It used to make the national news: the nutters taking the plunge in the sea on Christmas morning, but cold water swimming has become all the rage and now the world and his wife have taken it up.

But who can blame them? Dominica thinks. There’s been bugger all else to do.

There are plenty of little flocks of swimmers already in the water, lots of them in woolly hats. A couple of show-offs are front-crawling further out, dragging their red tow floats behind them. She’d love to be able to swim like those Amazons out there in these winter months, but if she goes too far out of her depth, she gets a bit panicky. She knows that the sea is not to be taken for granted – even on a calm day like today. And, besides, she’s not fit enough to swim like that. Not any more. Not after a year of sitting on her arse eating biscuits.

Until the pandemic hit, Dominica had never been idle – not once during her fifty-six years. That’s probably because her parents had instilled a rock-solid work ethic in her and a belief that the colour of her skin meant she needed to prove herself twice as much. As an operations manager for a large travel company, she’s been the consummate multi-tasker, but with the skies emptied and holidays cancelled, her whole department has been put on furlough. At least, in some ways, it’s a blessing. She could never have coped with a job and losing Chris at the same time.

She’s dreading going back and knows that, any day now, there’ll be an email from management with the phased return-to-work plan. Her team – once thirty strong – was cut down in lockdown and she knows that a lot of her colleagues will have had a tough time too, but she dreads their reunion. She already knows that she won’t be able to stand the questions… the pity, how at least one of them will almost certainly dredge up a competing story of someone they know who died of Covid too. That’s the thing that gets her the most. That her Chris, with his bright eyes, booming laugh and bear hugs, has been reduced to a grim statistic for other people to comment on and chew over.

Over by the other groyne, some teens scamper across the stones in bright bikinis, squealing. Everyone is supposed to be socially distancing, but somehow the government’s rules don’t seem so pressing here at the water’s edge. She used to get angry about joggers breathing and shoppers crowding the pavements with their masks on their chins, but after what happened to Chris, she doesn’t waste her energy any more. The world is already full of judgers and snitchers without her joining their ranks. What’s the point when the worst has already happened? Besides, it’s natural for people to interpret the rules and bend them to their own making. As Chris always used to say: people are like water… they’ll always find a way.