Black clouds are gathering. As Deirdre, Eddy and I arrive at Bondi Beach, thunder rolls. Deirdre walks Eddy along the promenade, guiding him with both hands. Mother and son's white-blonde hair glows in the weird yellow stormlight. At age nearly two Eddy has had to have surgery to realign his hips. The dear little boy has spent the last three months constricted inside a waist-to-ankle plaster cast. Yet he manages to toddle about, Charlie Chaplin style, with his legs sticking out sideways and at right angles. He just smiles and laughs as if it is all a great game. But he must be kept away from sand and water.
I gaze longingly at the surf. “Go on Lily,” Deirdre encourages. The beach is all but deserted. Lightning is flashing around the bay. I strip off. No need to wear the rashie in such gloomy conditions. Striding across the sand I reflect that swimming in the rain is an ill-advised pursuit. Apparently fish come in close to shore to feed on the storm run-off and, following in their wake come sharks.
With the way my luck is running I probably shouldn’t risk it.
I dive in. The water is warm. Large drops of rain begin to fall as I backstroke out through the waves. This is utterly exhilarating. This is living!