LUCY
She rolled over and realized Mark wasn’t there.
He must be in the loo – perhaps him getting up was what had disturbed her.
She shifted back into her favourite sleeping position – on her side, arms wrapped around one of her pillows – and closed her eyes, hoping against hope that she’d be able to nod off again.
Sleep had never come easily to her, and often when she woke in the middle of the night, she’d stay awake until her alarm forced her out of bed.
After five minutes or so of trying to relax enough to nod off again, she realized she’d not heard anything from the bathroom.
Is Mark okay in there? He’d clearly drunk far too much last night, judging by that bizarre outburst at Rory; maybe he was feeling sick.
As confused and irritated as she was by the evening’s turn of events, she didn’t like the thought of him being unwell. She should check on him.
With a groan, she lifted the duvet and swung her legs to the floor. She padded over to the bathroom and opened the door, noticing that the light was off. She turned it on and peered inside.
He wasn’t there.
Lucy glanced back around the cabin, checking he hadn’t gone to sleep on the sofa – or rolled off the bed and crashed out on the floor. She wouldn’t have put it past him, the state he was in. But with the bathroom light illuminating the room, she could see perfectly well that he wasn’t there.
Strange. Where’s he gone at this time?
Maybe he’s just popped to the galley to refill his water.
With a heavy sigh, she switched off the bathroom light, got back into bed and waited. She closed her eyes, tried to will herself back to sleep, but as the minutes ticked by, she became more and more uncomfortable. It shouldn’t take this long to get a glass of water, surely?
She was just considering heading out of their cabin to search for him when she heard the click of the key card and saw Mark’s tall, lean frame silhouetted in the door frame by the lights of the passageway.
On impulse, she rolled back over and feigned sleep; wherever he’d been, she didn’t have the energy to ask about it now.
A few hours later, as the dawn light began to creep into the cabin underneath the thick curtains, Lucy decided trying to get back to sleep was pointless. She reached to the bedside table, pulled the charging cable out of her phone, then unlocked the screen.
A calendar alert popped up: Alfie and Mum: two years.
The surge of emotion took Lucy’s breath away. She hadn’t forgotten, exactly – the date it happened was etched on her brain – but she’d been so distracted by work and this trip, and now Mark’s weird behaviour, it must have slipped her mind somehow.
Seeing it there, the words on top of her screensaver – a holiday photo from when she was little, Mum giving Lucy’s brother Alfie a big kiss on the cheek while Lucy grinned in rainbow-patterned sunglasses – a kaleidoscope of memories danced in front of her vision.
Mum playing air guitar in the kitchen to some embarrassing eighties power ballads, making Lucy wheeze with laughter, Alfie flapping and spinning with joy.
Taking Alfie to swimming for the first time, watching him come to life as he splashed in the water, creating huge waves.
The table piled extravagantly high with cheap presents her mum couldn’t afford for both of them on their birthdays.
Then the early, happy images morphed into the more recent ones: Alfie sitting motionless on the sofa, staring into space, eyes vacant and blank. And then, two years ago …
Tears settled behind her eyelids now, in the cabin of this luxury bloody superyacht.
Some days, she coped well enough with the memories – when her brain was quiet, free of the terrible images.
But sometimes – when something big happened, like going on holiday, or on birthdays, or on anniversaries like this – it was too overwhelming to bear.
She took a few quiet, steady breaths and tried to get a sense of the expression on her therapist’s face, or the words she’d say. Things like: You can cope with your own pain. And: If you focus on what’s in front of you today, nothing can overwhelm you. Or: You’re doing really well.
These words were comforting; Lucy breathed more easily.
As her chest began to relax, she let the grief and the pain settle into something else: grim, furious determination.
She had come on this bonus trip for a reason – and she wouldn’t leave here without getting what she needed.
Her search yesterday in the master stateroom had been interrupted before she could get far enough, but she still had a couple of days left.
She could try to find another moment to sneak back in there today, unnoticed this time …
‘Morning.’ Mark was awake; the light from her phone must have disturbed him. He was a light sleeper too – the pair of them often grumbling to each other in the morning about who was more tired than who, like some kind of depressing competition.
Lucy put her phone down and turned to look at him. He was bleary-eyed and pale.
‘I feel rough as a monkey’s arse.’ He moved closer to her, wrapped his arms around her waist. She fought the urge to pull away. Just let him. It’ll make things easier.
‘It’s badger. Rough as a badger’s arse.’
Mark groaned. ‘Whatever.’ He studied her for a moment.
‘I know you’ve been feeling seasick, but you’re all right, aren’t you?
This is the trip of a lifetime,’ he said.
‘Honestly, Luce, I still keep pinching myself that we’re here.
We should be having the time of our lives, and you seem a bit … dunno. Flat?’
Lucy swallowed. ‘I’m having a great time,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely. Apart from the nausea.’
Mark edged his face closer towards Lucy’s, pulled her towards him, and moved in for a kiss. She jerked her face away – but not before she caught the flash of hurt in his expression.
‘Sorry,’ she said flatly.
He sighed, leaning back on his pillow. ‘For God’s sake. Am I not allowed to show you some affection – here, on our own, in bed, on the most amazing holiday we’ve ever had?’
‘Of course you are. It’s just … I haven’t slept,’ she said, her eyes darting away from him and up to the ceiling.
‘Okay,’ said Mark, staring at the ceiling. ‘You’re tired, I understand that. But don’t be weird with me for getting excited about spending some time together, just the two of us. It’s not often I get you to myself, especially these last few months. I feel like I’ve barely even seen you …’
Lucy wanted to respond with the sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue – Well, maybe you should get out more then?
– but then thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time.
There were things to clear up, and she wouldn’t get answers by antagonizing him.
Instead, she shut him off with: ‘Why did you do it?’
The question bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest and came blurting out of her mouth, catching her off guard, before she could do anything to stop it.
Mark turned back to face her. ‘Eh? Do what?’
‘Rory. Last night. Why were you yelling at him – why were you right up in his face?’
Mark cupped his palms over his eyes. ‘Oh – that. Lucy, I feel like shit. I’ve not drunk that much for years. Can we talk about this later, please?’
‘No.’ Lucy wasn’t relenting. ‘We are talking about it now.’
He sighed heavily. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Luce. I just drank too many cocktails. It’s not a big deal – the conversation got out of hand.’
‘But how did it get out of hand? Why were you even talking to him one-on-one in the first place?’
‘Jesus, I can’t even remember – it’s all a big blur, to be honest. He made some dickhead comment about journalists, I think. Thank fuck you dragged me away when you did before I made an even bigger tit of myself.’
Lucy sighed. ‘Well, quite.’
‘I’m sorry – I genuinely don’t know how it spiralled that badly,’ he went on. ‘I promise, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’d never want to do that.’
Lucy nodded; she appreciated the apology. But it wasn’t the embarrassment that was bothering her. It was that she’d heard snippets of what Mark had said – and it definitely wasn’t to do with Rory’s opinions about journalists.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘But what about disappearing in the middle of the night, then? Where did you go, for nearly half an hour, at half one in the morning?’
Mark frowned. ‘What? I didn’t go anywhere.’
Lucy exhaled sharply. ‘Yes, you did. I woke up and you weren’t here. You didn’t come back for another twenty minutes.’
Mark screwed his face up in concentration. ‘Oh. Hang on … I just remembered. I think I went to get something to eat,’ he said. ‘I was starving, and the booze was all sloshing about in my stomach. I’ve got vague memories of going into the galley and asking one of the stewardesses for a toastie …’
Lucy snorted, despite her gnawing unease. ‘Well, I suppose that does sound like something you’d do.’
There was a long pause, and then: ‘Are you all right, Lulu? Just tell me what you’re thinking.’ Mark’s voice was all concern. It irritated her.
She looked away from him and picked up her phone again.
She was still angry; she still felt he wasn’t telling her everything.
And besides, it had become a habit now, dismissing him, pushing him away – protecting herself from his incessant concern, or trying to.
‘I’m fine. Let’s not talk about it any more. ’
Mark said nothing for a moment, and a sick pang of guilt rose in her throat.
I’m sorry, she told him silently. I don’t want it to be like this either.
‘This is all pretty rich of you, you know,’ Mark mumbled. Lucy put down her phone; her guilt evaporated in an instant, replaced with a cold wariness. I bet I know where this is going.
‘What’s rich of me?’
‘Getting all suspicious about what I’m doing. I seem to remember it was only yesterday I caught you sneaking around in your boss’s cabin.’ Mark’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d say that’s a fuck of a lot shadier than me getting rat-arsed and saying some stupid shit.’
‘I told you. I was looking for some paperwork. You can ask Rory about it if you want. He’ll know what I was doing.’ It was a bold suggestion; one that she knew Mark was unlikely to take her up on, especially after embarrassing himself last night.
‘Maybe I will,’ he replied.
‘You do that.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine!’ Lucy half-shouted the last word, no longer able to keep her irritation under wraps.
Good God, we’ve reverted to monosyllabic adolescents.
She should apologize, for her tone if not the things she’d said.
But she couldn’t seem to force the words out of her mouth.
She wasn’t ready to close the gaping chasm between them yet; she couldn’t, even if she wanted to.
‘I just can’t believe you’re mistrusting me,’ Mark said huffily. ‘We’ve been together since sixth form. And I’ve been by your side through everything these last few years. Doesn’t that count for anything?’
Lucy sighed. The irony of his irritation wasn’t lost on her: for months, she’d been busy keeping secrets from him, telling him half-truths, and now here she was, indignant at him for one evening’s odd behaviour.
She wondered if this was how it had felt for him; if he’d been living with a constant nagging feeling that something wasn’t right between them.
It was a miserable experience. No wonder he’d been so keen to come on this trip with her, to try to make things feel okay again.
And after all, this was her person: the man who’d made her feel as a teenager, for the first time in her entire life, that she wasn’t a total freak, a weirdo.
He seemed to innately understand her in a way no one else – except perhaps her mum and Alfie – did.
The man who not only indulged her info-dumping about random historical figures and obscure eighties punk bands, but seemed to actually enjoy it.
The man who understood that, even though she came across as blunt and her small talk was abysmal, she never meant to be rude or stand-offish.
He was the only one who understood that she showed her care and empathy by trying to do something to help, rather than offering hugs or empty platitudes.
‘Of course it counts,’ she said finally. ‘But being together since sixth form – even supporting me through a crisis – it doesn’t mean you can act completely fucking unhinged, on holiday with my boss, and expect me to just … nod along and put up with it.’
Mark whipped the duvet off his legs and got out of bed. He stood towering above her and looked down into Lucy’s face, his eyes flashing.
Lucy stared back, an acidic taste on her tongue. ‘What?’ she snarled.
‘Lucy, if anyone’s acting unhinged in this relationship, it’s sure as hell not me!’
Lucy gaped. ‘And what on earth is that supposed to mean?’ She couldn’t hold back, even though she knew she should leave it now. This argument was getting worse by the second, and Mark’s attention was turning uncomfortably close to her behaviour too.
‘Oh, come on. You’ve been acting weird for months! You’ve been—’
Lucy had heard enough; this had to stop. ‘I’m going for breakfast – come too, or stay here – do whatever you want,’ she snapped, cutting him off.
She whirled out of bed, grabbed some clothes and stormed into the bathroom to change.
She didn’t especially want to leave her cabin and join the others – it was hard to put up with the continued tension and frostiness, especially from some of the other women – but at least with everyone else she’d have some protection from Mark’s accusations: the invasive questions, delivered with his laser-eyed focus.
And at least, if she left her cabin, the opportunity might arise for her to sneak back into Rory’s.
She gave Mark one last, withering look as she stomped out of the en-suite and towards the cabin door. He watched her go, an expression of hurt confusion crumpling his features. Then she closed the door behind her, tears of frustration threatening to spill.
If only I’d gone into work that day. If she’d been in the office, he wouldn’t have seen the invitation, with its picture of the Lusso di Mare, pop up in her inbox when they’d both, unusually, been working from home.
If only she’d come up with a better excuse for why she was admiring an image of a superyacht.
If only he hadn’t read the subject line, announcing the opportunity to bring a plus one, before she’d minimized her Outlook window.
If only he hadn’t come here.
After all, she hadn’t even wanted him on this yacht in the first place.