Chapter Forty-Seven

The sea was considerably colder these days. Nathalie noticed it more each morning, but couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning her ritual, even if it was becoming painful. She slipped out of her sarong and the cotton jumper she’d slung on to ward off the dawn chills, and stepped hesitantly into the water. The cold was almost unbearable, stinging her skin. She stood a few minutes, willing her legs to acclimatise. Eventually, they did, and she stepped out further, trying not to cry out loud as the cold hit her thighs, then her hips, then her slowly protruding stomach. She willed herself to plunge in and swim as far out as she dared.

This was the last time, she decided, forcing herself in deeper.

She swam out, feeling first warm and then colder pockets of water as she went. After a few minutes the water started to soothe her, and she thought perhaps that she could face another few days. When the rain came, taking the temperature down several degrees, then she would stop.

How different her life was becoming, Nathalie thought. All around her there was change. She and Anna had said their goodbyes earlier that week. They’d hugged and kissed fondly like old friends, and agreed to stay in touch, although Nathalie doubted that either would.

‘I’ll always appreciate what you did for us,’ Anna told her. ‘It was mad, when you think about it, wasn’t it? Us: you and me, you, me and Richard. God! It felt so right at the time but, what strange, summer forces were coming over me? I was out of control, following some instinct, some visceral, crazed desire.’

‘Did you hear me complaining?’

Anna giggled. ‘I see Ginnie’s chap’s moving in,’ she said, looking out of the window to where Demetrius was carrying a box into number three.

‘He seems like a lovely man.’

‘Nice that you can find love at her age. Gives hope to everyone. It’s going to be so different here, isn’t it? No Douglas, no Tanya.’

‘It’ll be different in many ways,’ Nathalie had agreed, without elaborating.

She flipped onto her back and floated, her head partially submerged until all she could hear was the sound of her own breath. Placing a protective hand on her stomach, she imagined it swelling and swelling until it seemed to take over her body entirely. This thing happened to millions of women the world over, she told herself, but that didn’t make it feel any less miraculous or extraordinary to her.

Technically the baby could have been fathered by either Michel or Richard, but Nathalie knew neither to be the case. To think they had the combined ages of a hundred and four, yet still they were capable of creating new life. Her own little Eros - although his father could hardly claim to be Adonis, even if he was done in by a wild boar in the end.

They’d have a good life together, her and her little boy. And he’d grow up knowing what it was like to swim in the sea and play on the streets and eat fruit picked off the trees and bread fresh from the bakery. Theirs would be a simple life, but a happy one, of that she was certain. Whether his father would get involved or not, she hadn’t decided. None of that seemed to matter at the moment. He had a right to know, of course, just as she had the right to choose when to tell him. And although a part of her jealously wanted to keep her child to herself, Nathalie knew that she’d end up doing what was for the best.

‘Mummy, I’m getting cold,’ a little voice said, and there he was, floating beside her. ‘Can we get out now?’

‘Of course we can,’ she told him gently, before flipping onto her stomach, and beginning her steady swim back to shore.