Page 21 of The Big Dip in Crumbleton
Maybe it was the look of absolute horror on his face when he’d realised what he’d done—like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. Or maybe it was the way he’d stammered through his apology afterwards, his tanned face turning an impressive shade of crimson. Either way, she found herself more amused than embarrassed.
Pete had dashed away to join the rest of the lifeguards, and Scarlett scanned the crowd for Lou and the rest of the Chilly Dippers. The beach was a hive of activity. Swimmers milled about on the sand, some stretching, others chatting excitedly.
A few brave souls were already wading around in the shallows, splashing themselves with water and testing the temperature while they waited for things to kick off.
‘Scarlett! Over here!’
Scarlett turned, only to find Lou standing with the rest of the Seabury contingent, waving her over with enthusiasm.
‘There you are!’ Lou exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d abandoned us for your new café career.’
‘Just helping out,’ Scarlett replied, slipping off her cardigan and folding it carefully. ‘They were swamped.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Lou hummed, that knowing look back in her eyes. ‘Hey… have you got suncream on?’
‘Yep, why?’ said Scarlett, surprised.
‘Because you’re bright pink,’ said Lou, looking concerned.
‘It was hot in the café,’ said Scarlett. There was no way she was going to tell her blabbermouth friend it was probably residual blush left over from Pete wandering in and finding her half naked.
‘Notthathot…’ said Lou, raising an eyebrow.
Scarlett opened her mouth to point out that Lou hadn’t just made about a hundred coffees on the trot, but her attention was caught by a familiar figure striding purposefully towards the water’s edge.
Pete had changed into a wetsuit. The black neoprene was hugging his body in a way that left very little to the imagination. Far from being unflattering, his lean frame wore the wetsuit like it was tailor-made for him. There wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh on him—he was all toned muscle and long limbs.
Scarlett swallowed, suddenly thirsty. For a brief, wildly inappropriate moment, she wondered what it would be like to help him back out of that wetsuit.
‘Someone’s got it bad,’ Lou murmured in her ear, making Scarlett jump.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied, far too quickly to be convincing.
Lou just laughed. ‘Sure you don’t. That’s why you’re staring at Surfer Boy without blinking.’
‘I was just… observing the water conditions,’ said Scarlett.
‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’ Lou grinned. ‘Well, the “water conditions” certainly look fine from here.’
Before Scarlett could come up with a suitably withering response, a loud klaxon blared across the beach. Mick had just given the signal for the swim to begin.
What followed could only be described as cheerful chaos. Dozens of people surged towards the sea in a mass of flailing limbs and excited shouts. The Chilly Dippers, not wanting to be outdone by the locals, let out a group war cry and charged, with Lou sprinting down the beach to join them.
Scarlett found herself caught up in the stampede, running alongside strangers who had suddenly become comrades in this mad dash into the waves.
The first touch of the sea on her toes was bracing, to say the least. By the time the water reached her knees, Scarlett started to question all her life choices. When the first wave splashed up over her waist, she couldn’t help but let out a high-pitched yelp that matched the chorus of screams around her.
‘Cold?’ laughed a stranger to her left, a middle-aged woman whose blue swimming cap marked her as a Crumbleton Sands local.
‘Just a bit!’ Scarlett gasped, teeth already beginning to chatter.
‘Only one way to deal with that,’ the woman advised cheerfully. ‘Get it over with quickly!’
With that pearl of wisdom, the woman dived forward, disappearing completely beneath the surface before emerging a moment later with a whoop of triumph.
Scarlett hesitated, peering around her. The swimmers seemed to be divided into two camps. The first lot was taking the plunge, diving right under the waves and re-emerging with a splash. The second lot—less brave or more sensible, depending on your perspective—inched deeper, grimacing as each new sliver of skin met the chilly water.
Do it quickly. Like pulling off a plaster.
