The Lido – Part 1: Lane Four
Mature & Silver·EN·1 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 1 of 2
"Twelve," said Anthony, between strokes.
"Thirteen," said Carol, passing him.
"I'm sure it was twelve."
"You said twelve three lengths ago."
"I did. I'm being cautious."
Carol laughed, and her laugh turned into a gasp as the cold water slapped her chin. It was six in the morning, and the Brighton lido lay steaming in the grey light, a long Art Deco pool beside the sea, with a few brave swimmers ploughing up and down under a pale pink sky. Gulls wheeled overhead. The sea beyond the wall glittered silver.
Carol, sixty-one, a retired nurse, had taken up dawn swimming after her husband's death three years earlier. "It's the only hour when nothing hurts," she had told her sister. She had swum in lane four every day since, and for the last two months, a tall silver-haired man in a faded navy costume had swum in the lane beside her.
Anthony, sixty-five, a retired architect, counted aloud and never got it right. He wore goggles pushed on top of his head like a visor and talked to himself in a low, courteous voice. When he finished, he climbed out, shivering, wrapped in a vast striped towel, and said "Good morning" to every person in the pool.
"You count like a poet," said Carol, one morning.
"Is that good?"
"It's very distracting."
"I'll try to be more accurate."
"Don't. It's the nicest part of my day."
He looked at her over the steaming rim of his tea. His eyes, behind the fogged glasses, were bright. "Carol," he said, "may I buy you breakfast? A proper one. Bacon, eggs, the whole business."
"I'd like that very much."
Continue the story: Part 2 – Warm Towels.
Continue the story: Part 2 – Warm Towels.
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Part 2 of 2: Warm Towels · 2 min read
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