Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
WILL
Day Three
Jolly Roger sails flap in a light breeze, and seagulls circle the black boat, glaring down as we navigate the wooden plank on board.
Beneath us fish dart, as if waiting for us to fall in, succumbing to their blood-drawing bites.
There’s a cannon poking out of one of the portholes, braced for battle.
‘What have you led us to?’ I whisper to Sam, my hands clutching the rails as we cross the patch of shallow Aegean Ocean.
‘Ahoy, welcome aboard, me hearties.’ A Greek man dressed as a rip-off Jack Sparrow, with faux tangled black hair tumbling over his shoulders, greets us. He wears a fake wooden leg at his knee, the rest of his leg jutting out behind him. His clothes are baggy and loose, catching in the breeze.
‘Aye, who do we have ’ere, then?’ The pirate’s friend, a man in similar breeches, appears.
He flips his eyepatch up to reveal a prosthetic missing eye.
Fake blood congeals at the corners. At least I hope it’s all prosthetics, because looking at it makes me want to throw my Pikachu latte back up on deck.
‘Lads. Lads! Gangway, me hearties, the lads have arrived.’
I’ve never been called a lad in my life. But when in Greece…
‘I can’t believe this was our only option,’ I whisper to Sam.
‘I’ll put it in my write-up. “Must book in advance.”’
‘Ye come on a good day,’ the first pirate says, escorting us to a wooden table that wouldn’t look out of place in the Krusty Krab restaurant. ‘Eye of the wind is good, methinks. Our lookout has his eye on the sea. He would have another, but a seadog gouged it out.’
‘Aye, but we must sail,’ the other pirate says, his eyepatch thankfully back in place. ‘Lest ye sirens find us.’
Both pirates make their way to the ship’s bow with artistic flair while still yelling. The other group of people watch with transfixed expressions.
We leave the dock, the pirates cheering, water chopping, trepidation gripping me as if we were about to embark on a perilous sea adventure.
‘Do ye possess the chart?’ one pirate asks an unsuspecting boat traveller who looks like they’d rather be anywhere but here. Her eyes scan the ship, hoping someone will save her, but everyone averts their eyes for fear of being picked on.
‘I … do?’
‘Ye do?’ the pirate asks. ‘Hey, did ye ’ear that? This lass has a chart!’
‘Procure it, lass,’ the other pirate hisses. ‘Lest ye feel the wrath of the siren.’
‘I…’
We wait as she pulls out her phone, loading Apple maps.
The two pirates wail, recoiling in horror.
‘The lass has a weapon,’ the pirate steering the boat says, his eyes on us and not the sea. I grip the edge of my seat. ‘There is no option but to defend. Batten down ye old hatches!’
We all look around the boat with cautious expression. There are rows of dusty jars and fake drawn-and-quartered fish on display.
From a stairwell leading down to the heart of the boat comes a wail.
My eyes lock with Sam’s, who immediately bursts into laughter.
As if being given permission, the other guests join in.
I close the gap between us, trying not to reveal my shaking legs.
A gilled hand grips the rope banister, the wail getting louder.
‘Blimey, the siren is on deck,’ come the cries of the pirates. One of them draws a fake sword that looks like it would cost ￡2 on . ‘Don’t fear, she will not get a crack at us.’
‘Ye, with the weapon.’ The pirate addresses the girl holding her phone. ‘Ye must defeat the siren.’
The girl looks like she’d rather walk the plank.
A woman with tangled blue hair rises from the depths of the ship. Her skin is covered in scales that reflect the sun, casting rainbow shadows on the oak walls. She holds a trident in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other.
‘Uh oh, Sam,’ I gasp. ‘It’s the Starbucks siren.’
Sam elbows me, and I laugh, leaning into him.
‘Ye claim ye hold the chart,’ the siren directs at the impeccably dressed girl with the phone. ‘But I have the chart. And with this in me hands, ye are to suffer a fateful death at the rocks.’
The pirates shout, pointing to an approaching mountain where jagged rocks catch the white froth of waves.
‘Sam, you’ve put us on board with suicidal pirates.’
This is it. This is how I die.
‘Ye must prise the chart from the wrench’s hands,’ the pirate orders the group.
‘I’m not doing that.’ The designer-clad girl wrinkles her nose.
‘Ye must.’
‘I’m not.’ She turns to her friends. ‘I thought this would be relaxing.’
Her smiling friends quickly change their expressions to match hers.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, surprising myself. Sam eyes me.
‘Laddie, this is treacherous,’ the pirate exclaims. ‘Ye must be brave and bold.’
‘I can do it.’
Standing, locking my eyes on the siren, I try to channel my inner adventurer.
Sam grabs my hand.
‘Return to land, my sailor,’ he says, his eyes wide. ‘Don’t let me lose my man at sea.’
I feign a dramatic clutching of my heart, another hand to my brow. I’m a sassy sailor, clearly.
‘Aye, ye must hope he returns,’ the pirate says. ‘Lest we have heartbreak upon our shores.’
Sam winks at me, and I’m surprised my legs don’t give up. It’s like a wave has rocked me. It has to be the fear of performing this skit in front of others, and not connected to whatever that wink was.
‘That map is mine.’
‘Before ye go’—the pirate grips my hand—‘ye must wear the hat of luck.’
He holds a bright pink and garish hat with fishnet tied around it, which he plonks on my head. Sam covers his mouth, but the laughter is loud. I approach the hissing, growling siren. She reaches clawed hands at me as my hand moves to grab the map.
‘Aye, that were close,’ the pirates cajole.
‘Mass approaching,’ the steering pirate calls.
‘Ye are leading us to our deaths,’ the other pirate wails.
The siren pretends to be distracted by the rocks, her map-holding hand outstretched. I take it from her and she gasps, wailing in turmoil, a dramatic performance worthy of a soap opera.
‘Quick, ye must hand it to our captain.’
Stepping up on deck, the sun kissing my skin, I hand the map to the captain pirate, who grins at me with fake black teeth.
He consults the map and steers left, the boat nowhere near the rocks, but now out of harm’s way.
‘Aye, ye have saved us, and the siren will be banished back to the ocean.’
‘This isn’t over,’ the siren says. ‘The curse is set.’
And she disappears in a mirage of laughter.
So camp, I’m obsessed with her.
The group applaud, led by Sam, his arms above his head, all powerful muscle and tanned skin. Even the European woman smiles, but only briefly. Her hands don’t rise from her sides.
The boat comes to a stop, an anchor thrown over the edge.
‘Lads and lasses,’ the captain calls. ‘A quest in the ocean. Ye must swim, relax, before our voyage continues. Welcome to Moni.’
With the boat bobbing on the ocean, tranquillity washes over us. Just us and the crystal-clear ocean, the marine life below.
The girl stretches and undresses, revealing an exceptionally toned body. She catches Sam’s eye, winks, and dives into the water.
I turn my gaze towards Sam to gauge his reaction.
‘She thinks you’re—’
‘It’s because I was looking at her bikini,’ Sam mutters, before shaking his head. ‘Not like that. Checking who the designer might be.’
‘And who is the designer?’
‘Givenchy.’
‘Of course.’
Sam raises his T-shirt over his head. How did he get his body to look like that? So different from my own: a dad bod, covered in hair.
‘Swim?’
‘Uh, sure.’
He doesn’t change, seeing as he wore his blue swim shorts aboard. We walk to the edge of the boat, looking down at the water where the rest of our boat party bob.
‘Shall we jump?’
‘Okay.’
Sam looks at my T-shirt, the shorts that are hiding my Speedos.
‘Going in like that?’
‘What? Oh, no.’
This is it, then. My sexy swimwear for Ollie, about to be seen by Sam.
First my T-shirt comes off. I take a breath before bending over to take off my shorts, and then standing before Sam in all my tight, red swim brief glory.
He drinks me in, painfully slow. Eyes linger on my arm, on my chest, on my clavicle. I’m certain he eyed my Speedos, the indentation in the fabric. He reaches out a hand.
‘On three?’
‘You were serious about jumping?’
‘Aye, off the plank.’ The pirate’s voice makes me jolt.
‘I guess we have to have an authentic pirate boat experience,’ Sam concedes. ‘Show us to the plank.’
Using the flimsy swords, they prod us to the far end of the ship, where a very real-looking plank wobbles over the water.
‘Ye must go together, scallywags,’ the pirate says.
‘What did you just call us?’ I say, mock-indignant.
Sam, gripping my hand with his strong yet soft one, steps onto the plank. As he pulls me with him, I let my fingers trace the indents in his skin around his knuckles. Feeling the brush of the hair on his hand triggers something inside me. What does my hand feel like to him?
‘If ye do not jump, ye shall lose your head,’ the pirate says, perched safely behind us, blocking our way back on board. All around us is air and calmly rippling sea.
The plank wobbles, making me sway, and before I can do anything to steady my nerves, the balance betrays me.
Sam, gripping tightly, yelps, and together we tumble into the ocean.
The shock of water on my warm skin almost has me gasping, but I hold my breath and breathe out of my nose. Sam’s hand leaves mine, an anchor severed from its ship. Slightly disoriented, floating in the ocean, feeling the cool water caress my skin, I wait until my body brings me to the surface.
With a gasp, I take a grateful lungful of air.
‘Argh,’ the pirate yells, before disappearing out of view.
Sam laughs, his hair slicked back.
‘That was fun.’
‘Super fun.’
Sam swims towards me, closer, all sea salt skin and golden hair. Now that the fall is over, there’s nothing but calm sea.
‘I like your Speedos.’
Oh God. So, he did notice.