheaper, the world is quiet, and the Facebook crowd are sleeping. And then, there’s that buzz. I leave it as long as I can bear it.

You used to call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

Call me on my cell phone

Late night when you need my love

And I know when that hotline bling

That can only mean one thing

I know when that hotline bling

That can only mean one thing

Ever since I left the -

“I’m sorry. I was busy with the pool…No, it’s not that…I really don’t know where that comes from…Just come home babe so we can talk...”

I stare at the screen. The glass is smudged with pool grime and chemicals. I hold down the power button until the screen goes black. I step out of the shadow of the shed. The pool is hibernating, the deck is secured, and the backyard is locked down. Summer is officially over, and the cold is already moving in.