Love Overboard

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Seven minutes before her alarm was set to go off, Sofia woke up with a start. The room around her was grey with morning mist, and the smell of the sea drifting through the open window put a smile on her face. Today was the day. Six weeks ago she had responded to a Facebook post on the ‘Yachties of the Med’ page and now she was only a few hundred metres from the Lady Ixchel herself. She had expected to feel more nervous, but her girlish excitement was getting the better of her as she hurriedly pulled a T-shirt over her head and hopped around the small room with one leg in a pair of jeans.

In the bathroom she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She should have got a haircut before she left London, or maybe even cornrows. Her fringe was already beginning to frizz from the humidity and her long tight curls would need to be secured with dozens of pins every morning to fit into those silly little hairnets. She couldn’t help but admire the colour that had returned to her face, even the pinkish tint on the tops of her shoulders. In London her brown skin had been fading into a worrying shade of grey; now she was looking like herself again, although she realised with a start that she couldn’t remember the last time she had, in fact, looked like herself. Was this ‘beautiful woman’ staring back at her really what she was supposed to look like? It was amazing what a couple of good nights’ sleep and the lack of an impending sense of dread about the day ahead could do for a person.

Beautiful woman.Just then she remembered why the phrase was swirling around her head and the events of the previous evening came back to her, accompanied by a healthy dose of cringe. She wasn’t entirely sure where the drinks-swirling version of herself had come from, and she was worried about what she might do next, but she also sort of admired her. The Sofia who didn’t suffer fools, the Sofia who stood up for herself and didn’t wither in front of men who, even she had to admit, were unsettlingly handsome. God knows she’d had her fill of handsome fools.

She decided a tight bun would be the best look to contain the frizz. She wet her hands, then her hair, and methodically dragged her brush towards the back of her head, applying gel liberally. When she was done she stood back to admire her handiwork. It was important to make a good first impression, even if she suspected she wouldn’t be keeping up with laying her edges under a chef’s hat.

Breakfast was continental, a mystifying array of hams, cheeses, fruits, yoghurts and cereals laid out on a large white tableclothed counter running down one side of the room. On the other was a panel of large floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the harbour. It was a surprisingly grand room for the calibre of hotel, as if someone had decided to scrimp on the quality of the bedding in order to add another few centimetres to the ceiling height.

Sofia went for a grapefruit, one of the yoghurts and a drizzle of honey. She wasn’t sure how often she’d get access to fresh fruit on board, so she was going to make the most of it.

Thirty minutes later she stood at the reception, settling up her bill with her packed bag beside her. She found herself disappointed that the pretty young receptionist had been replaced by a rather curt man who looked like he could be her father. Maybe the young woman had been out with her lover and didn’t have to work today. Once again Sofia caught herself daydreaming, and had to drag herself back down to earth. The romance of this place was getting to her and she needed to get her head in the game.

Walking down to the marina with her wheelie case, Sofia felt ecstatic but in her absent-mindedness, while pulling the bag onto the pontoon, she lost her footing. She was almost overcome by the dreadful moment just after you are blissfully upright and just before you can accept the fall, but in the spike of panic she felt a hand grab her shoulder and pull her up straight.

‘Whoa, careful.’ He was about the same height as her, young and very dark-skinned, something that was exceedingly notable in the middle of this rural, and mostly white, Italian seaside town. Sofia smiled in relief, at being saved from an unplanned dip into the harbour, and at that sort of singular joy of meeting another black person when there aren’t that many of you around.

‘Oh my God, thank you so, so much,’ she gushed. ‘I am so embarrassed. I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was stepping.’

The man bent down and dislodged the wheel of her case from a gap between a gnarly-looking length of rope and the pontoon. ‘My name is Declan,’ he said returning her smile, straightening himself up and offering her his other hand to shake.

She shook his hand enthusiastically. ‘You’re from the UK, huh?’

‘South London born and bred,’ he said with a grin.

‘I used to live in Peckham,’ she replied. ‘Just up from Queens Road.’

‘Oh yeah, my aunty lives around there. I moved around a bit, but spent most of my time in Croydon.’

It was the sort of familiarity that made Sofia feel a bit giddy, and that she was sure followed black Londoners everywhere. Despite the fact that she had only recently taken on that title.

‘Oh sorry, um, I’m Sofia.’ She was feeling flustered and as the adrenaline slowly drained from her body it was replaced by the oppressive sense that she really needed to be somewhere.

‘I actually... this is really rude, but I am kind of in a rush.’ She checked her watch. The crew’s very first meeting was starting in ten minutes.

‘So am I actually,’ said Declan. ‘I’m going this way.’ He pointed to the far end of the marina.

‘So am I actually!’ she parroted, and both of them chuckled – a little nervously on his part, Sofia thought.

‘I might need some supervision,’ she joked. Declan leant over to take her bag and she waved him away. She didn’t want to make a habit of being a damsel in need of saving. ‘It’s fine, I’ve got it,’ she said, and then, because she’d sounded a bit dismissive and the flicker of wounded puppy dog that flashed across his face broke her heart: ‘Thank you though.’ Just like that the unclouded cheer returned to his face.

‘Ladies first,’ he said, lowering his head in a theatrical bow. Sofia rolled her eyes, doffed a make-believe cap and strode ahead.

The Lady Ixchel was much bigger than she’d imagined. Even though she had been sent the physical measurements of the boat, from where she was stood the yacht seemed ridiculously huge. On the deck, she thought she could make out Mary, and it wasn’t until Declan yelled, ‘Captain Mary!’ from beside her and the woman waved back that she clocked that this friendly stranger might not be one for very long.

‘Wait, are you working on the Lady Shelly as well?’

Declan’s eyes lit up. ‘Yeah! It’s my first ever season. Are you one of the stewardesses? This is going to be so fun.’

Sofia cringed at his assumption, but decided to be kind. ‘Actually, I’m the chef... but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you weren’t jumping to conclusions because I’m a woman.’

Declan, to his credit, looked embarrassed and lowered his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Sofia; it was unfair for me to assume that.’ His earnestness melted her heart and she found herself wanting to give him a hug.

Instead, in an awkward tone that verged on matronly, she said, ‘It’s OK, Declan, just make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ He looked up, caught her eye and they both burst into a fit of giggles.

‘This is going to be so fun, man,’ he said, shaking his head and smiling to himself as he took her bag and made his way to the slipway. She thought about protesting, but once she caught sight of the rickety-looking ladder, she thought better of it.