The older woman is gazing out to the lake, her eyes shining. ‘I spent my first Christmas as a married woman in this very spot, you know.’
‘At The Shore?’
Glynis tuts. ‘At T?’r Lan. My husband’s cabin was right here.’ She looks down, as though it might have slipped between the deck’s wooden planks.
‘Imagine,’ Clemmie says, who has run out of Welsh now they’ve moved beyond small talk. ‘If he could see it now, eh?’
‘Indeed,’ Glynis says tightly.
‘Is everyone ready?’ Dee Huxley – who, very wisely, is staying on dry land – waves her camera and shoos all the swimmers into a group for a photograph. One by one, they climb down the ladder to the pontoon, the supporters leaning on the balustrade above, ready for the off.
Rhys is down first, then Bobby. Clemmie waits on the top rung for a moment, as Dee takes a photograph.
‘Sorry, dear, you blinked. Let’s try again.’
Below her, Clemmie is certain she hears angry words, but everyone is urging Dee to hurry up, it’s freezing! And, by the time Clemmie is down the ladder, neither Bobby nor Rhys is saying anything. She pushes it from her mind. It’s Christmas Day, and she refuses to be anxious. Not this year.
Caleb takes a running jump, bombing into the icy water, and Clemmie’s heart freezes until he bursts through the surface again, his mouth an ‘O’ of shock. He’s showing off to the girls, who dip their toes off the edge of the pontoon and squeal. Clemmie slides in, used to the temperature, and swims in circles, all the time wiggling her fingers and toes.
‘You’re all mad!’ shouts Blythe, from above.
‘Marvellous!’ Dee says. She takes a photograph. Everyone’s in the water now, and Clemmie’s eyes are shining. What an incredible place. What an amazing Christmas.
Afterwards, when the turkey’s in the oven, and Caleb is setting up the new-to-him phone Clemmie bought him for Christmas, Clemmie goes outside to bring in more wood. She’s replacing the tarpaulin when Rhys walks across his own deck, jumps on to the Staffords’ deck, then crosses to hers. She wonders if he wants to talk to her about what she overheard this morning, if she’s about to be brought into the Lloyd circle of trust, and feels a frisson of fear and excitement.
‘I need you to pay the full balance on the lodge.’
Clemmie blinks. ‘I can’t.’
‘Things are a bit tight, financially. Sorry about that.’
He doesn’t sound remotely sorry.
When Clemmie had enquired about The Shore, she had been firmly informed that there were no payment plans available. Lodges were to be bought in full, upfront. Ever-optimistic, Clemmie had tried another route, contacting Rhys directly and appealing to his good nature. The answer had still been no, but several weeks later Rhys had called her.
‘It can’t be an official arrangement,’ he’d said. ‘But if you’re happy to keep it to yourself, I’ll help you out.’
If Clemmie could stump up a decent deposit, Rhys would allow her to pay off the rest in monthly instalments. It wasn’t easy to pull off. Clemmie’s south London flat took months to sell, but the equity was just enough for the deposit. The contract for The Shore was unequivocal on the subject of primary residences – owners will not live at The Shore all year round, and must maintain a principal domicile – but there appeared to be no process to verify this. As far as Clemmie could tell, none of the other owners intended to stay at The Shore more frequently than a few weeks in every year; how could they possibly know if Clemmie and Caleb never left?
The autumn had been a challenge. The Shore had closed for more building work, after the summer, and Clemmie and Caleb had spent weeks moving from friend to friend, under the guise of catching up. She’d been relieved when the residents’ WhatsApp group had announced the work was complete. There would be no more closures. Clemmie and Caleb had moved back and everything had been perfect.
Until now.
‘I can’t give you the money,’ Clemmie says. ‘I don’t have it.’
There is a long silence. Rhys sighs. ‘Then we have a problem, don’t we?’
From number five, Yasmin calls for Rhys to carve. Wordlessly he goes back the way he came, leaving Clemmie standing in the cold, the sparkle suddenly gone from her Christmas.
What is she going to do? She doesn’t have four hundred grand, and her credit rating won’t permit her to borrow it. She’s sold her flat. They have nowhere else to live and, besides, Clemmie doesn’t want to leave. After two years of living every day terrified of what each knock on the door might bring, Caleb has finally come back to her – she will not go back to that.