Sunset Swim

I met a friend at the station and we caught a train to Brighton. It was rush hour, and the train was brimming with commuters. The carriage had the familiar, unsettling quiet of the London tube at peak time. 

Rosie and I got to the beach whilst the sun was still glaring down and our phones declared the 30 degree heat. We walked down the jetty past the fishermen and stared out at the unblemished horizon. On the sand, we found a spot to lay out our towels and absorb the UV – safely through a shield of sunscreen. Lazing on the beach, we saw the alpaca we’d seen the previous time we’d visited, being walked along the water's edge. 

More friends arrived, and the sun descended in the sky. Before it could sink from view, some of us ran into the sea. We danced – because that’s what swimming is – through the waves, as the sky began to burn. Streams of pastel pink and purple smeared into orange and blue. As the sun hit the horizon, they deepened. The waves were alight with the colours as if curated: the preset lighting of a stage play. Lucy, in the water too, was the same colour as the sky. We were living on a movie set, in the still of a film, with some awareness of the artistry and aesthetic of the moment, but with the knowledge that it was all natural. A beautiful cosmic accident.

Amelia joined us, and there were three of us in the water. We shivered. It was and wasn’t cold. Not if we kicked and danced and clung to the sunset.

And then, there was true earthly magic. And in telling the story and writing it down, it sounds like fiction. Like the last part of a tall tale to make it clear you’ve been twisting the truth, or the final push of a dream before you wake up. Because it sounds too good to be true. Because, then there were dolphins.

We were thrilled. Surprise, hope, and delight all around us. We caught glimpses, were afraid to blink. Fins rose and dipped. There was one, two, maybe more.

We watched until we couldn’t see them anymore, and then a little more, just in case. When we eventually left the water, it was almost dark, just a scorch of orange above the sea. We changed on the sand, laughing and talking. Comfortable and at peace. As we left the beach, lights were appearing along the coast. The sky was dark purple, the colour of cooling coals that had once pulsed with heat.

Rosie and I caught the train back. We were sandy, salty, and damp. I was physically uncomfortable but fully content with our experience. I walked back to my hostel with images of the evening at the edges of my eyes: plunging beneath the water, the glorious streaks of sunset, and the dolphins, dancing above the waves.