The Sea House by Esther Freud Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d check,’ and he was moving away across the Green, followed by a black and white cat. ‘Psst,’ he turned for it, and it hurried after, its tail held high, its footsteps dainty as if it were treading over tar.
Lily turned away, embarrassed, hoping he hadn’t seen the fear in her face, and in the distance, stepping on to the bridge she saw a white-gowned figure heading for the sea. Lily set off after her, relieved to have a purpose. Down the lane, along the river, over the wooden bridge and up the sandbanks, wading, climbing, up to the plain of beach before the sea. And there was Ethel standing by the water, on the treacle line where the wet sand meets the dry. She was slipping off her sandals, placing them neatly out of danger, dropping her white towelling dressing-gown to reveal a bolstered bathing costume, exploding orange petals from hip to hip. Lily walked nearer and sat on the sand. There was a cool breeze that swept over the beach, and the waves, though small, were capped with spray. Ethel stood for a minute with both ankles in the surf, and then she strode out until the water reached her thighs. This was the hardest moment, the point where your body shivered most, begging to be saved from pain, but Ethel lowered herself into the water and swam, ladylike and strong. She swam towards the skyline until she was nothing but a round white ruffled speck, and then, having reached her mark, she turned. She turned around into the sun and waved. Lily sprang up and waved back. And then she stood there watching, as Ethel began to drift back in. The swimming was less purposeful now, as if the hard work had been done. She let the waves billow her about, flecking up and wetting the edges of her hair. Soon she was rising up out of the shallow water. ‘Good morning,’ she called, as sand and shells and pearly drops scattered from her arms.
‘Do you swim every day?’ Lily asked as Ethel tugged on her gown.
‘If I can. I’ve been swimming most days since we moved here. It’s that that keeps me young. Are you going in?’
‘I haven’t got a costume.’ They both looked along the deserted beach and grinned.
‘Well, I’d better get back.’ Ethel turned and, holding her gown around herself, she shambled back up the sand slope of the beach and down the other side.
She would go in, of course she would. She might even slip in without any clothes at all. But as she pulled off her top, she thought of the row of fishermen she’d once seen. Green macs, green wellingtons, a small army of circular tents. What if they appeared over the hill the moment that her back was turned, and then when she was ready to rise naked out of the water, they would be there like a green-tented firing squad to greet her as she came out. Slowly she peeled off her jeans, grateful for her vaguely matching bra and pants, and then, with the tip of one toe, she tested the sea. It was so cold it scalded. She tried the other foot. ‘For God’s sake!’ The water clasped her foot and froze it, stabbing knives into the bone. Quickly she stepped back. If only she could plunge right in, get it over in one go, but the water was too shallow. She would have to walk out half a mile to even submerge her waist. She tried again, testing for pockets of warm sea, and then, knowing there was nothing else for it, she waded in. ‘God, God, God, God, God,’ she mumbled to take her mind off screaming, and she reminded herself that if this arctic water had failed to kill a woman in her eighties, then the chances were she would survive. The water was up to her knees now. She took a deep breath and looked around. There was no one and nothing for as far as she could see. ‘Right.’ And she turned and raced back out. Her legs were alive from the knees down, bright red and tingling. I should have just plunged in, she told herself, as she pulled on her clothes. Tomorrow, she promised, or the day after, and she walked the long way round, past the sea wall, and the one stilted