The next Sunday, Minnie went back to Hampstead Ponds. She could have gone to the Ladies’ Pond further into the park. It was smarter, had better changing facilities and more sun in the morning. But she found herself at the Mixed Pond, peering at each head that glided through the water, wondering if one might belong to him. Clearly he was not likely to be there. She always looked for Jean Finney too, with her distinctive white ruffled swimming cap. It was just something you did when you went to the ponds, you looked out for people you knew.

Minnie swam for longer than she planned to, pulling the water back and down as though her life depended on it. She felt strong. These last few months she’d noticed new muscles developing in her shoulders, her stomach felt flat for the first time in years and her legs and arms felt longer somehow. On the downside her hair was a wild frizz bomb. Did any swimmers have good hair? Maybe if she was really serious about swimming she should chop it all off and go full otter.

When all her energy was spent, she pulled herself out of the water and dried herself standing on the patch of grass just in front of the changing rooms. Flashes of memory from this exact spot surfaced – stealing Quinn’s towel, their breakfast together, his dimpled smile as they walked side by side through the park. She needed to stop thinking about him.

‘Are you leaving?’ came a voice behind her.

She turned and then blinked, as though she didn’t trust her eyes. Was he really there, or had she conjured him up just by thinking about him? He was standing holding a towel, fully dressed in jeans and a pale blue shirt rolled up to the elbows. His hair looked longer, dishevelled. His face was unshaven; she’d never seen him with this much stubble before. The stubble made her conclude he couldn’t be a mirage. If her subconscious was going to create a vision of him, it would create him in the way she knew him to look, not some new, unshaven version.

‘Hi,’ she said, feeling her mouth launch into an unconscious smile.

‘I hoped I’d run into you,’ he said. ‘Shame we’re not in sync to go for a post-swim bacon roll. You must get up at the crack of dawn.’

‘Oh, I’ve only done a few laps,’ she lied. ‘I could swim longer if you … ’

Minnie couldn’t swim another stroke, she was exhausted.

‘Great, shall we meet back here in thirty minutes?’ he said, pulling off his shirt in one smooth movement.