Anouk had a coughing fit at lunchtime, in front of everyone. It lasted for about a hundred years. When she got home, she put on her swimsuit and went to the river. She stood on the little beach and watched a dead leaf float by on its back, pointed edges curled up like fingers. It was warm out, for September, but the water temperature had already begun to drop. Anouk didn’t have a lot of time; Nora wasn’t home but she would be, any minute, and this, an autumn swim, was not allowed.

Anouk walked right into the river without stopping, then dove in and frog-swam deep underwater until she couldn’t anymore. The water was punchy. It beat the air out of her lungs. She turned on to her back and floated, ears submerged to the shush, and soon felt as if she were rising up through the fire of September trees and into the blue.

The fit at school had come out of nowhere. Sometimes that happened. Kids who’d been sitting close moved away, afraid they might catch it.

Too cold to float for long. She turned on to her front and swam to the island, pulled herself on to its sun-warm rock and pressed her body into the granite. Granite like the story of the earth, jewelled with nuggets of milky quartz and shining flecks of black and silver and pink mica. Hot stone, dry leaves and pine sap, and crisp air on her wet skin. She shivered.

She watched a rivulet of water run from her body, meander down the rock and back into the river.

‘Anouk!’

Her mother on the beach, one hand on her hip, the other flapping in the air.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Her mother dressed in a wool sweater big enough to reach her knees, long jeans and leather boots. Nora stomped over to where the canoe rested on its gunnels under a tree and began to haul it towards the river. Anouk stood and watched, hugged her thin arms around her body against the cold. Couldn’t feel the rock under her numb feet. Nora stumbled into the canoe, fought to free the paddle from where it was stored under the thwarts and then freed it, grabbed it by the neck and plunged the blade into the water. The cedar canoe jerked forward in crooked thrusts. As Nora pulled up to the island, her eyes wide and darkly clear, Anouk dove into the water and began to swim home. By the time Nora turned the canoe and caught up to her, she was halfway back.

At school, in the yard after lunch, some of the kids barked like dogs. Not in front of Anouk, but loud enough for her to hear.

Legs wobbly, her fingers numb and tingling, Anouk climbed the grassy hill back to the house. Nora ran ahead and came back with a towel, wrapped it tightly around Anouk’s body, so angry and baffled she couldn’t speak. She pushed Anouk into the house and on to the couch, where she pulled off her suit and cocooned her in soft pyjamas and a wool blanket. Outside fading to denim-dark, rich blue. Something small flew fast past the window and was gone from sight, then returned and then was gone again. A bat. Nora pushed a mug of hot water in Anouk’s hands and instructed her to drink; she was shivering so much that water spilled over the rim of the cup. The drops settled into shining beads on the wool of the blanket, hovered there for an instant, then sunk into the wool.