Don't F**k With Cold Water Swimmers

Chapter 1: Jill

Jill stands shivering on Brighton Beach, feeling utterly ridiculous in her fluffy pink dressing gown. The fuzzy material is childish, too bright against the grey morning, but she hadn’t known what else to wear over her swimming costume.

What is she even doing here? She hasn’t swum in years, not properly. Just the occasional ankle-deep paddle with the twins when they were little. It must have been ten years since she put so much as a pinky toe into the water.

Beside her, Miriam beams, a walking carnival in the grey dawn. Her swimsuit is a loud tropical print, half hidden beneath a neon dry robe that snaps in the wind like a cape. The bright, joyful colours clash with the solid power of her frame, her broad shoulders and square jaw, giving her a kind of butch magnificence. She radiates mischief and competence in equal measure.

‘Come on, love,’ Miriam says. ‘Like pulling off a plaster. Faster’s better.’

Jill nods, but her brain scrambles for excuses. You could still go home. No one would mind. They’d forget you by lunchtime. You could make a nice pot of tea, eat some biscuits, and pretend this morning never happened.

Out in the sea, the other members of the Seriously Chilled Swimming Club are already laughing and splashing, their heads bobbing like buoys in the golden water. Beyond them, the sunrise unfurls across the horizon, copper and pink spilling over the waves.

No, she tells herself sternly. You’re not going home. You’re doing this. You need to do something. Because if this doesn’t work, she has no idea what comes next. She can’t keep moving through her days like a ghost, retreating to her bed as soon as the kids leave for school, sitting for hours in the car outside Tesco because going in feels like too much.

Jill takes a deep breath and shrugs off her dressing gown. She folds it and sets it neatly on the shingles, as if neatness might distract from the fact that she’s standing there half-naked in full view of the whole beach.

As she stands back up, her old burgundy swimsuit rides up her bum. Heat floods her face. She straightens quickly, pretending it hasn’t happened. Oh God. She flicks a wary look over her shoulder before daring a small, stealthy tug to set things right. The gesture feels huge, mortifying.

She wraps her arms around her middle, wishing she could fold up and disappear into the wind.

The round stones are brutal underfoot as she teeters towards the water, knees bent, back hunched, tottering like a toddler in too-big heels. Each step makes her wince. Why hadn’t she picked up some of those neoprene water shoes she’s seen people wearing on the beach? She never remembers the right things. But the tide is low, and at the water’s edge, a narrow band of sand gives her feet a moment’s mercy. She stops there, feet grateful for the smoother ground, and stares out at the water, stubbornly dark even under the first light of dawn.

‘Is it very cold?’ she asks, her voice smaller than she means it to be.

‘I reckon seventeen or eighteen,’ Miriam says. ‘Much warmer this time of year. The sun’s been heating it for a few months now. Wait till February. Then you’ll know what cold is.’

Jill braces herself, sucks in a lungful of air, and takes two quick steps forward into the water. The cold closes around her ankles, sharp and stinging. Before she can gather herself, a harmless-looking wave crests and breaks against her shin, throwing a splash square into her face.

She splutters, blinking salt from her lashes, while Miriam lets out a delighted cackle beside her.

‘Atta girl! If she splashes you, it means she’s inviting you in.’

Jill wipes the cold rivulets from her cheek with the back of her hand. She feels rooted to the spot, frozen physically and psychologically. The idea of submerging her entire body in this icy water feels about as realistic as swimming to France.

‘My goodness, does it get easier?’ she manages through chattering teeth.

‘Oh yeah,’ Miriam replies. ‘The first time’s the worst. Then you learn to override your lizard brain.’

‘My what?’

‘Your lizard brain! You know, fight or flight. That old survival nonsense. Trying to save you from danger.’

‘But this isn’t dangerous … right?’ Jill scans the waves, half-expecting a kraken to loom from the shallows.

Miriam laughs. ‘Of course not. Perfectly safe. But your brain doesn’t know that yet. You’ve just got to override the alarm bells.’

Jill inches forward a little more, water closing over her calves, but then her body refuses to go any further. She looks helplessly at Miriam.

‘Okay, watch me! It’s easy!’ Miriam’s dry robe flares out for a moment in the wind as she removes it and she tosses it behind her. She strides into the water with the swagger of someone about to part the Red Sea. Once she is in up to just below her bum, she turns theatrically towards Jill and spreads her arms wide like a ringmaster about to take a bow. With a cheeky wink, she lets herself fall straight backwards into the waves.

For a moment, she vanishes completely, swallowed by the sea. Jill holds her breath, half a second from panicking, and then Miriam erupts back through the surface, water cascading off her grey curls, laughing like she’s just pulled off the stunt of the century.

‘ARGHHH! Glorious!’ she bellows, pumping her fists in the air. ‘Get in here! It’s heaven once you’re in!’

Jill can’t help laughing, even as dread knots her stomach. Miriam splashes and whoops like a child at the lido, joy radiating from every rosy inch of her skin.

Okay. Be brave. It’s just cold, Jill tells herself. Everyone is waiting.

She edges forward until the water covers her knees, then stops again. Each wave makes her flinch in a new and more mortifying way.

Behind her comes the crunch and click of shingle. She turns. An elderly man with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail and scruffy white stubble is making his way down the beach in black trunks, towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a beagle trotting at his heels.

‘Morning!’ he chirps, cheerful as a postman, dropping his towel right beside her abandoned dressing gown. There is something familiar about his face, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. ‘Back in a jiff, Izzy,’ he adds to the dog, who circles twice and plops down on the stones, clearly a veteran of this strange ritual.

‘Ed!’ Miriam hollers from the surf, grinning. ‘Thought we might not see you today!’

‘How dare you doubt me?’ he calls back, mock-affronted, then shoots Jill a conspiratorial wink. ‘See you out there.’

Ed wades in without ceremony, the sea curling around his thin, sun-browned legs. There’s a wiry resilience to him, the kind men in their seventies sometimes carry. Lean muscle, weathered skin. He dives beneath the surface in one neat motion, and when he rises again, he looks almost boyish, grinning and shaking himself like a happy retriever.

He turns back to Jill, gives a jaunty salute, and begins a slow breaststroke towards the others.

Jill gawps after him and then glances back at Izzy, who is staring at her expectantly. Oh dear. Even the dog. Come on, Jill. If you do it, you can go get one of those delicious hot chocolates at Coastal Cafe. With extra whipped cream. And marshmallows.

The promise of something warm and sweet gives her a flicker of courage. She takes a breath and counts down in her head.

Three … Two … One.

Jill squeezes her eyes shut and throws herself forward into the sea.

The cold hits like an electric shock. Her skin flares, her chest locks tight. For an instant, every system shuts down. Thought. Memory. Worry. All gone. It isn’t panic, not exactly, and it isn’t calm either. It’s obliteration. A burst of white that blocks out everything else. No voices. No tasks. No endless loop of things undone. Just one blinding pulse that erases everything but the water.

She surfaces with a gasp. The adrenaline surges through her like caffeine. Her limbs tingle. Her heart gallops.

Miriam and Ed give a triumphant cheer from a few feet away. ‘See! Glorious!’ calls Miriam, her face lit with a wide, certain smile.

Breathless, Jill forces a smile and a shaky thumbs-up. ‘Glorious indeed,’ she says, her voice catching in her throat. A rush of emotion crests in her chest and her eyes begin to prickle. She blinks hard, swallowing it back before anyone can see.

Miriam floats a lime-green pool noodle her way, and Jill tries hard to look as though she doesn’t need it, but the second it tucks under her armpits, she’s finally able to catch her breath.

‘House rules. All Seriously Chilled Swimming Club newbies take a noodle for their first swim,’ Miriam reminds her with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Oh. Right. Fine then.’ Jill rolls her eyes as if it’s silly, but clings tighter to the noodle.

The two of them paddle deeper as Izzy lays her head down on her paws and closes her eyes. Further out, Ed and two other women are treading water in a loose circle with a young man, who is in the middle of a story that has everyone in stitches.

‘… and no one noticed until lunchtime. The kid’s just peeling bits of sandwich, and shoving them down his pants.’

‘No!’ one woman cries, nearly choking with laughter. ‘He kept a hamster in his underpants all morning?’

The young man shrugs. ‘Apparently, it was very well behaved. Had a nap, he thinks,’ he says to renewed laughter.

‘Morning all!’ Miriam says with a cheerful wave. ‘Everyone, meet Jill. First day swimming!’

Jill raises a tentative hand. ‘Morning,’ she says, giving a small apologetic smile. The pool noodle tucked under her arms makes her feel about twelve years old.

Miriam gestures to a sharp-featured woman with short black hair and a no-nonsense, high-necked navy Speedo swimsuit. ‘This is Alison.’

Alison nods. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

‘That’s Sadie,’ Miriam adds, nodding towards a pretty thirty-something blonde floating serenely on her back.

Sadie crooks her head an inch out of the water and waves, her legs sinking as she does so. ‘Morning.’

‘And that’s Jacob, Alison’s son,’ says Miriam of the floppy-haired young man who had been telling the hamster story.

‘Hiya!’ He gives Jill a warm, toothy smile.

‘And you’ve already met Ed. Us five are the hard-core ones. We almost never miss the sunrise dip. There are part-timers who join us in the mornings occasionally and then loads of people throughout the day, but this lot, well, it’s the best. Most of us will be here if you come first thing.’

The group beams at one another for a moment, and then Miriam’s attention drifts towards the east. Beyond the silhouette of the Palace Pier, Jill can see the sky beginning to change. That sweet spot, the golden moment before the muted colours of sunrise turn into blazing blue sky.

‘I love this time of year,’ Alison says, face lit by the warming rays of the sun.

They all murmur their agreement, voices hushed with reverence.

Jill floats onto her back like Sadie, limbs splayed like a starfish, letting the water cradle her. The tide is coming back in, lifting her in small, patient swells and pushing her gently back towards the shore. She closes her eyes. For a moment, she is weightless, held, suspended between who she has been these past months and who she might become. She exhales, long and low.

Stillness.

She can’t remember the last time she saw the sun rise. In the summer, it always happened while she was asleep, and in the winter, it always seemed too depressingly late to enjoy. But no question, there is something magical about watching a new day being born from darkness.

For the first time in a long while, she feels in her body, not just in her head.

Then, ‘Ed, are you playing footsie with me again?’ Miriam’s teasing voice cuts through the quiet as she, too, floats on her back.

‘What? Nope. Not me,’ he replies.

Miriam flinches. ‘Oh shit. Wait. That’s not you. That’s … What the?!’ She shudders and kicks backwards. ‘There’s something under the water. I think’

The calm shatters. Heads turn. Everyone back-paddles a few feet. The tide has delivered them nearly back to the shoreline, and Jill can feel the sand below her if she stretches out her legs.

‘Jacob, you’ve got goggles,’ Alison says, her voice thin. ‘Can you check?’

Jacob nods grimly, pulls his goggles down from his forehead, and ducks under.

Seconds pass.

When he surfaces, he gasps, dragging in air as if he’s been under far longer than he has. His face is chalk-white, his eyes wide with panic.

‘It’s a person,’ he says. His voice cracks on the word. ‘A body.’ He swallows hard. ‘We need to call someone. Now.’ He turns towards the shore, half swimming, half stumbling through the shallow water.

Sadie lets out a strangled scream. For a moment, she thrashes as if she’s forgotten how to swim, then she surges after Jacob.

Jill is frozen, her focus on the dark shadow just under the water. The words ring in her ears but don’t land. A body?

Just moments ago, the sea had felt like an unexpected sanctuary. Now it’s full of danger.

‘Jesus H Christ,’ Miriam whispers and sets off after Jacob and Sadie.

Jill turns, scanning the water as if more bodies may appear beside her. Alison and Ed stand a few metres away, water up to their chests and eyes fixed on a dark shape just below the surface.

‘Help me bring him up, Ed,’ Alison says.

Ed grimaces. ‘He’s pretty obviously gone, love.’

‘I know,’ she says briskly. ‘Occupational hazard. Doctors are trained to check for a pulse. Even when …’ she trails off.

Ed nods, and they reach beneath the surface. The water is shallow, but the churned-up water makes everything murky. Ed gets a handful of dark material and together they lift.

A young man’s body rises between them, heavy and slack. His face breaks the surface, mouth open as though he has been waiting to breathe. His hair is slicked across his forehead, eyes fixed on the pale morning sky. For a heartbeat, he looks alive.

Alison presses her fingers to his neck. She waits. She checks his wrist. Nothing.

She shakes her head, but doesn’t stop. Her hands move with quiet efficiency, brushing his hair back, feeling along his jaw, his throat, his ribs. Calm. Methodical. As if this were any other task.

Jill cannot stop staring. She has never seen a dead person outside of a hospital before. The world narrows to the blue tinge of his lips. The strange waxy stillness of his skin. The way his hand drifts in the water, bumping against Alison’s sleeve as if he is reaching for her. How can this woman be so composed?

Only then does Jill notice how just shallow the water has become. Her legs are curled up, her bum almost resting on the pebbles. She only has to stand to get away from the horror in front of her.

She twists her body, trying to get her feet underneath her as waves rock her back and forth. For a moment, she almost makes it upright. Then the pebbles slide. Her balance goes, and she crashes down onto her knees in the waves. The shock of pain barely registers.

She crawls the rest of the way out of the water, dragging herself clear of the waves like a wounded animal, lungs burning, breath sharp and broken.

Her lizard brain had been right after all.

Chapter 2: Sadie

Sadie reached the shore before she retched, but only just. Now, her stomach is clenched tight, bile and fear burning her throat.

A dead body. The words keep repeating, refusing to make sense.

She thinks of her little Charlotte, safely tucked up in her new big-girl bed at Sadie’s ex-husband’s flat, probably clutching the ragged toy rabbit she refuses to sleep without. The image feels impossibly far away, like a memory from another lifetime. Thank God Charlotte isn’t here today, like she is most mornings.

Sadie wraps her arms around her knees and presses her palms into her eyes until stars bloom behind her lids. But she can still feel him out there in the shallows, drawing closer with every slow push of the tide.

When she peeks through her fingers, she sees that Ed and Alison have brought the body to the surface. Alison is pressing her fingers to his neck, her face calm and focused, as usual.

A bit late for that, Sadie thinks.

Further up the beach, the new woman, Jill, had emerged on her hands and knees and is now sitting rigid, her damp, pink dressing gown clutched tight in front of her like armour. She looks white as a sheet, her bottom lip trembling, eyes locked on the sea. The breeze tugs her damp hair across her face, but she doesn’t brush it away. She just stares, frozen, as though any movement might invite the body closer. Sadie watches her for a moment, recognising the shape of fear in her stillness.

Somewhere nearby, Jacob is fumbling with his backpack and pulling out his phone.

‘Yeah, hi, I’m on Brighton Beach,’ he says, voice taut. ‘We’ve found a body. Yes. A dead man. In the water.’ A pause. ‘Uh … we’re just near Hove Plinth. Between that and the Peace Statue, maybe closer to the plinth. Yeah. Okay. I’ll wait here. Thanks.’

He hangs up and reaches back into his bag, pulling out a blue inhaler. He takes two quick puffs. ‘They’re sending someone,’ he says. ‘Told me to stay put.’

Sadie nods. The world feels too bright, too sharp. Every detail registers. The metallic smell of salt, the constant ebb and return of the waves, the way Jacob’s trembling hand misses the first time he tries to pocket his phone. Her brain kicks in before her heart can stop it, taking stock, filing facts, building a record.

Behind him, Miriam is coming towards her with Sadie’s dry robe in her hand. She crouches to drape it around Sadie, and then sits beside her, placing a cool, damp hand on her back.

‘You alright, love?’

‘Yeah. I’m okay,’ Sadie manages. The pressure of Miriam’s palm stays firm, its steady pressure a welcome counterpoint to the furious drumming in her chest.

After a minute, Miriam gives her shoulder a squeeze and then moves to check on Jill. Sadie hears her plunk down on the pebbles beside her, whispering that everything is going to be okay.

Sadie turns back toward the body and sees Jacob wading back into the shallows where Ed and Alison stand, the water brushing their knees. The three of them bend over the half-submerged body, voices carrying clearly across the hush of the tide. Sadie doesn’t want to listen, but the words reach her anyway.

‘Jesus. Poor kid. About Jacob’s age?’ Alison says.

‘Far too young,’ Ed says, shaking his head.

‘Mum,’ Jacob asks, ‘wouldn’t he look worse if he’d been in there long? Like bloated or something?’ He looks up and down the beach, searching for the person responsible for this tragedy, but only sees the usual array of dog walkers and morning joggers.

‘Not sure, really. The cold slows things down,’ Alison says. ‘Still, decomposition begins within a day. Wouldn’t be much longer than that, I don’t think.’ She frowns. ‘Not really my field though, if I’m honest.’

Alison is Sussex’s top colorectal surgeon, not exactly a forensic pathologist, but she still has the measured tone of someone used to dealing with medical questions.

Sadie squeezes her eyes shut again, wishing she could shut her ears too. But their voices keep threading through the surf, inescapable.

‘Should we get him out of the water?’ Jacob asks.

Ed hesitates. ‘Would that mess with evidence? I don’t really know.’

They all fall silent, watching as the body rocks gently in the shallows. Jacob crouches beside him, eyes fixed on the face. ‘He doesn’t really look real. He’s like a replica of a human made by aliens. So weird.’

Sadie opens her eyes again to see Alison nod and put a hand on her son’s shoulder. Jacob stands up and then, even though he’s a good ten inches taller than her, he leans down and places his cheek on top of his mother’s head.

‘Copper,’ says Ed, nodding down the beach.

A young officer is scrambling across the pebbles, half-jogging, half-skidding. His high-vis jacket flaps open, and his radio squawks static. He’s talking into it, but is too far away to hear clearly.

He arrives red-faced and breathless, stones sliding under his boots.

‘Good morning … I mean … not good, obviously,’ he says, squinting into the water at the body. ‘I mean, hello. I’m PC Patel. I was on patrol just up the beach. The rest of the team will be here shortly.’

Sadie watches him, her mind still fogged. He’s younger than she expected, late twenties, early thirties maybe, with a mop of dark, unruly hair that dances in the breeze. His jacket hangs a little loose on his frame, the radio oversized on his shoulder, the belt riding low on narrow hips. He looks like a kid who’s borrowed his dad’s uniform, proud to be wearing it but not quite living up to the authority it bestows. For a split second, she feels the tug of a smile, then the weight of what’s in front of them pulls it away.

He glances between the swimmers like he’s hoping one of them will take charge. When no one moves, he wades into the water, kneels beside the body, and awkwardly checks for a pulse, one hand on the neck, the other bracing himself in the wet sand. The contact is brief, almost squeamish.

‘Yeah. He’s dead.’

‘Oh, phew. Glad the professionals have arrived then,’ Miriam says dryly, one eyebrow raised. ‘We thought he might just be having a kip.’

Patel stands and tries to brush the damp patches off his knees. It only makes it worse. Sadie finds herself noticing the colour rising in his cheeks, and the small, self-conscious grimace.

He clears his throat. ‘Ambulance is on its way. And forensics. I’ll need to ask you all some questions.’

‘Should we get him out of the water first?’ Jacob asks again.

‘We didn’t want to disturb anything, you know, evidence or whatever,’ Ed says.

‘Oh. Well. The tide’s coming in, I think, so he won’t drift off to France just yet,’ Patel says with a nervous laugh.

A beat passes. The group looks at him expectantly as another wave bumps the body into the shore, the head turning slightly as if in answer. Patel winces slightly, then nods.