Dominica spots the woman in the scruffy parka on the beach, as she, Helga and Tor pass by to leave their stuff by the groyne in their usual spot. The woman, who has her hands around the lid of a flask of tea, looks up.

‘Have you been in?’ Dominica asks, nodding towards the sea, assuming she has. There’s a group already in and Dominica wonders if she’s part of their gang. She’s chubby with frizzy grey hair poking out from under her pink bobble hat.

‘No. No, I was going to, but then the person I was going to swim with …’ she peters out. She has a lovely lilting Irish accent, but Dominica hears a catch in her voice. ‘And I can’t go alone. I’m … well, to be honest, I’m too afraid. I’m not really a swimmer, I only thought I might go today …’

‘Come in with us,’ Helga offers. It’s typical of her to swoop up a stray swimmer, but the woman seems unsure.

‘You’d be most welcome.’ Dominica gives her an encouraging smile and the woman gets up and brings her bag to join them.

The new swimmer is called Claire and she lives just up the road on the Hove side of the peace statue. Dominica explains she cycles to this beach from her flat in Kemp Town, whilst Helga comes from the Lanes and Tor from Seven Dials.

They chat easily, but Claire is trying to wrestle into her swimming costume under her coat.

‘I should have got changed before,’ she mumbles, trying to balance.

Dominica smiles. Her swimming clobber is always to hand, and she has two hot water bottles and metal drink flasks permanently by the kettle.

‘You’ll get to learn the tricks of the trade soon enough.’ It’s nice to be reassuring for once, not the one being reassured. It feels kind of liberating that this woman, Claire, has no idea that Dominica is bereaved.

‘See you down there,’ Tor says, heading off with Helga to the water’s edge, but Dominica hangs back, waiting for Claire. There’s something a little fragile and unassuming about her that Dominica rather likes. Tor and Helga are so strident, but Claire has a gentleness to her that appeals. There’s something endearing about someone who is clearly trying to be brave.

The sea is reflecting the steel-grey cloud above the beach, but there’s a band of white and pink between the sea and the sky near the horizon. The starlings are doing their thing over the pier, huge masses of them. It won’t be long before they’re off.

Helga walks straight in, as she does, but now, as they approach the rippling waves on the shore, Dominica stands with Claire, watching the sun coming through the bottom of the cloud, a sudden orange football hovering above the horizon. They watch as the golden pink blush wobbles towards them across the surface of the water.