Chapter Seventeen
The second we arrive at the end of the dock I know we’re doomed.
The boat is only a bit rusty but it’s a small vessel.
I’m used to seeing boats like this in Brighton Marina, the ones hobby fishermen use in calm conditions.
It’s bigger than a speed boat but it can’t be more than twenty feet long.
It has a white, sheltered helm at the top where I spot a wooden steering wheel and a random blue bucket by the door.
It’s been tethered to the dock by a fraying rope; a damp broom leans against one side as if someone has been washing the deck.
At least it’s clean, I suppose. Below that there are two grubby round windows to the cabin.
An old man who cannot be any younger than seventy waves for us to come aboard.
He points at himself and says, “Roko.”
Gus and I copy, offering our names and receive a lovely, toothy smile in return.
He does not speak any English at all which is to be expected.
So instead, Gus and I follow him around the rickety boat, for what I can only assume is some kind of demented safety briefing, as he points things out, like the half-inflated flotation device, and a fire extinguisher that has been artfully abandoned on its side at the bow of the ship.
It’s fine. I’m being carefree.
We’ll just crash out on the floor in the cabin as we cross the Adriatic. By the time I wake up, we’ll be in Italy. I can do that.
The wild part of me is thriving.
The other part is screaming for me to abandon ship before it’s too late.
Finally, he shows us down to the cabin.
I have to say, I’ve seen some things in my time.
I did a cleaning job at one of the nightclubs for a summer down on Brighton seafront and…
You know what? I won’t recall the details.
All I’m saying is, the smell of rotting fish and, well, rotting old man, in here has me regretting those garlic prawns.
Roko kindly clears off the wooden benches that surround the built-in table, dumping the paperwork and boxes that were covering it in the kitchen area which has opened tins strewn across the worktop.
He points for us to sit, so we do, and then talks some more.
I already know that Gus doesn’t speak his language, but he laughs at all the right moments which pleases our captain greatly.
Roko leaves us after this. Moments later the engine spits and grumbles to life, and the whole boat vibrates around us.
“I’m scared,” I say, wide-eyed, holding onto the table.
Gus is aghast. “What? Why? Roko’s sound.”
“Oh, so you understood that?”
“Well, no, I didn’t. But you can tell he’s a laugh.”
“Shut up. No, you can’t! For all you know, he was walking you through his plans to poison us and throw us into the sea.”
He makes a tsking sound. “Roko couldn’t lift my dead body.”
“That’s not the poi—” I squeal as the boat lurches, and we cruise away from the dock. “If I die, and you survive, please can you tell my sisters that their secret group chat is both petty and unjust?”
“That feels incredibly specific. Not ‘I love you’?”
“No. They need the truth.”
He laughs. “How do you know they have a group chat without you?”
I shrug, breathing steadily through my nose to exhale the anxiety away.
“My youngest sister admitted it. And the worst part is I’m not surprised at all.
I guess I deserve it.” Now really isn’t the time for deep introspection and self-reflection but, seeing as I’ll probably die out here, why not?
“They all hated me when we were younger.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“No, it is. I had to get them and myself to school most days and make sure they weren’t doing stupid shit.
All I did was look after them the way I thought our mum would’ve wanted me to.
Dad was great but he wasn’t good at girl stuff.
” The boat hits a wave and my soul exits my body.
“He didn’t understand,” I continue, voice shaky, “when a relationship was getting toxic. He didn’t know what things we needed to fit in.
You know, silly things like Jane Norman bags and the latest hairstyles.
And the types of shoes that wouldn’t get you bullied.
” Gus nods thoughtfully, though it occurs to me this probably doesn’t make much sense to him.
“I think I mothered them too hard, and they couldn’t separate me as the bossy, uptight sister. In the end, while I was trying to make them happy and safe, I pushed them away instead. It’s the biggest regret of my life.” Is this trauma dumping?!
Gus leans back, stretching his legs out under the table, his trainer nudging my sandal.
“I think you’re giving yourself a very hard time for what sounded like an impossible challenge. I’m definitely not a model big sibling either so I can’t impart my advice but what I do know is it sounds like you only ever had their best interests at heart.”
I exhale. “I did. I only ever tried my best. And now I just feel like they’ve pushed me out of their group.
It feels like them and me. Not us.” I sigh, regretting bringing this up at all.
What is it about life-threatening situations that make you overshare?
! “Anyway, let’s go back up there. The bay will look gorgeous at this time of day.
I’m sure you’ll want to get it on camera.
” I don’t wait for him to respond, slapping my hands on the table (to find it’s sticky – ugh!) and stride up the stairs back onto the deck where Roko spots me and waves from the helm.
I hobble towards the front of the ship and lean on the side, staring at the gorgeous scenery of lush green mountains, clear water and terracotta roofs littering the vanishing coastline.
I feel the breeze whip through my hair in just the right way and close my eyes.
That’s when I hear Roko’s mismatched footsteps march hastily towards me. He keeps repeating the same word over and over again. I blink at him trying to figure out if I’m in some kind of horrible danger.
Also – who the fuck is driving the boat!?
I look up towards the helm. Nobody. Nobody is steering the boat.
Just great.
“Delfino!” he says again.
“No way!” comes Gus’s excited response, who bounces up behind me and practically leans over my body, holding onto the side of the boat, pointing. “Look! Dolphin!”
Roko smiles and nods enthusiastically. I turn back at this point, right at the moment a sleek silver beauty leaps out of the water.
I bite my lip to contain my excitement. I feel a tap on my back and when I peek over my shoulder, I am horrified to find a dead, slippery fish dangling in my face. Roko motions throwing it into the sea.
“Oh! Sure, ok. Am I allowed? I feel like this probably isn’t allowed. But whatever, I guess.” I pinch the dead fish between my thumb and forefinger before lobbing it into the water. Seconds later the dolphin launches itself out of the water again.
It’s mesmerising.
That’s when it hits me, and I have to chew on my wobbling lip to prevent tears escaping.
I wouldn’t have experienced this if I’d chosen to fly home instead.
I feel the smile bloom on my face, the excitement lacing through my veins.
I did it! I did something risky – something for me – and it’s going to be ok.
The dolphin follows us through the bay and out to sea. I see it at least another thirty times.
I must lean there for so long, watching, I don’t even notice when the others leave.
Click.
I spin to find Gus down on one knee, his camera in hand pointed straight at me. I glare at him which only makes his lips curve upwards.
Click. Click. Click.
“Will you stop?”
He drops the camera. “Do you really want me to? I’ll delete it if you insist.”
“No,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Don’t delete it. I want evidence of this.”
He half-smiles. “Evidence of what?”
“That I took a leap of faith and agreed to get on this boat with a little old man called Roko and a famous popstar. Because I’m almost dead certain that firstly, nobody will believe me, and secondly, I will not believe myself once I’m surrounded by my ordinary, sensible life again.
” He doesn’t laugh at this, his smile dropping off to something more sincere when he nods and lifts his camera again.
“Oh, and nobody really knows we’re here.
So, I guess your photos will make a good documentary one day if we don’t survive and they recover the camera. ”
I’m facing him now, my hair blowing partly across my face.
“Right.” Gus is fighting a laugh. “Glad that’s the first place your mind goes.” He takes a minute to look at the photos he’s taken. “Did you hear when my sister called you a pretty blonde?” he asks, changing the conversation.
I did. “Did she?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I agree by the way.”
I shrug the compliment away. “I’m too uptight for pretty.”
“Ah, I see. I must be wrong then.”
Click.
“You are.”
He stands upright, and shakes his head as he steps towards me, a subtle movement. He carefully props the camera up on one of the blue, upturned barrels before coming over to lean beside me. He stands close, his arm touching mine, and I regard him as he looks ahead.
Click.
“Oh.”
I turn to look at the camera. In the corner of my eye, I see him look at me.
Click.
“I’m confused,” I say, facing him now. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, that half-smile pressed along his lips.
Click.
“What are you doing?” I say, pretending to be exhausted by his antics.
He shrugs, reaching out and brushing some of my hair back behind my ear as the wind picks up again. I swear my breathing shatters at his touch, a slipstream of sensations racing from where his fingertips graze me all the way down to my core.
I swallow, watching the way his pupils expand, his gaze dropping to my lips.
His curls ruffle now too. I fight the temptation to reach out and tangle my fingers in them.
Click.
I should step away. Stop whatever trance he has me in. I’m not the sort of girl to buckle at a single compliment, but it’s the way he’s leaning in, slowly taking stock of my face. No one, including Mike, has looked at me like that in years.
He steps closer, raises his hand, gently running his fingers down the edge of my jaw, lifting my chin towards him. There’s a buzzing in my ears, like my blood is rushing too fast, my heartbeat in my throat.
Are we…
A horn blares.
It’s so loud I slap my hands over my ears and crouch down.
When I look up, Gus is laughing. He points at the culprit. I follow his hand to Roko at the wheel, doing that toothy smile again, clearly very amused. Alright, maybe he is the joker Gus clocked him to be.
“On that note,” I say, my face hot with embarrassment. “I’m going to walk away now.”