Elaine Abery - Whale

Her bedroom windows were rattling as she entered. ‘It’s windy.’ She pushed the window closed harder, checking it let as little as possible of the icy Antarctic wind in.

Her evening-before-early-morning-winter swimming routine:

·        towel jacket and thongs – ready to drop near the water exit point so her feet wouldn’t turn into frozen meat slabs pierced by each step on the asphalt on the walk back.

·        swimming bag – a treasure trove of swimming paraphernalia that is usually replenished after use… if she remembers.

·        swimmers – enough said.

·        down jacket and uggboots - vital from May to some time in October, no matter how ‘warm’ it may appear. After all, swimming brings down the core temperature.

·        breakfast – ready to go and not slow her down.

·        keep-cup with green tea leaves already in it – somehow being hydrated with warm liquid straight after a swim warms her up much more quickly.

·        kettle filled – ready to go.

It’s dark when she wakes. In winter, it always is.

The window is rattling away still. Wind usually picks up during the day and settles overnight. But this Antarctic ice blast doesn’t conform.

Her bare feet touch the carpet and immediately she feels bone-cold. Not something she feels often since menopause gifted her her ‘own personal forever summer’.

The kettle boils she pours her tea into the keep-cup and bites her crispy apple, choosing to take the apple back to her warm bed.

Fatal mistake.

She attempts to justify the decision by checking the weather. ‘Feels like 4.3 degrees. Wind gusts 38.4km/h.’

In reality, waking up an hour early after a disturbed sleep had already made the decision for her.

Was it the rattling window that disturbed her sleep? Or the vision of priceless art being destroyed in last night’s film?

Either way, she missed swimming with the whales as the sun rose on this icy morning.