When I step outside the front door I’m hit by a cool, damp breeze. It dulls my nausea somewhat and I take a deep, clear breath. The clouds hunch low on the horizon. I set off for the beach. Later, I will have to host a wake and hold it together to support Jack and Molly. I will have to smile and serve sandwiches and sit in respectful silence in the church when I really want to scream at the unfairness of it all – at the awful ways Jack and Lorna were let down by their parents and the unjustness of my friend being so unwell.
I reach the dark line on the beach where the dry sand grows grey and damp. Ahead, the sea is gunmetal grey flecked with the white foam of choppy waves. A salty wind blows in my face and through my hair. I face the sea, placing the large tote bag I brought with me on the ground. Slowly, I unzip my raincoat, letting it fall. Then I take off my shoes and socks, feeling the cool sand between my toes, and unbuckle the belt on my jeans and pull those off too. Goosebumps immediately prick my skin as the cold air whips around me.
‘What are you doing?’
I turn around quickly at the voice. Lorna stands a few paces away, watching me questioningly, her jacket pulled tightly around her. Her hair is pulled back in a scruffy ponytail and her eyes are shadowed with fatigue. Somehow, it isn’t much of a surprise to see her here. Of course she couldn’t sleep either.
‘I saw you out the window,’ she adds. ‘I was awake.’
‘I couldn’t get back to sleep,’ I reply. ‘I need a swim.’
She looks from me out to the grey rolling waves.
‘You’re not really going swimming now? It looks freezing.’
Perhaps it does, but I’m used to the cold. And I know in every cell of my body that this is what I need right now. I want to wash everything away, to feel nothing but the water. It’s what I’ve done in moments of crisis over the years: when my parents called to say my grandparents had died, when Molly was unwell with bronchitis and I stayed up every night with her, terrified as I listened to her wheezing breaths, after my miscarriage. Each time I came here and swam.
‘Come in with me,’ I say to Lorna now. ‘Trust me, it’s what you need this morning. It’ll make you feel alive.’
Before she can answer I’m tugging my T-shirt off and dropping it on the floor alongside my pile of other clothes. I stride towards the sea in my underwear.
‘You’re mad!’ Lorna calls after me with a slight laugh.
Personally, I think the only madness would be to live with this ocean so close to my doorstep and never swim in it. The wind tugs at my hair and my feet sink into the sand, leaving deep footprints.
‘It’s fine, I do this in the winter too. The sea will be positively balmy today.’
My feet reach the water’s edge. OK, perhaps I might be exaggerating. The water makes my toes curl with cold. I look down; they’ve turned a ghostly white. But I keep walking, letting the cold water reach my shins. I take a deep breath. And I run. Water splashes around me, droplets sprayed then dropped down in fountains. I tear my way through the waves, the cold gripping me like a vice. I am waist-deep. I am shoulder-deep. I am launching myself forwards, diving into the Atlantic.
Everything is quiet. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against the salt water. There’s a sudden rushing in my ears like the sound of an oncoming train. A pressure builds in my chest, a weight like a person placing a foot on my chest. My skin tingles, water rushing over every inch of my body, enveloping me completely. Then my feet connect with firm sand and I push myself up.
Droplets cling to my lashes and my eyes stream with salt water. The skin around my nose and mouth is raw and stinging, burnt by the wind and the salt. I’m aware of my entire body and every tiny sensation that ripples through me. Cold water slipping between my toes, tugging at my hair, trickling down the backs of my ears. A prickling sensation on my collarbones, the back of my neck, the base of my spine. The cold shifts from a sudden burn to a lingering glow that makes me feel almost warm. I float on my back, my body rising and falling on the humps of the waves. I turn to look back at the shore where Lorna lingers, watching me.
‘It’s wonderful!’ I cry. ‘Come on, you won’t regret it!’
She hesitates, and then a grin flashes across her face.
‘OK, I’m coming!’
‘Hurrah!’ I splash the water around me as she quickly undresses and dashes towards the sea, yelping as she reaches the waterline.
‘Bloody hell, it’s freezing!’
‘You get used to it.’
I lean back, floating and letting my ears fill with seawater. Another yelp draws my attention to the shore and I watch as Lorna takes a few steps forward, the water lapping around her shins, her knees.
‘You can do it!’
She takes short, sharp breaths, her arms clutched tightly around her chest, her whole body shivering.
‘Shall I count you down?’
She nods.
‘OK. One, two, three …’
And with a shriek and a splash she launches herself forwards and into the water. She swims frantically, her head bobbing above the waves. But after a few moments she slows.
