By six o’clock the tide was going out from the small bay below the field centre, but it was not until after seven that four intrepid swimmers were on their way down to the water, all wearing wetsuits – they had been warned how cold the sea would be. The first two raced ahead and plunged in, following a wave to launch themselves, the next was not far behind, but then Laura Roberts felt her foot come up against a concealed rock and fell sprawling on the hard sand. She lay until it was clear that she had done herself little harm, though she would probably have bruised toes the next day. The others were shouting with laughter, their voices faint against the drag of the waves.
She rolled over and looked along the flat sand, and as she looked, she saw it. She had read about it. The mistakes people made. A big fish. A log. A seal. Part of a boat. She got up and went slowly along the few yards of beach. Slowed as she got nearer. She made herself look. Took a few steps. The tide was going out but a few foam-edged waves were washing over it. Gentle waves. Washing it clean.
She did not remember passing out, only that she came to with Chloë and Angus leaning over her and Ade standing peering down at the woman’s body.