‘Right then,’ Jim said.

I looked at him. ‘What?’

He nodded at the water. ‘You’ve got to go in.’

‘I’m not going in. You never said anything about going in.’ He didn’t reply. I dropped my shoulders and tipped my head to the side. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘Chicken.’ He was staring at the pool, a front tooth just tugging his bottom lip in, the corners of his eyes crinkling like ferns.

‘You can’t expect me to. It’ll be freezing.’

He shrugged, nonchalant. ‘I go in all the time.’

A few tiny, poster paint-green leaves were floating on the surface. There was a vinegary smell. The spray prickled my skin, just a little.

‘Fine.’ I tugged my boots off, staggering into the rock wall as I did so.

He eyed me sidelong with a smile and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Oh my God, it was so cold.

He went in first, having taken off all his clothes save for his boxers. I was pretending not to look at him, doing my own thing, but he was right there. In his pants. I saw a lean freckled back, a tiny bit of belly, both much whiter than his arms, and lots of hair on his thighs. But I couldn’t look for long as suddenly he was in the water, ducking under and shooting back up with a big out-breath like someone had kicked him in the gut, and then he just hung in the water, facing me.

I was standing on the flat slab of rock in my clothes still, thinking, T-shirt on, T-shirt off, is he going to jump me, do I care, do I want him to, yes I sort of do so fuck it, and I whipped off my T-shirt and got out of my shorts with extreme speed, and had gone to the edge in my bra and pants, wishing I’d worn matching ones but glad at least that it was my bright blue bra that pushed my breasts up, holding my stomach in, my arms clenched by my side.

‘You’re a bastard,’ I said.

He grinned, and one, two – just because I couldn’t stand there in front of him practically naked any longer – I’d leapt in, and oh God, oh God, it was cold. Stupid, someone-biting-your-feet, someone-slapping-your-skin, gunshot-wound-in-the-face cold. The pool was deep enough for me to go right under, my toes just touching the stones at the bottom, and I’d come up, let out a tangled mix of scream and gurgle and thrashed around in a tiny circle. And I’d said it to him again, loudly, gleefully, hearing my voice bounce off the walls.

Jim just laughed quietly at me before turning and breaststroking as lazily as if he’d been in a steaming spa pool. I was left to wrestle with the cold, gulping a couple of mouthfuls, it tasting lovely, actually – an iced vodka-gin-Listerine cocktail – and tried to get used to it, my breath coming like I was in a massive huff, lungs working like crazy. Short rock cliffs hemmed us in, the plants hanging on for dear life above us. I felt like some ruddy-faced medieval girl who had to trek here every so often to wash before going back to her life milking Highland cattle and churning cheese and singing boring old songs with fifty verses and no chorus.