The facts you will need on every page.
Nell Faraday
34
Protagonist
she / her
Two or three specifics beat a full inventory.
Swimmer's shoulders on a small frame, weight always on the balls of her feet, ready to get in.
Windburn across the cheekbones all year, and a smile that arrives about a second after it is due.
A white scar through one eyebrow from the lido's old diving board, taken out in 2004.
Her aunt's fleece over a swimsuit from October to May, and a whistle she has never once blown.
Walks the pool edge counterclockwise counting heads, whether or not anybody is in the water.
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Traits are useless until they contradict each other.
- practical about other people's feelings
- allergic to being thanked
- will not leave a column unfilled
- reads the thermometer twice
- keeps every lost pair of goggles in one crate
- says the tide times out loud
Flat and procedural, warmer by the third sentence. Ask about the water and you get a story; ask about her and you get a number.
She has run a business made entirely of trust for two years without trusting one person with the books.
Only the past that still costs them something.
Two streets up from the Saltmarket, in a town where the season is eleven weeks long and every job depends on it.
An aunt who raised her at the pool edge and left her the lido in four lines; a mother two hours inland who has never swum in it.
Posting her aunt's letter refusing the 2019 council repair grant, at twenty-seven, because she was told it was about independence.
Sole proprietor of the Saltmarket Lido: 311 members, one paid lifeguard, and a license that expires in May.
Want drives the plot; need drives the ending.
The seasonal license signed before the May tides, so the lido opens for a sixtieth summer.
To let one person read the accounts, and by extension her.
That the whole town already knows about the letter and has decided to be kind about it.
She answers feeling with data and calls it being useful.
The sea wall is failing because of money her family refused, in an envelope she sealed and posted herself.
Name the person, not the category.
- Sam Tiernan — the only paid staff, and the only other person who has opened the 2019 file
- Aleyna Kurt — Tuesday beginners, brings cake, asks nothing
- Councilor Rhona Speight — wants the seafront redeveloped and the lido filled in
- Her own mother — wants her to sell up and come inland
Ovide Maartens, who is here for six weeks to price the demolition of her sea wall.
The apology she owes the 2019 committee, drafted eleven times and never sent.
Start and end in the same sentence shape, so the change is visible.
If the paperwork is right, she is right.
The hearing is brought forward, and the only honest case for the lido has her own name on the letter.
She tells the truth first, in public, and lets the paperwork catch up with her.
The version of herself the town trusts, and the last thing her aunt asked her to keep quiet.
Anything that doesn't fit above, plus lines you want to use.
Lines to use: "Nine point four. Bracing." She never says the word drowned. The gate crank takes forty-one turns — count them out in a scene where she is stalling.