‘It’s not my dog, you see. I’m so sorry. Luna. Luna!’ the woman calls, making a grab for the dog.

Dominica laughs at the carnage the dog has caused. ‘He’s a determined little thing, isn’t he? Is it a he? A she?’

The dog jumps onto Dominica’s lap. She holds its ears and makes a soothing noise, getting the dog’s attention.

‘She. She’s a puppy. She belongs to my new neighbour.’ The woman bends down to try and lean across and pick up the dog from Dominica. But she loses her footing and overbalances. She stumbles then sits down on the pebbles with a thump.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ Dominica asks her. She’s stroking the dog, who has curled up in her lap. They look very cosy, but then Dominica has that way about her, Helga thinks. She’s tall and serene and Helga always feels calm around her too. ‘This is better than a hot water bottle. She’s so warm.’

‘I should never have agreed to walk it … her. She’s mental,’ the woman says, almost to herself. She sounds cross and Helga can’t bear the stress-energy she’s exuding. Feeling so mellow after the swim, it’s hard to be around someone so highly strung. The woman looks at her hands, as if she’s horrified that they’ve touched the ground. She rubs them together and checks the back of her coat. Helga sees she has had her nails professionally painted in a serious maroon varnish. Helga, who generally grubs out the dirt from under her fingernails with a screwdriver tip, wonders how much this woman spends on her appearance – and why. No good ever came out of looking in a mirror too much. Especially sober.

‘Take a breath,’ Helga says, before she can help herself.

The woman looks startled. She’s clearly not used to being told to do anything by anyone else. One of those, Helga thinks, remembering her sister’s ghastly set of friends. She covers the moment with a smile. ‘Would you like a mince pie? There are plenty.’ Claire nods in agreement to this offer and Helga holds out the box. She wonders whether the woman will make a fuss about sharing food and all the silly Covid rules they’re supposed to follow, but, to her credit, the woman smiles.

‘Are you sure? That’s very nice of you.’

Helga can see that she finds it just as delicious as she did. The woman’s eyes widen in delight as she takes a bite. ‘So much for the diet,’ she says, with a weak laugh, as if they all must know what she means, but Helga is confused. She looks like she barely eats, her skin stretched across her bones. Claire stares at her, confused too, but in a way that looks more like envy to Helga.

‘I can’t believe you’ve all been in,’ she continues, trying to save the moment. ‘I mean you must be mad. You’d never catch me …’ she peters out, when she realises they’re all still staring at her. ‘It’s so cold.’