Chapter 6

      ~

      I don’t recognise her the second time I see her. And then I do that thing where you realise someone’s face is familiar but they seem out of context, and I can’t immediately place her. If she wasn’t wearing a swimming hat and goggles, it might help.

      She has stopped in the shallow end and, as there are only the two of us in the lane, we’ve said hello to each other.

      ‘Do I know you?’ I feel stupid for asking that question.

      ‘Sorry?’ She pulls the silicone hat away from her ears and tips her head from side to side.

      ‘Have we met?’ It sounds like a cheesy chat-up line and I cringe inside.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ she says, moving her goggles up onto her forehead and giving me a quick wide smile. Her teeth stick out a bit, and now I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before.

      She rubs the inside of her goggles where they have misted up and puts them back on. Then she pushes off the wall. I watch in admiration as she glides through the water gracefully and tumble-turns at the end. It doesn’t look like she’s going to stop for a rest any time soon, so that seems to be the end of our little conversation. After my opening gambit, I’m not surprised she sprinted off.

      As I’m lathering shampoo into my hair after my swim, she reappears. Whipping off her swimming hat and goggles, she presses the button for the shower opposite mine. Now I can see she has short hair and as she locks her large dark eyes on to mine it comes to me. She’s the woman from the lake.

      ‘You have a little white dog,’ I say.

      ‘Yes, I do.’ She looks at me suspiciously. ‘How did you know that?’

      ‘I saw you once a few weeks ago when we were out walking the Coffin Trail.’

      Her pencil-thin eyebrows have shot right up and disappeared under her wet soapy hair. ‘We?’

      ‘My husband and I.’

      ‘Husband?’ she echoes. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Or your husband.’

      ‘We didn’t talk. I probably only remember because Alex – that’s my husband – was scared of your dog.’

      ‘Really?’

      She introduces herself then. She has a soft melodious voice.

      ‘Hi Vicky. I’m Kaitlyn,’ I say. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ And I am. Apart from a few shopkeepers and some of Alex’s friends, I’ve hardly talked to anyone local since I moved here.

      ‘How far gone are you?’ she asks, lowering her gaze to my stomach.

      ‘Seven months.’

      ‘You’re looking very good for seven months,’ she says, still focusing on my bump.

      I’m not. I’m huge. Which is why I wanted to swim today. I’m hoping to come to the leisure centre here in Kendal regularly from now on, but of course Alex mustn’t find out. He seems to think any unnecessary movement I make might have an adverse effect on our baby. I find it sweet that he frets so much, but it’s stifling spending nearly all day every day in that mansion of his.

      ‘You swim very well,’ I say, desperate to keep the conversation going.

      ‘I swam competitively as a kid,’ she says. ‘I used to train for about three hours a day. I’m bored of doing lengths now, but it keeps me fit.’ She grins, revealing her improbably white teeth again, but as she hasn’t met my eyes, it’s as if she’s talking to my tummy.

      ‘I’d like to get fitter,’ I tell her. I’ve put on way too much weight with the pregnancy, but I don’t add this out loud.

      ‘You’re a pretty good swimmer yourself,’ she says, bending down to pick up her shampoo bottle. With a little wave of her hand, she’s gone, and I wish we’d chatted more. Perhaps I’ll bump into her again if I make a habit of coming here to swim.

      But when I’ve finished getting dressed, she’s drying her hair. I fumble in my purse for change for the hairdryer and take the one next to her. I study her in the mirror. I’m tall, but she is a good two inches taller. I consider myself to be a little ungainly, particularly at the moment, whereas she holds herself up straight with an elegant poise. Despite her stark facial features, she’s very attractive.

      In the shower, I had the impression she was refusing to make eye contact, but now she’s staring at me with insistent wide eyes. I look away, feeling a little uncomfortable, as if she’s scrutinising me.

      To my surprise, when the hairdryers cut out, she says, ‘Would you like to go for a coffee in the leisure centre café?’

      ‘I’d love to,’ I say, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t today.’

      ‘Oh. Well, maybe another time,’ she says. ‘It was nice talking to you, Kaitlyn.’

      And with that, she disappears through the swing doors and I’m