Chapter 8 #2
‘This is the saloon,’ Hank says proudly. ‘That’s the main living space. Galley in the back – I wanted to keep it open-plan, a proper social space, you know?’
He says ‘you know’ like there’s a chance either of us know a thing about living on a yacht. Obviously, we have no idea. I don’t even know what a galley is, but glancing in the direction of where he pointed, I’m assuming it’s the kitchen area.
‘She’s got three cabins,’ he continues, pointing down the short corridor leading away from the saloon. ‘And two bathrooms.’
Three bedrooms – the words are like music to my ears. If I’m stuck on here with them, at least I can have my own space to retreat to.
‘Then up top you’ve got the helm,’ he continues, gesturing towards the stairs.
I have no idea what a helm is, but I’d rather google it later than ask him now.
‘I got the Ruinart, but they didn’t have the rosé,’ a voice interrupts us. ‘Although neither of us drinks rosé, so I’m not sure why you wanted…’
His voice trails off as he notices two reasons why Hank might have wanted rosé champagne – me and my mum.
Nico stands there, shopping bags in hand, and he looks about as happy to see me as I am to see him – which is to say, not happy at all.
‘He’s here too?’ I can’t help but blurt.
Nico’s eyes dart between us all.
‘Dad? What’s going on?’ he asks him. ‘You said it was just going to be the two of us…’
‘Ah, well, that’s interesting, because my mum told me it was just going to be the two of us.’
‘Now, now, son, it’s my yacht – I can invite who I want, right?’
Nico places the bags down on the table.
‘Hmm, yeah, well, I need to make a call, so I’ll be in my cabin,’ Nico tells us all, and with that he’s gone.
Oh boy. So neither of our parents told us that the other would be here. Nico genuinely has no idea what he has walked into either. They’ve misled us both. I can understand why he’s angry because I’m fuming too.
‘Lovely to see you again, Nico,’ Mum calls after him.
‘You too, Chrissy,’ he says politely.
I smile, just a little, because it’s nice to see his manners kick in on autopilot, even though he’s sulking.
‘I’ll put these away, don’t worry,’ his dad calls after him. ‘I’ll get this champagne chilling ASAP – we’ve got a lot to drink to.’
‘Our two families coming together for a holiday,’ Mum says, her smile beaming.
That’s all well and good, but they could have at least told all members of the family – so that we could have said no.
‘Well,’ Hank says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Shall we continue the tour?’
‘Shall we, Sammie?’ Mum asks.
She gives me a hopeful look, and I hate that it works.
Because she does look happy. Nervous too, underneath it all, perhaps only in a way that I can see, but happy nonetheless.
And I may be annoyed, with an overwhelming desire to snatch Hank’s captain’s hat and throw it overboard, but I am not completely cruel.
So I smile, nod and brace myself.
‘Lead the way,’ I say.
Once we’re out on deck, I have to admit it, the Carpe Diem is impressive.
Polished railings pinging the sunlight in all directions, more cream cushions that look oh-so inviting, Monte Carlo standing tall on one side of us, the open sea at the other.
And then there’s everything else, all the other yachts, the stunning marina.
Would I have come here, if Mum had told me what I was coming to?
Absolutely not. Now that I’m here, am I tempted to stay regardless?
Yes, well, when else am I going to get the chance to not only come here, but to stay on a yacht?
‘This is the aft deck,’ Hank tells us. ‘The part towards the stern – that’s the back, to laypeople. And that’s the bow up there.’
Hank struggles to contain his enthusiasm as he walks us around. You can tell that he loves his yacht very much – maybe even more than he loves his son, given that he got him here without telling him there would be other guests.
Then he takes us back inside.
‘Now, quick safety bit,’ Hank says, clapping once, loudly.
‘Now the fun starts, eh?’ I joke.
‘Best bit of the tour,’ he promises. ‘Pay close attention.’
He shows us where the life jackets are, then the fire extinguishers, then a radio, which he pats like the family dog. Every instruction comes with a joke so corny it could only be uttered by a dad. Mum thinks he’s hilarious. Me… not so much.
‘The first safety rule is: don’t fall overboard,’ he explains. ‘But, if you do, make sure you had sense to put the life jacket on first.’
Incredibly helpful – wow.
Mum laughs again. She is enjoying this far too much.
Next Hank opens a compartment and shows us flares, lined up neatly in bright red packaging.
‘Emergency flares,’ he says. ‘Hopefully we won’t need them, so unless we get in a spot of bother, or someone has too much to drink…’
Drinking one of the bottles of champagne, then signalling for someone to get me the hell out of here, does sound tempting.
‘And this,’ he says, lifting out the flare gun as though it were a pistol loaded with real bullets, ‘is not a toy. Only use it in an emergency… or if the champagne runs out.’
Mum laughs again. Surely she’s just doing it to be polite, because I’m not getting it at all.
Finally, Hank leads us down a short corridor and pauses outside one of the cabin doors.
‘And this,’ he says, opening it, ‘is yours.’
The cabin is lovely… that’s not the problem.
Soft white bedding, warm wood, a little round window framing a slice of the scenery. There are tiny lamps, neat shelves and an en suite peeking out from behind a partially open sliding door. It all looks great. Except…
‘There’s just one double bed,’ I point out – of course, all three of us have eyes, we can all see that.
‘Yes,’ Hank replies. ‘Well, we only have three cabins. Mine, Nico’s and this one. But your mum said you would be happy to share…’
I turn to look at her. Oh, did she now…
‘We will,’ she tells Hank. ‘It will be great – like a girly slumber party. Right, Sammie?’
She looks at me – that same glance, the one that begs: don’t mess this up for me.
‘Right,’ I say.
Hank, either sensing a vibe or a little too eager to pop the champers, makes his excuses.
‘I’ll leave you ladies to settle in,’ he tells us.
‘Thanks, Hank,’ Mum says warmly. ‘You’re a wonderful host.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he replies with a wink. He heads back down the corridor, whistling to himself, a genuine spring in his step.
The moment he’s gone, I shut the cabin door and turn to my mother.
‘Mum…’
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she interrupts me. ‘But look, Hank invited me here, it sounded amazing, I knew that you would love it, so I asked if you could come too. Sammie, you needed a holiday – you’re not going to get a better one than this, are you?’
‘Any one, without those two, would be a better one,’ I point out.
‘Are you saying you would rather not stay on a yacht, if it meant staying with Hank and Nico?’ she asks.
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ I reply quickly and emphatically.
She sits on the edge of the bed and pats the duvet.
‘Come here,’ she says softly.
I do as I’m told.
‘Sammie, I really wanted to see Hank again, and this trip sounded perfect, but I was scared to come alone, and I knew you wouldn’t come so… please will you stay with me? Just this once, just until I’m sure he’s the man I think he is.’
I sigh.
She doesn’t need to tell me twice that the dating game is a shitter of a game. I understand not feeling safe – I also get why she thought I would say no. Not that I would have let her come on her own, of course not, but I would have talked her out of it.
‘Promise me there are no more surprises?’ I say. ‘And no more lies…’
‘No, that’s it, I promise,’ she says.
‘Then I’ll stay,’ I tell her. ‘Make sure you’re okay, and safe, and then I’ll go…’
‘You’ll be having too much fun by then,’ she insists. ‘Nico too. I think he’ll come around.’
‘He didn’t look very pleased to see us,’ I point out.
‘Well, it’s his dad’s boat, he’s probably used to the two of them having it to themselves, but Hank says he’s a good boy.’
I can’t help but laugh at the idea of Nico being a good boy – he’s in his thirties.
‘I cannot believe you’ve tricked me into staying on a yacht with you and your fancy man,’ I say.
‘He’s not my fancy man,’ she quickly insists. ‘He’s just a man, with a fancy yacht…’
‘And a dorky hat,’ I add.
‘I think it’s cute.’
She would have to, to be able to tolerate it.
‘You don’t have to hang out with him, darling.’
I stare at her.
‘Don’t I?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, fab, so you two will be having fun, and I’ll be Billy No-Mates,’ I reply.
‘You could hang out with Nico…’
‘Suddenly being alone doesn’t sound so bad,’ I joke.
She laughs.
‘You could read,’ she suggests.
‘I could have read at home. In my own bed. In peace…’
‘Darling, we both know that if you were at home, you would be working, so just suck it up, make the most of it, and try to enjoy yourself – you’re not allowed to whinge on a yacht.’
That sounds true, but she’s given me a lot to whinge about.
‘A yacht where I have to share a bed with my mum,’ I remind her.
‘You used to crawl into my bed every night when you were little,’ she says.
‘Yes, because I was four and scared of the dark,’ I reply. ‘It’s been like thirty years – my fears have changed.’
Again, she just laughs.
‘Come on, darling, I get to see Hank, you get a free holiday – it’s win-win.’
Sharing a house with my mum has been challenging enough. Now I’m sharing a room with her? And a bed too! I don’t think I’m great at sharing a bed with anyone, I like my own space too much.
I admire her optimism, calling this a win-win situation. But, for me, if this is win-win, then I’d hate to see what losing looks like.