And it’s not like diving in the Caribbean. Or on the Great Barrier Reef. Or any of the places I dream about going swimming. But it’s real. Real diving. Real swimming, as the current tries to tear us away from the beach and into its dark heart.

We stand up. Swallow another wave as it comes crashing in. And let it push us forward this time, so we’re leaving the ice water and walking up on to the beach like the very first human, where the stones under our feet feel a lot more numb somehow and we can’t stop shivering as the water drips from us.

And the camera string is unwrapped from our wrists and – I’m a watcher again.

Fuck,

fuck,

fuck,

it’s cold.

I fall with the camera to the ground to look up at the clouds as a dark figure thrashes overhead, swearing and shaking while trying to wring water from his long hair. I squint at him, trying to make out his face, and feeling a jolt as I see the outline of a nose. A square chin. But it’s too dark to see properly.

I can tell that he’s shaking so much he can’t get his socks on. But he shoves his feet in his shoes anyway, picks me up and marches off.

I.

Can’t.

Even.

He walks. Up the beach and across a deserted road into a chip shop – sliding into a free booth in the corner.

Chip-fat steam

hits me like a train

and I can breathe again.

His shaking fingers lift me out of the bag and back into the holder round his chest.

The waitress comes over and we both say, ‘Tea,’ together, before she’s even got out her pen.

‘Rowan? Are you okay?’

That was

W A Y

colder

than I thought it’d be.

‘I might go to the bathroom.

Run my hands under the hot tap.’

‘Don’t be silly, you’ll lose your fingers.’

I whimper like a dog

before I can stop myself.

‘How do I get warm, then?’

‘Dry yourself off more. Try to put your socks on. The tea will help.’

He does that while the waitress brings the tea over in a styrofoam cup and Rowan wraps his blue fingers round it.

‘Better?’ I say.

He lets out a shuddering breath.

‘So that might not have been the best idea, huh?’

I try not to laugh, because he’s cold and wet while I’m still warm in my bed and feeling wonderful.

‘It was very sweet of you, though, to do that for me.’

This tea tastes like plastic,

but feels like lava in my chest.

‘It was for you, but I think

I did it for me, too …’

And I can’t remember the last time I said that.