For the swimming gang

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)

it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

– E.E. CUMMINGS

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Epigraph

1. Bah Humbug

2. The Gravy Arc

3. Everybody’s Having Fun

4. New Friendship Turf

5. Pilcharding

6. Resolutions

7. Scatter Cushions

8. The Family Zoom

9. The Extension

10. Luna

11. Washing Away the Bad Juju

12. Dog Ambush

13. The Promise of Fireworks

14. Inner Superhero

15. Tent Call

16. Oystercatchers

17. Rob’s Declaration

18. Hard to Forgive

19. A Sliver of Hope

20. Snow Swim

21. A Glimpse into Next Door

22. Date Night

23. Quad Bike

24. Back to the Office

25. The Jab

26. Dawn Call

27. Life Drawing

28. Equinox

29. Home Hairdresser

30. Beach Clean

31. Bunny Ears

32. Bombshell

33. The Nightingale

34. Destruction

35. Home in a Box

36. Back on Call

37. Upfront and Honest

38. A Trip to Hampstead Pond

39. That Unmistakeable Profile

40. Full Moon Swim

41. The Unexpected Cwych

42. Caught Out

43. Shallow Water

44. From The Pier

45. Taking Flight

46. Eels

47. Facing Facts

48. Breakfast of Champions

49. The Betting Shop

50. A Promise Kept

51. A New Companion

52. Adios

53. A Family Celebration

54. Towards the Horizon

55. The Windfarm

56. Round the Pier

Acknowledgements

Reading Group Questions

Extract

New Year’s Eve

Chapter 1

About the Publisher

1

Bah Humbug

Christmas Day Morning

It’s only cold water. That’s all. After the shitshow of this year, cold water is nothing. Nothing, Dominica tells herself, as she peels the Velcro closed on her neoprene gloves and strides off towards the sea, her size ten boots making a loud trudging sound over the pebbles. She’s glad she’s made it here and forced her sorry carcass out of bed, although it was a close-run thing. But, as usual, Helga’s message on the Sea-Gals WhatsApp chat had persuaded her. It’s tradition, Helga had written. No excuses.

She knows she owes Helga and Tor an appearance this morning. They’re the ones who’ve looked out for her this year. Separately, they’ve both asked her to spend today with them, knowing it’s her first Christmas without Chris, but she’s politely declined their kind offers. She wants to be alone to wallow in her grief, although she vows now that she’s going to tidy up the tissue-strewn pit of their bedroom. Chris would have a fit if he could see it.

Along the beach there are little groups dotted as far as the eye can see in both directions, most people dressed for the cold, but many of them stripping off. With the drop in church attendance, maybe the sea is the new religion. It’s certainly a draw. Everyone is facing the water and the mood of celebration is palpable. She can hear the pop of a champagne cork (10 a.m. is a little early, but it’s Christmas Day, after all), whilst a young guy contemplatively skins up on the top of the largest concrete groyne. There’s a bagpiper in a kilt walking on the next beach and the reedy sound wafts over to where Dominica stands along with a tang of spliff smoke.