Chapter Ten
Zoe
Despite feeling sad at the memory of our conversation, I have a whale of a time that day, loving every minute of being down in the ship, surrounded by the cold, quiet water. With Manu and Hōri, we do twenty-minute dives, then resurface slowly and have a drink or a light snack and talk about our progress before going down again.
Joel is very strict about our time underwater and twice gets cross when I’m in the middle of something and ask for another few minutes, his eyes blazing behind his mask as he gestures for us to go up. When we eventually get back on the boat, he snaps, “When I say it’s time to surface, I mean it’s time to surface.”
“I know,” I reply, struggling out of my wetsuit. “I have no intention of staying down longer than I’m allowed. I just like winding you up.”
Emma barks a laugh as she passes me a bottle of water. Joel’s eyes narrow, but his lips curve up as he takes the bottle from me and removes the top.
“You shouldn’t play with me when we’re working,” he scolds, handing me back the opened bottle.
“Yes, sir.”
Emma snorts and goes off to check the gear. Joel holds my gaze for a moment, and I give him a cheeky grin before having a few mouthfuls of water.
“There’s so much marine life,” I say, lowering onto the seat for our short rest, glad of the warm sunshine. It’s cold down there. “I didn’t expect that for some reason. I thought it might scare the fish away.”
He sits beside me. “It’s now an artificial reef. It’s a temporary oasis that provides shelter and substrate.”
“Substrate?”
“A substance that organisms grow on and can use as food. Since it sank, it’s become an ever-changing ecosystem, evolving with new shapes and colors.”
“There are so many anemones and sponges, all pink and blue. And what were those pinky-orange fish with the little beard?”
“Goatfish, with their goatees.”
“They were beautiful. And it’s different further down, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s where the nocturnal fish hang out. Bigeyes and slender roughies. Because of the way it’s resting on the reef, its port side is more exposed to light, so it’s covered in seaweed, but the shaded side doesn’t have so many plants.”
I can totally see why Joel is addicted to this. I can also see why they nickname him Aquaman. He moves fluidly, like a merman, completely at ease in the water, unlike me, who always ends up banging my head or my scuba gear when I try to maneuver myself under a beam or through a gap.
He has removed his wetsuit, and his hair is sticking up in spikes all over his head. He’s wearing his rash vest and skin-tight dive shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and the tanned skin on his arms glistens with droplets of water, while the sun has turned the hairs golden brown. He looks good enough to eat in more ways than one. He fascinates me. I don’t tell him that, though.
Manu and Hōri join us for a sandwich, and then we gear up again ready for the next dive.
The four of us work on peeling back the layers of silt that cover the hull of the Relentless. We gradually reveal two-thirds of the hold, finding a multitude of now-empty crates that must have been filled with foodstuffs or possibly wool. Nothing looks like the purported chest to which the captain referred. Even so, I enjoy every minute of it, from all the photographing to the detailed recording to the scraping and brushing and slow reveal of the objects beneath the silt.
We dive four times today for twenty minutes, with close to an hour in between each dive to rid ourselves of the excess nitrogen that has dissolved into our bodies. During surface intervals you’re supposed to keep warm, too, so I wrap myself in a towel and sit in the sun, but when Joel sees me shivering, he brings over his gray hoodie that says, “Dive hair, Don’t care,” and insists I put it on. I tug it over my head and wear it for the rest of the interval, wondering why I seem to keep ending up in his clothes. While the three guys doze in the sun, I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my nose in the sleeves, inhaling Joel’s ocean scent. Maybe at the end of the day he’ll forget he’s leant it to me, and I can steal it without him noticing.
By the end of the day, when we arrive back at the marina, I’m so exhausted I have trouble getting out of my wetsuit, and Emma has to help me. I try to keep it from Joel, but he notices and scolds me as we make our way back to the car. “You should have said you were getting tired after our third dive.”
“I was enjoying myself and didn’t want to stop.”
“Even so. It’s when you get tired that mistakes creep in, and it’s not good for the body either. You’re going straight to bed when we get in.”
“Not sure I have the energy for sex,” I joke.
“I’m not kidding.” His blue gaze is firm and brooks no argument, and frankly I am too tired to protest.
He parks out the front of the hotel, slings my backpack over his shoulder, and slides an arm around me as we make our way to the villa. I don’t argue, and instead just lean against him. I’m wearing his hoodie again. It’s too big for me, of course, and the sleeves hang over my hands. I lift them to my nose and sniff. He glances at me, but he doesn’t say anything.
When we get inside, he leads me to my room and drops the backpack on the floor. “Get into bed,” he instructs. “I’m going to order something to eat.”
“You’re so bossy,” I grumble.
He just gives me a wry look and goes out.
I sit on the bed, feeling a little guilty at feeling so tired. He’s right; I shouldn’t have gone on that last dive. I’ve spoiled this evening, too. I’m sure he was looking forward to another nice meal.
I drag myself to the wardrobe, take off the hoodie and my shorts and tee, change into a pair of soft, well-worn pink pajamas, then pull his hoodie on over the top. It’s not that cool in the room, but I find it comforting. I go to the bathroom, cleanse my face, and brush my hair, Then I climb into bed and sink back into the pile of pillows.
Within seconds, I doze off.
“Hey.”
I jerk awake. Joel’s standing beside the bed, putting a tray onto the bedside table. Not much time can have passed as it’s still light, although shadows are creeping into the room.
“You need to eat before you go to sleep,” he says, straightening. “It’s just pasta and chicken.”
I sniff. “It smells amazing.” I go to get up, but he indicates for me to stay put.
“I’m not an invalid,” I grumble.
“Do as you’re told.” He passes me the tray, placing it on my lap as I sit up.
“Where’s yours?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Can you go and get it? I don’t want to eat on my own.”
He meets my eyes and his lips curve up. “All right.” He disappears, then comes back carrying his dish and two bottles of water.
“I’m not saying I want you to get in bed with me,” I add as he places the water on the bedside table.
He sighs and sits down from me, by my feet. “Foiled again.”
The two of us chuckle as we start eating.
“Is this from the restaurant?” I ask.
He nods. “Creamy Cajun chicken pasta.”
“It’s amazing.”
“It’d be nice with a glass of Sauvignon, but I didn’t think that was a good idea today. Maybe tomorrow, if you behave.”
I snort as I scoop up another forkful of pasta. “Not much chance of that.”
That makes him laugh. “Look,” he says, “I take everyone’s safety very seriously, but especially yours. You need to get a good night’s rest, and if you’re even remotely under the weather tomorrow, you’ll be confined to the boat. Understand?”
I scowl, but I nod.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.” He points to where my fork is resting on the edge of the dish. “Eat.”
I’m so tired I barely have enough energy to pick the fork up, but I force myself to keep eating. It’s not an onerous task—the penne pasta is creamy and spicy, and the chicken is just right, moist and tender. I eat the lot and wash it down with several mouthfuls of cold water.
“That was really nice, thank you.” I give him the dish, and he places it on the tray with his on top.
“All right,” he says, observing the drooping of my eyelids. “Now you can sleep.”
“Thanks, boss.” I slide down the pillows, only then realizing I’m still wearing the hoodie. I lift the over-long sleeves to my face and bury my nose in them. “You smell nice,” I murmur, curling up.
His gaze drops to the hoodie, and his lips curve up. “It looks better on you.”
I smile and close my eyes.
I’m asleep before he even leaves the room.
*
I sleep all night, only waking once to visit the bathroom. When I finally wake for real, it’s close to seven a.m., and I feel refreshed and bursting with energy.
I shower, dress in my rash vest and dive shorts, pull on his hoodie over the top, and go out into the kitchen. Joel’s up and eating a bowl of muesli with fresh fruit. He spots the hoodie, but doesn’t say anything, then gestures at another bowl resting on the breakfast bar. “Morning. I ordered breakfast, hope that was okay.”
I sit opposite him and pull the bowl toward me. “Have you even been to bed?”
“Yeah, I slept well. Not as well as you, obviously, but then you are the weaker sex.”
I laugh and pour milk from the jug over the muesli. “Yeah, I’d like to see you going through childbirth.” As soon as the words are out, I stiffen, but I don’t think he notices.
“Point taken.” He grins and passes me a takeaway cup of coffee. “If it’s not hot enough, I can microwave it.”
I have a sip, trying to stay calm. “It’s fine, thanks. So, everything good for today?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like a million dollars.” It’s only a small lie. I’m a bit achy from all the swimming yesterday, but I promise myself that I’ll tell him if I start to feel tired.
“Hmm,” he says. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
I eat a spoonful of muesli with a slice of kiwi fruit and wink at him. “So, what are we up to today?”
“More of the same. Uncovering the last part of the hold.”
“You know the chest is going to be in the last bit we excavate.”
“Always is,” he says cheerfully. He gets up to rinse his bowl, then goes over to the window to look out at the weather. “It’s likely to rain later. You need to make sure you stay warm in between dives.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve got your waterproof gear, right?”
“Yes.”
“Emma will bring some umbrellas from the Bay of Islands office, and she’s going to make up some flasks of tea and coffee. If the weather gets too bad, though, we’ll call it a day.”
“Aw. That would be a shame.”
“We’re always at the mercy of the weather.” He gestures at my bowl. “Eat up. The sooner we’re there, the more time we’ll have before the weather turns.”
I shovel the muesli down and almost burn my throat slurping on the hot coffee. This is such a rare opportunity to be involved in a dig that I want to make the most of every minute.
We’re on the road by eight thirty. When we arrive, I’m pleased to see that everyone is already there. Unfortunately, though, we discover that both Manu and Hōri have developed quite heavy colds overnight. After some discussion, it’s decided that they will stay on the boat today, and Clive and Emma will take their place on the dive. It’s a shame for the two guys, but Joel is quite firm that nobody dives with a cold, and Manu and Hōri don’t argue.
By nine we’ve loaded all the gear onto the boat and we’re heading out to the Black Rocks.
We change into our wetsuits, and by the time we reach the dive site and Clive has fixed the anchor to the wreck, we’re ready to go. Hōri helps us on with our scuba gear, and before long we’re in the water and descending to around thirty meters, where the bottom half of the Relentless rests on the reef.
Twenty minutes isn’t long at all to work, so we make our way straight to the wreck, search for the marker we put down yesterday, and immediately begin to clear away the silt.
We use a water dredge to remove the sediment and keep the visibility as clear as possible. It’s painstaking work to make sure the pipe doesn’t suck up any important artifacts. Even so, I love every minute of it, and I feel a thrill when just minutes into the dive I uncover—of all things—a pair of spectacles with the glass still intact. I gesture excitedly to Joel, and after the obligatory recording and photographing of the area, he lets me lift them and place them carefully in a bag.
Soon the four of us are heading for the surface, swimming slowly up and taking a safety stop at around five meters below the surface for three minutes before we finally go up to the boat. It’s raining lightly, and once we’re on board, we strip off our scuba gear and wetsuits, dress in warm clothing, with me in Joel’s hoodie, accept a cup of hot coffee from Emma’s flask and a few biscuits, and then huddle together under an umbrella to look at the spectacles. Joel takes them carefully out of the bag and cleans them gently with water, and we all examine them, wondering who they belonged to. Maybe it was the captain himself! I like to think so.
By the time of our second dive, the rain is a little heavier. Joel starts talking about whether we should head back, but I beg him for one more dive. In the end, he says yes, but we all agree that if it’s still raining after the end of the next dive, we’re going to head back.
We suit up again, put on our scuba equipment, lower ourselves back into the sea, and soon we’re heading down to the Relentless.
We’re right at the end of the hold now. We clean quickly, removing the sediment, and it’s only once the wood is exposed that all four of us stop what we’re doing and stare at the ship. We shine our flashlights on the scene before us, and I’m sure their hearts are sinking slowly along with mine.
There’s a big hole in the hull that wasn’t visible until now. The ship must have grazed along the reef before it came to a stop, the sharp rocks peeling back the wooden planks like the lid on a sardine tin. Whatever was in this part of the hold must have fallen through the hole, because all that remains here are broken planks and fish.
If the chest was here, it isn’t any longer. It must have descended through the gloom to the seabed, far too deep for us to dive to find it.
I look at Joel, and his brows draw together. He writes on his waterproof paper and holds it up. It’s just one word: Fuck.
I give a short laugh and give him the okay symbol back. It is what it is. We won’t be finding any chest of opals or priceless necklace today. But I’ve still had an amazing time.
He checks his dive computer, taps it, and gestures that we have five minutes left. Clive nods and motions to Emma to join him in clearing the remaining silt. Joel shines his light on the corner of the hold, and I join him there to investigate one of the last crates. It’s broken open, and there’s almost certainly nothing inside it, but we start clearing it methodically anyway.
A scuba regulator is connected to the gas cylinder, where oxygen is compressed inside the cylinder tanks. The purpose of the regulator is to help normalize the air pressure to a safe level when a diver inhales through the mouthpiece.
We’re close to finishing when my regulator starts free flowing.
Air is only supposed to flow when the diver breathes in, but bubbles stream out of the mouthpiece, indicating that dirt has got in, or maybe ice has frozen it, as it’s so cold in the water today this far down.
My heart bangs as I watch my precious air escape. Stay calm, Zoe. Holding my breath, I take the regulator out and try smacking it, then attempt to purge the second stage, but nothing happens. I’ve had training for this, but all of a sudden my mind goes blank. I haven’t practiced breathing from the free flow for a long time. You’re supposed to tilt your head to the right, where your regulator hose is, take your mouthpiece’s left side off, and press the purge button, using your tongue as a splash guard. But I’m afraid of inhaling water, my fingers fumble, and I drop the regulator twice.
Giving up, I unhook my octopus—my alternate air source—place it in my mouth, and try to inhale, but it’s hard to breathe through it, and when I check my gauge I see it’s registering a drop in pressure. Holy fuck. I’m nearly out of air.
Joel is a couple of feet away from me, looking down at the wreck as he brushes carefully at something. I gesture wildly, struggling to inhale, panic knifing through me. Joel looks at me, and I slice my hand across my throat. My heart bangs on my ribs as he immediately closes the distance between us.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I’m thirty meters below the surface and I have no air. I’ve never really considered the dangers of diving before—all the safety measures have seemed like elaborate pointless rituals—but it hits me that I could easily drown if I don’t do something right now. But what? Every sane thought flees my mind as terror mixes with hysteria. Normally I can hold my breath for a couple of minutes, but I wasn’t able to fill my lungs first.
But even as panic engulfs me, Joel takes his own regulator out of his mouth and holds it out to me. I grab it and insert it into my mouth, and my chest heaves as I inhale, relief washing over me at the realization that I can breathe again. I take several deep breaths, watching as he plucks his octopus from where it’s fastened to his suit and puts it in his mouth, so we’re now sharing his air tank. He does it unhurriedly, cool and composed. How is he so calm?
He investigates my regulator and tries to purge it, then checks my gauge. When he obviously realizes my tank is empty, he gives me a thumbs up, indicating that we should surface.
I nod and fumble at my buoyancy control device, wanting to inflate it, because all I can think about is getting to the surface as quickly as I can, but Joel catches me and pulls me close to him. Of course, I’d forgotten that we’re joined by the pipe that connects our regulators. He puts an arm around my waist, taps his first and second fingers on my mask, then turns his hand and taps his own. Look at me , he’s saying. Eyes on me .
His blue eyes look almost black down here, in the murky semi-darkness, but I keep my gaze fixed on his as he inflates his BCD a little. Slowly, we begin rising to the surface.
As I start breathing normally, my brain begins to work again. We can’t swim too fast. We need to decompress naturally as we rise. He lifts his spare hand and makes the okay sign. You’re okay , he’s saying. You’re going to be okay .
Despite the fact that he obviously realizes I’m confused and scared, he maintains our steady ascent, no faster than ten meters per minute. Then, when we get to five meters below the surface, he holds up his hand, indicating for us to do our safety stop.
I don’t want to; I want to get to the surface, rip out my mouthpiece, and breathe the cool, fresh air. I take off my dive cap, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. My hair floats around my head, but it doesn’t help; the water pressure still encloses me, like a parent holding her child too tightly.
But Joel continues to hold me while he checks his gauge and dive computer, and he gives me the okay sign again. We have enough air , he’s saying— we can wait .
Again, he makes the sign to look at him. He pushes off his own dive cap, the longer strands of hair on the top of his head lifting in the water. When I meet his eyes, he winks at me.
The safety stop is five minutes max. I can do this. I don’t want to be ill because I’ve surfaced too quickly. I need to trust him. He knows what he’s doing.
I think about the fact that he holds all those freediving records. He held his breath underwater for over nine minutes. When I asked him how he could possibly do that, he said mostly it’s about mindfulness and staying relaxed. Obviously there’s a lot more to it than that, but now I understand what he was saying. Panic sends every logical thought out of your head, and it makes you do stupid things. I just need to keep calm.
It’s much lighter here, the sea around us a light blue-gray. Joel’s eyes look blue now. He’s still staring into mine, his arm tight around my waist. As I blink and try to slow my breathing, to keep calm, he lifts his other hand and slides his fingers into the hair floating around my head. I watch his eyes crease at the corners—he’s smiling. His gaze leaves mine briefly to look at my hair as he touches it. I close my eyes, concentrating on the feeling of his fingers against my scalp. He cups my face, then brushes my ear with his thumb. It’s such a tender touch, and I open my eyes again and look back into his.
We stay there like that, chest to chest, while we breathe the same air and look into each other’s eyes. I called him Kiwa, guardian of the ocean, and it reminds me of the way Māori exchange the sacred Hā—the breath, the essence of life—when they perform a traditional greeting or hongi , pressing their noses together.
Right now, Joel and I are connecting in the most sacred and divine way possible, sharing the Hā, which suddenly feels closer than kissing, closer even than sex. I think of how he didn’t even try to give me his alternate air source. He immediately took out his own regulator and gave it straight to me, without thinking, without a second’s pause. It’s not romantic to say that he saved my life. That act is going to join us irrevocably. It’s not about being in his debt or anything like that. If it wasn’t for his cool, calm thinking, I’d be dead right now.
He glances at his dive computer, then gives me a thumbs up and we kick our legs. Our fins propel us to the surface, into the rain, and into the cool, fresh air.