Swimming at Night: A Novel by Lucy Clarke Read Free Book Online Page A

steal the incline from the steepest parts. Reaching the bottom, Mia was the first to jog towards the shore and plunge her feet in the sea. “Hello, Pacific!” she bellowed. Then she turned to Finn. “Swim?”
    “Here? It looks pretty rough.”
    “You can look after my clothes, then,” she said, pulling off her top and wriggling free from her shorts, leaving her in mismatched underwear. Her body was lean and muscular; she thought herself too angular to be considered beautiful, although she’d grown used to the jut of her hip bones and her small breasts, and wasn’t abashed in front of Finn. They’d seen each other’s bodies hundreds of times—she knew the broadness of his shoulders, the way his bellybutton protruded slightly, seen the coarse hairs spread from around his nipples across his chest.
    “Good London tan,” she said, referencing the lily-white shade of his chest as he stripped from his T-shirt.
    “Good slacker’s tan.”
    She laughed, and Finn took the opportunity to race past her, splashing through the white water and hurdling small waves before the sea finally took his legs from under him. He tumbled forwards, flattening his body and spreading his arms so he hit the water with a slap, sending silver droplets skyward.
    Mia was still laughing as she waded in to join him. The cold water was like a vise at her ankles, which reached its grip to her knees and caused a shaving nick to sting. A gull cawed overhead and she glanced up, watching it glide on the breeze. The seabed dropped away suddenly and water rose over her cotton pants and towards her stomach, which she sucked in away from the sea’s bite. She took a quick breath and then dived under.
    When she surfaced her dark hair was slicked to her head like oil. She kicked her legs and swam with clear, smooth strokes.
    “Don’t go too far,” Finn called. “I only do Baywatch rescues on red-pants days.”
    The waves rose and fell beneath her. One took her by surprise and white water slipped over her head like a blanket. She rubbed the water from her eyes and then took off in a front crawl, feeling the tightening of her muscles as they worked to propel her forward. On every second stroke she turned her head for air, and felt the weak sun brush her face.
    Eventually, when her legs began to stiffen from the exertion and the cold, she slowed and swam parallel to the shore, looking at the cliffs from a new angle. It was an impressive coastline—dramatic,weather-beaten, and empty. The space was intoxicating, a physical relief after London where she had felt as if she could never quite catch her breath. Away from the city, away from the memory of who she’d become, it was the first time in months that Mia felt at ease.
    *   *   *
    That evening, they sat on a picnic bench clutching tin mugs filled with hot chocolate. She could hear waves breaking in the distance, a soft rumble, almost like a far-off truck passing by. She slipped a silver hip flask from her back pocket and unscrewed the cap. “Whisky?”
    Finn pushed his mug towards her. “Good job on dinner.”
    Having camped often in their youth, they had mastered one-pot dishes to a level of wizardry. Tonight, Mia had offered to cook, serving noodles with thick slices of salami, simmering with peas, chunks of mushroom, a few cherry tomatoes, and a shake of seasoning. “Always tastes better outdoors,” she said, splashing whisky into both mugs. “It’s been so long since we’ve camped together.”
    “London parks don’t have quite the same appeal.”
    “True.” She smiled. “But—really—are you enjoying London?” Finn had moved there after graduation, renting an apartment above a butcher’s shop. It backed on to a railway line, and water shook from the kitchen tap whenever a train passed.
    “I do. I did. It was a change after Cornwall.”
    “What, Friday nights at SJ’s didn’t do it for you?”
    “No, I love leopard print and Lycra on fifty-year-olds.” He grinned. “London