Page 17 of The Night Shift
He dragged his mind back from Violet’s warm bed. ‘The lido? In town? Why?’
‘For a swim.’
‘But the lido’s outside?’
‘Yes. An outdoor swim.’
‘But…’ Gus felt certain that Violet had overlooked a basic seasonal fact here. ‘But it’s December. It’s Boxing Day.’
‘I know. I did wonder if they’d be open but I checked the website.’
‘Hang on.’ Gus wondered if the sleep deprivation really was getting to him. ‘You’re going to an outdoor swimming pool. For a swim. In December?’
‘Yes.’ She put her mug down on the side table. ‘It helps me sleep,’ she said. ‘Cold-water swimming. It really helps. I used to have massive issues with insomnia. I’m a bit of a stress cadet.’
He smiled at this admission.
‘But then,’ she said, ‘last summer a friend of mine suggested I come wild swimming with her. Emily’s a member of The Blue Tits. It’s a wild swimming group. They’ve got members all over the UK– anyway, there’s a filtered lake out near Long Ashton. Part of the golf course. We went there. I told Emily I couldn’t be doing with the whole “sploshing about in a murky river” thing. I don’t want to suddenly realise I’m doing front crawl next to a sewage outlet. But that’s the great thing about the lake; it’s outside, and it’s cold– even in summer– but it’s clean. Cleanish anyway. A few ducks on it, the odd heron, but otherwise, just the water and the swimmers.’
‘And you enjoyed it?’
‘I loved it,’ Violet said, laughing at his reaction. ‘It’s really invigorating. You don’t need to swim for long to get the effect, and afterwards you feel all wholesome and pleasantly fatigued, like you’ve run a marathon or been to some two-hour high-impact spin class, without having had to endure the reality of either of those things.’
‘And it helps you sleep?’ He was genuinely intrigued now. His sleep hadn’t been great in recent months: anxiety dreams, waking up in the early hours gritty eyed and unrefreshed.
‘Oh, God, yes! I had the best night’s sleep after that first swim with Emily. Best night I’ve had for years. I fell into bed and slept like a stone.’
‘Like a log. You slept like a log.’
‘A log, a stone, whatever. Something heavy and inert. Anyway, you don’t strike me as the type to be pedantic about correct use of idiom.’
‘No, you’re right, you can be whichever inanimate object you like.’ To be honest Gus felt ridiculously flattered that she’d given any thought to what type of person he was, pedantic or not. ‘So, you reckon it’ll help with sleeping between night shifts?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘You should give it a try. Come with me.’
‘What? Today?’ He nearly choked on his tea.
‘Well, no, you probably haven’t got your trunks with you. And you do have to– you know– have some swimwear. It’s wild swimming but not that wild. I think some of the pensioners at the lido might have a coronary if you swam past them in the buff.’
‘Good point. I think I might be on the verge of a coronary myself.’
‘But normal trunks are fine. You don’t need a wetsuit. They keep the water in the pool at twelve degrees.’
‘Positively balmy.’
‘Indeed. Positively barmy, my dad says. But that’s just him trying to be hilarious.’
Gus smiled along, knowing that this was exactly the comment he’d been about to make himself. Great– he’d reached the ‘dad jokes’ stage of life and he hadn’t even hit thirty. Witness the comedy genius of sayingBoo!in order to surprise Violet yesterday or trying lame chocolate-based puns to tempt her along to the ward office earlier. Surely, he was a bit slicker than this? What had happened to the Gus who always had a well-judged, witty rejoinder? Mental and physical exhaustion had obviously finished him off. Still, Violet didn’t seem to mind that he’d turned into some kind of slapstick idiot. It was actually quite relaxing not having to watch what he was saying the whole time and he felt the little niggle of tension he perpetually held between his shoulder blades start to ease off.
‘Gloves and boots are good, if you’ve got anything neoprene for your extremities it makes a real difference.’ She was still talking about the swimming kit– as if this was an expedition she seriously wanted him to accompany her on.
‘Starting to sound marginally less appealing,’ he said. ‘I think I would be quite concerned about all my extremities, and you can’t get neoprene accessories for every part of your body presumably?’
‘Nothing’s going to fall off at twelve degrees,’ she said wryly.
‘You sure of that? There are some very important bits of me I’d like to keep.’ He raised his eyebrow suggestively and then worried it had been too much.
She smiled, evidently humouring him. ‘Look, it’s up to you. I can’t guarantee you’ll like it. But you seem the sort who’d give things a try. Open-minded. Easy-going.’
