What If?

It was an ordinary day. A group of them were swimming one kilometre from Teabag Bay north to the Mooloolaba Surf Club. As they always did, several times a week.

She freestyled head down, enjoying the vast pattern of terraced sand below, like a miniature desert. They swam under a blue and yellow sky. Her flippers powered her along past familiar landmarks they all knew, the triangular building, the white measuring poles, the long border of horse casuarinas, a carpark, fanning out now, each alone. She was comfortable, non-thinking, looking for schools of bream, a stingray, a sudden bright tropical fish—always a bonus.

Ahead the fastest swimmers approached the Surf Club. One by one the women emerged and trailed up to the club pulling off their caps and goggles, scraggle-haired.

She turned towards the familiar beach, now so close she yanked off her flippers and held them in one hand. She stretched her feet to touch bottom. It wasn’t there. She expected shallow water! Hanging on…