The Tidal Pool – Part 1: Cold Dawn

"You swim like you're arguing with the sea," said the man on the rocks.

Thandi surfaced, spluttering, in the cold green water of the tidal pool. It was six in the morning at a rocky cove near Cape Town, and the sky was pale gold. Waves broke in a white line beyond the wall. Spray hung in the air. She was sixty, a retired judge, in a navy swimming costume and a rubber cap, with strong shoulders and an expression of habitual authority.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You fight it. You should let it carry you."

The man was sixty-four, lean and brown, in a battered woollen cap and an old fisherman's jersey, sitting on a rock with a flask and a line in the water. He had a lined, humorous face and eyes the colour of the sea. "Peter. I fish here. I've been watching you for a month. You are very determined."

"I swim for exercise."

"You swim like you're late."

"I was a judge. I'm always late."

He laughed, a rich, slow laugh. She found herself laughing too, treading water. It was a strange sensation: she had not laughed in months, not since her husband's funeral.

"Try floating," said Peter.

"I can't float."

"Everyone can float. You just have to stop."

She lay back on the water, tentative, stiff as a plank, arms out. The sea lifted her. The cold clasped her shoulders. The sky, vast and rose, spread above her. Slowly, miraculously, her muscles loosened, and for the first time in a year, she felt held.

"There," said Peter, softly.

She stayed there for a long time, eyes closed, rocking gently. When she climbed out, shivering and glowing, he handed her a mug of hot tea from the flask without a word. It was sweet, strong and perfect.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"Can I ask you something?" said Thandi.

"Yes."

"Why do you watch?"

"Because someone should," said Peter. "And because it's the best view on the coast."

"Green?" she said, a wave, a flag.

"Green," said Peter, with a slow smile. "Very green. Same time tomorrow?"

Continue the story: Part 2 – Slack Water.