A garage in a small town, further in. Matty topped up the water, filled up the gas canister – it was definitely cheaper here – and fished around for pound coins. It felt odd, a hinterland, and yet no different from any of the garages on the way through England. There were memories of barricades on the TV news, criss-crossing oblongs of metal and soldiers in camouflage.

On the map, spread over the steering wheel, the border wended its way through water and crossed roads. As if the loughs, streams and rivers could accommodate it, absorb it.

And back. Over into Ireland again on another small road, without quite realising. There’d been a rust-streaked sign saying ‘Unapproved Road’. The tarmac fresh. Rain. Sheep. A border, and no border at all.

27/11/99

LOUGH ______, Air 10°C, Water 10°C, 200m

Matty had warmed up enough in the van, though still felt headachey, and the cough was getting a grainy, animal edge to it. At least the voice was sinking further. Fingers crossed that it’d be at Q-Tip levels soon enough.

Illness was a rare thing – the water usually saw that off. One of the hardy white-haired swimmers at the Ladies’ Pond had sworn by it, coming every morning, rain or shine. Said she hadn’t been ill since 1964. It was only when there’d been a swim-less stint that the germs might creep up. If you did feel ill, going in the water was usually the best thing – the germs took one whiff of the cold and scarpered.

A brown tourist sign for Lough _____ Drive, a scenic route. ‘Yeah, all right, mate, you got me,’ Matty said to Shifty, braking on the main road and clunking into reverse.

The wind stirred the lough into small, crowded waves. Matty swam out and then along away from the town, before bobbing to have a look around. There was a low island further off, with purpling trees. A long, unnatural-looking ridge of mountain beyond it. It felt harder to breathe today. The cold gripped, and the wetsuit itched. A short one, then. Maybe a B & B tonight, judgemental looks or not.

Back on land, there was a flash of pink. A kid was on a bike by Shifty, looking in at the windows. By the time Matty neared the sloped ramp, the girl was standing at the top facing the lough. She wore a shiny pink coat that matched the glitter on her bike, hood up, elfish. She backed off as Matty got out, but hovered, watching Shifty’s door slide open. It seemed a bit much to slam it in her face.

‘What were you doing?’ she said, holding onto her bike. The handles had green and pink ribbons tied on each end.

‘What did it look like?’

A short pause. ‘Why?’

‘I like it.’ A gritty cough.

‘We’ve got a swimming pool not so far away. In the next town. It’s got a wave machine.’