‘Do you know what time it is, Lisa?’

I looked across and saw his face, pensive and scowling. Next minute he’d opened the back door and started to unclip Joe from his car seat.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, his hair’s still wet,’ he cried, lifting Joe out and clutching him to his chest as though rescuing him from a car wreck. ‘Surely they have hairdryers at the leisure centre?’

‘We didn’t have time,’ I explained as I followed him into the house. ‘But I got him straight in the car. Honestly, Mark, a bit of damp hair isn’t going to harm him.’

‘It’s December, you foolish woman,’ he exclaimed as he marched up the stairs with Joe. ‘Freezing cold. God, you don’t have an ounce of common sense, do you?’

I didn’t respond. Instead I closed the door, put the bags on to the rack in the hall then made my way despondently to the kitchen. Mark had already been busy. The dishwasher was whirring, the washing machine was on a spin cycle. Probably he’d come home from work, seen the dirty pots stacked up in the sink and the overflowing laundry basket in the utility room, and sprung into action. I could imagine what he’d said as he buzzed around the kitchen. ‘Christ, Lisa, no wonder I can never find a clean shirt.’

As I stood in the kitchen I felt like I was sinking into an abyss, suffocating under the weight of Mark’s controlling ways. I hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in months. Joe was teething at the time, waking up every hour or so screaming in pain. I was spending most of my nights pacing up and down the hallway with Joe in my arms, rocking him and willing the Calpol to act fast. The sleep deprivation left me feeling spiky and short-tempered, as though the slightest thing could send me hurtling over the edge. The only time I felt calm was when I went swimming. The water, just as it had done as a child, always made me feel better, like I was floating between worlds, with no cares, no responsibilities, just a wonderful sense of peace. Mark had never understood my love of swimming, of how necessary it was to my well-being. He saw the water as dangerous and unknowable. And the fact that I was drawn to it, needed it, made him distrust it even more. You see, Mark liked to control every aspect of our lives and he hated the fact that when I swam I was free again, wild again, beyond his control.

The events of that evening have blurred slightly, though I remember standing in the kitchen holding a glass of water, trying to wake myself up. Mark had dried Joe’s hair and got him ready for bed, muttering loudly how terrible it was that ‘Mummy let you get cold and wet’. I could hear his voice in the next room as I stood there and I remember trying to think of something positive, something to cancel out Mark’s constant criticisms. I closed my eyes and saw my father standing by the side of the pool holding his arms out to me, a tiny girl of six. ‘Come on, Lisa,’ he cried, his eyes warm and encouraging. ‘You can do it!’ And for a few moments I was back at the lido about to swim for the first time. My shoulders relaxed and I felt happiness, pure, simple happiness flood through my body.