The Wild Swimmers – Part 1: Cold Water

"You scream," said Imani.

"Do I have to?"

"It's the rule. You scream, you swear, you swim."

Holly stared at the lake. It lay dark and still under a pewter sky, ringed with mist and slate-grey fells, as flat and cold as a sheet of iron. It was six in the morning in October. Eight women in costumes and woolly hats stood on the shingle beach, steaming in the chill, bouncing on their toes.

She was thirty-two, a primary school teacher, newly bereaved and badly in need of something to shock her awake. A neighbour had said: come swimming.

Imani, the founder, was thirty-five, tall and strong, with dark skin, a shaved head and a laugh like a bell. She wore a bright orange costume and a hat with a pom-pom. "First time?" she said.

"Yes."

"Ready?"

"No."

"Perfect. Count of three."

They ran in together. The water hit Holly like a slap. She screamed, a high ragged shriek that echoed off the fells. Imani whooped beside her. The other women roared with delight. Then, slowly, the shock gave way to a tingling glow, and Holly found herself floating in the black water, gasping and laughing, surrounded by mist.

"Oh my goodness," she gasped.

"I know."

"It's the best thing I've ever done."

"That's what everyone says."

Afterwards, wrapped in towels, they sat on a bench with hot tea, trembling and euphoric. Mist lifted from the lake. A heron stalked through the reeds. The sun, red and low, cleared the hills.

"Can I ask you something?" said Holly.

"Yes."

"Why do you do this?"

"Because I lost someone too," said Imani, quietly. "And the cold is the only thing that gets in."

Holly's throat tightened. She nodded, unable to speak.

"Green?" said Imani, a towel colour.

"Green," said Holly, a wobbly laugh. "Very green. Same time tomorrow?"

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Frost.