I came after work each Monday and Wednesday, for the adults’ swim squad. The complex, comprising a fifty-metre pool and a toddler pool, plus a spectator stand, picnic tables, and a lawn, sat on the land’s edge, with only a strip of car park between it and a seawall of rocks, which spilled onto the sand. A salmon-coloured sunset had already begun. At this time of year, it would grow in size and intensity during the swimming session, and arch over us so that we could look up at it — as we always did, grateful to live in such a beautiful place. We were a group of varying swimming ability, having in common the desire to stay fit: a fifty–fifty mix of men and women, most over thirty years old; teachers, health professionals, businesspeople, retirees. If we didn’t do this together, the invisible string that pulled us to these sessions would be gone, and we’d lapse into our individual, lackadaisical swimming efforts. The session began with warm-up laps.
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