Rewilding

When you mention your grandmother and ancient wisdom, they are pretty much hooked, especially with the simple naturalness of her beauty radiating from the photograph on your mantelpiece. There’s more romanticism, yes even nostalgia, among young people these days than they’re ever given credit for.

And you have some of Granny’s remedy right here! After all, you take it every day, and just look at you. It’s transformative, you say, smiling your best smile. Some ask about fishy breath, and here’s your cue for some science, that symbiosis between humans and seals. It makes perfect sense that oil from another mammal is better for us than anything from a fish. Some get a bit uppity when the penny drops, and express surprise it’s legal in this day and age. At this point you do lose some, but you’re philosophical: you know the process you’re engaged in is self-selecting.

Those that stay are ready for the next stage. You begin with shoes. Something chic, softly shimmering in tones of grey. Mules, stilettos, kitten heels. They might have expected boots, something indigenous peoples on an Arctic hunting trip would wear. But these? Catwalk shoes that lend the wearer such fluid elegance? It’s miraculous. By now, they are less stressed at work, sleeping better; their hair is the glossiest it’s ever been. Colleagues have noticed the difference, they say with pleasure. Then come gifts of gloves, bags, even jewellery. If lines are crossed, they don’t notice.

Weekend trips to the coast follow, and not just with beach towels, bikinis and a Mr Whippy when it’s hot. You take them in all weathers, show them the pitch and roll of the sky. Swimming you save until they can master it, and this only comes after the subtle laying down of body fat and a spot of cold-water immersion therapy in your bathroom.

By the time you get to your grandmother’s gift, you are home and dry, so to speak. The box is as light as breeze, the coat inside as sleekly speckled as a mackerel sky. You allow them a stroke (brief, reverential) before the lid closes with a sigh. A glance across the room directs their gaze towards Granny, and they are, captivated, clapping their hands in wonder, able only to utter inarticulate sounds: strings of open, deep-throated vowels awash with longing. You like to think they’ve never been happier in their own skin.

* * *

You often go to the ocean when you’re not working. And then you strip off your clothes and swim for the sheer joy of it, playing with your girls off rocky promontories, hidden from cafés along the front, where latte-sipping tourists apply factor 50 and wonder whether to chance dipping a toe into the wild Atlantic waves.