‘Right then,’ George said, undoing his robe and setting it over one of the wrought-iron chairs. The horizontal stripes on his bathers extended all the way down to his thighs. ‘Show me how it’s done.’

I pulled my tracksuit top off, slid the bottoms down, bundled them both up and put them on another chair, beside my towel. The air was cold on my skin, and a shudder was out of me before I could stop it. I rubbed my arms with my hands, hugged myself and rubbed at the goosebumps. My legs looked brown against the white-tiled floor, though I was sure my tan was already fading. I kept my arms wrapped around myself. I had only my Speedos on. I checked our house, and the lights in the kitchen and back room were on, but nobody was visible. Upstairs all the curtains were closed.

‘It’s better in,’ George said, ankle-deep on the top step.

He eased his way in and stood to one side. He was right. From the second step, knee-deep, I pushed off and swam to the far end, just over four freestyle strokes, one breath. I tumbleturned and swam back, an even four strokes with a glide at the end.

‘He’s a fish!’ George called out. ‘He’s a fish, Mrs Keene!’

I did another lap, down and back, just to feel the water, to feel my head under it and the water rushing past.

I showed George the mechanics of a freestyle stroke and he practised it in the air. I had been taught to swim, years ago, but had no idea how to teach it. I had no memory of those early lessons, nothing before stroke correction and duck-diving for a brick at school.

I told him it was time to try it out in water and he said, ‘I’m starting to think that getting my hair wet mightn’t be a good idea.’ He paused, in case I would be persuaded, but I had no idea what to say. He was waist deep, with the water tracking higher up the wool of his bathers. He sighed. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’

He slowly bent at the waist, lowering his chest towards the water. He brought one arm over in a kind of freestyle stroke and scooped some water back, then did the same with the other. He took half a step forward and steadied himself.

‘Make sure you breathe,’ I told him.

‘Breathe, yes.’ He said it as if I’d given him one thing too many to remember. ‘Breathe as well.’

He scooped again, tilting his head to the right, as I’d shown him. His hair dipped down into the water and the slick of Brylcreem that came from it sat on the surface like a rainbow until the eddies broke it up.

He stood up and pushed the hair back into place. ‘I’m not convinced humans were meant to go face down in water. I wonder if we might start with not drowning. Techniques for that.’