TWELVE
Ellie had been watching the swimmers for a couple of weeks now, holed up in the beach house. She’d told Fee that she wanted some quiet time to rest, which was true, but she was also avoiding Mark Gardner. Fee had given her a knowing look but hadn’t pushed it; after all, resting up was what Ellie was supposed to be doing.
The day before, Ellie had been out on the porch, drinking a cup of tea as the swimmers went their various ways up the beach after their swim. A young woman in her 20s, part of the group, had stopped at the house and given her a little wave and they’d got chatting.
Her name was Petra, and it turned out that Petra’s old boyfriend had ended up marrying Mara, who owned the beach house. ‘No hard feelings. He was too old for me, really. Brian and Mara are, like, made for each other,’ Petra had confessed airily. She had told Ellie that she was an artist and used to come to Magpie Cove for the summers as a child. ‘Now I live here,’ she had explained. ‘I’ve got a really cosy little cottage off the high street. You should come over for tea sometime.’
Ellie had liked Petra immediately. She was a little younger than Ellie, vivacious and warm, with a slightly self-deprecating quality that suggested she knew exactly how pretty and talented she was, but she was confident enough in herself not to show off about it.
It was Petra who had persuaded Ellie to join the group.
‘Or, at least, come and dip your toes in the water,’ Petra had suggested, leaning on the porch yesterday. ‘Come on. We don’t bite. It’s just five women. Not the scariest of prospects, no? What have you got to lose?’
Ellie hadn’t been able to think of a good reply, and so there she was, a day later, with her toes in the water. She did some gentle yoga stretches, feeling her body respond. It was a little creaky, but it all still seemed to work. Ellie was thankful that she’d been so fit before the operation, and hoped her body would still remember how to swim.
Petra was towelling her long red hair dry; she had it in two Pippi Longstocking-esque plaits pinned to her head, but she’d unpinned them and was unpicking the wet links of hair with the towel, rubbing her hair into a kind of resplendent red haze. Ellie thought she looked like a cross between the children’s book character and a Pre-Raphaelite queen. She had already been into the sea, but was going back in again now that Ellie had turned up, shyly holding her towel.
‘It’s only cold for a second. We’ll run in. It’s the best way, then it’s lovely once you’re in.’ Petra grinned.
It was seven o’clock in the morning, and although the sun was already up – at this time of year, it hardly set at all, with sunset around nine-thirty or ten and sunrise around five a.m. – the sea was still rather cold. Ellie was wearing a baggy T-shirt over a vest and a pair of swim shorts she’d borrowed from Fee, but she still felt exposed.
‘Oh, hi, Ellie.’ Mara tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Great. You’re joining us?’ Mara wore an all-in-one shorts wetsuit in black with a red zip.
‘It would appear so.’ Ellie frowned at the water. ‘Petra persuaded me. I couldn’t get Fee out of bed, though.’
‘She’s missing out.’ Mara grinned. ‘I love the sea at this hour. It’s just us and the water. There’s something primal about it. Makes me feel closer to my ancestors, somehow.’
Another woman approached the group. She turned to Ellie and stuck out a well-manicured hand. ‘Hello! You a new joiner? I’m Simona.’
Ellie shook the woman’s hand. ‘I’m Ellie. I’m staying at the beach house.’
‘Ah, the new tenants. I think I saw you at Lila’s party. Welcome.’ Simona winked. ‘You know, when people come to Magpie Cove, it can be hard for them to leave. You might think you’re staying here a few weeks, and it turns out to be forever. Surprised we haven’t met properly already, to be honest,’
‘Oh. Ha ha. Well, I’ve been keeping a low profile. And I have a job to go back to, so…’ Ellie shrugged. ‘Just a holiday.’
‘We’ll see.’ Simona smiled playfully. ‘Right. Come on, let’s get in!’
Petra linked her arm through Ellie’s and they waded into the sea. Ellie tried not to gasp at the cold, but she wasn’t entirely successful. She was conscious also that once her T-shirt got wet, it would cling to her, but she was trying not to think about how it would look. She could apparently wear her prosthetic boob in the water, but after much deliberation she’d worn a vest underneath her T-shirt instead of a bra, because she was paranoid the fake boob would somehow fall out underwater.
‘What if the sea isn’t good for the scar?’ she’d asked Fee, but Fee had said that she thought sea water was probably very good for wounds, and she should give the doctor a ring and ask.
Ellie’s doctor had confirmed that, actually, swimming was perfect exercise after a mastectomy because it was gentle, and it would help Ellie restrengthen the muscles around her chest and arms. She advised Ellie to start small: twenty minutes of anything but butterfly stroke would be fine, and to take it easy with some stretches before and after.
She walked in, the sea floor mostly sandy with some stones and shells here and there. She’d borrowed Fee’s swim shoes too, which had flexible rubber soles and were made of wetsuit material on the top and slipped over her feet like socks.
When they were in up to their waists, Petra held her nose and dunked herself under the water. She came up wet as a seal and gave Ellie a gentle splash.
‘Go on. Head under, best way,’ she advised, shaking her hair.
Here goes, Ellie thought, and, holding her breath, dunked her head under.
Under the water, everything was completely silent. Ellie opened her eyes. The turquoise water was clear, and Ellie remembered the signs she’d seen around the beach, boasting that Magpie Cove had a special charter or award or some such thing for the cleanliness of its water. She watched Petra’s legs as she started to swim away, and turned so that the women were behind her, leaving the emptiness of the water ahead of her.
Ellie started to feel the pressure of the water on her lungs; she couldn’t hold her breath for much longer. But before she came up for air, there was a moment when she wondered what would happen if she didn’t. Would anyone miss her if she never went back to London? And would anyone miss her if she just never went back – to anything?
The thought frightened her, and she pushed herself up to the surface of the water. Despite everything that had happened to her, Ellie didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to disappear. She wanted to live. She had had her mastectomy and was taking the drugs that the doctor had given her because she wanted to live. Lying in the hospital bed before her mastectomy, she had vowed to herself,If I get through this, then I’m never going to waste another second.
She caught her breath and started to swim, settling into an easy rhythm. Fortunately, her body seemed to remember what to do. She turned to see the other women: two were treading water, talking to each other, but the rest were taking their swims alone, like her. Mara was right: there was something beautiful about being out there so early with just the water and the sun for company.
