Chapter 11
SAMMIE
It turns out there really is no dignified way to share a bed with your mother as an adult. Trust me, we’ve tried a few options. We’re both in bed, shoulder to shoulder, because a yacht double bed seems much smaller than a regular one.
My gosh, it’s been an odd evening. The scene was perfect, the food was incredible, but the company left a lot to be desired.
I could see Mum looking at me, that look of recognition in her eyes whenever Nico and I would start bickering. I could see her reading too much into it. I mean, yeah, maybe we do have chemistry, but so do bleach and ammonia, and no one is going to have a good time if the two of those mix.
I’m lying flat on my back staring up at the ceiling. The blinds are open, allowing light from the marina to creep in, and it’s beautiful. If I were sharing this cabin with, say, Jake Gyllenhaal, instead of my mum, I’d be having the time of my life.
I swear I can feel the boat rocking, ever so gently, not enough to be a problem or make me feel seasick, just enough movement to remind me that I’m not on solid ground right now – geographically or emotionally.
I might be trapped in my own personal hell, but Mum seems over the moon.
Right on cue, she sighs, showing me just how content she is. She sees the luxury yacht, the fancy man, Monaco; she feels the luxurious mattresses below her. My presence here isn’t bothering her at all.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she whispers.
I turn my head slowly towards her.
‘What part specifically?’ I ask sarcastically.
She laughs at me.
‘All of it.’
The cabin lights are dimmed, with only a warm glow from the bedside lamp that makes everything look softer and dreamier (even though this is more like a nightmare). I can see Mum’s huge smile though, clear as day.
‘You really like him, don’t you?’ I say.
I know she’s told me that she does, but I mean, she really likes him. Enough for all of this to seem okay.
‘I do,’ she says softly.
She shifts beside me, the duvet pulling slightly with her movement. It’s a good job it’s warm tonight, because I get the feeling the duvet is going to be as difficult to share as the mattress.
‘He’s kind,’ she says. ‘And funny. And intelligent.’
‘Kind, yeah, okay, we’re on his yacht,’ I agree. ‘Funny – I assume his hat was a joke, so maybe, but intelligent? He thinks the boat is called Carp Dime.’
She laughs quietly.
‘Oh, leave him alone. He was probably joking.’
‘I wish I could leave him alone, I wish I could get away from everyone,’ I insist. ‘Hank, Nico – even you. You’re going to take me out with that elbow.’
‘Oh, no, I’m not giving you an excuse to leave,’ she jokes.
It is difficult to resent the reason for her good mood, because it’s nice to see her so happy, I just wish I didn’t have to be so miserable at the same time.
I pull the duvet up slightly and stare back at the ceiling.
This is really not what I imagined when Mum told me she’d booked us a holiday.
Not one part of it. Not the country, the accommodation, the company, the one bed between us.
I would have been much happier going to the coast for a long weekend.
I had pictured quiet mornings in a hotel room where no one needed anything from me.
A balcony, maybe, looking out over the sea.
A huge bed entirely to myself. Room service.
Long soaks in the bath. The kind of rest where nobody is talking at you or expecting anything or invading your personal space.
Instead, I’m here.
‘I can hear you overthinking,’ Mum says beside me.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You’ve gone very quiet.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Hmm…’
I sigh because, annoyingly, she’s right.
‘I just can’t believe this is my holiday,’ I admit. ‘This is the annual leave I’ve been hoarding for a special occasion. Months of stress and spreadsheets and site meetings and sewage reports – and it was all for this.’
‘There will be other holidays,’ she reminds me.
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ I reply. ‘More “family” trips with you, my new dad, and the brother from hell.’
She snorts.
‘Hank will never be your new dad, and Nico will never be anything close to a brother to you,’ she insists. ‘You do love to be dramatic.’
‘Says the woman turning my life into a horror movie,’ I point out.
‘Sammie, you can take other holidays, you work too hard, you need more time off.’
She’s not entirely wrong. Work has been a big part of my life for a while now.
I’m always trying too hard to prove myself, to show the men that I’m just as good as them – but the second I tried to start having fun, to start dating again, was when Mum turned up looking for a place to stay (which has turned out to be more like a place to live) and we all know how that has ended up.
The main thing I love about my job is the problem-solving. Give me a problem and watch me figure out the quickest, easiest, cheapest way to solve it. Turns out I’m only good at that at work. It isn’t a skill that spills over into my real life.
‘When was the last time you actually switched off?’ Mum asks quietly.
‘I switch off.’
‘I’ve seen you watch drainage webinars on a Friday night,’ she reminds me. ‘Promise me you’ll try to relax while we’re here?’
‘Promise to stop doing things to stress me out?’ I reply, only half joking.
‘I just wanted us both to have a nice time – and a nice life, that’s all. It will be shorter than you think.’
Her words land harder than I was expecting. She’s right, life is short, and no one knows it better than her, the woman who has lost not one but two husbands (while some of us are out here struggling to get even a second date).
I know that she means every word she says. She wanted this to be good. She wanted sunshine and excitement and the possibility of something magical. For herself, yeah, but for me too.
And that’s why I can’t quite stay properly angry.
I turn my head towards her.
‘You could have told me where we were coming – warned me what I was walking into.’
‘I know.’
‘You couldn’t have found a man with a yacht big enough for us to have a bed each?’
She cackles.
‘Oh, Sammie, this is why I’m so glad you’re here. It wouldn’t be as fun without you.’
A small silence settles between us. Suddenly, the bed doesn’t feel quite so small, and my eyes feel heavy, like I might actually be able to sleep – even with the knowledge that Nico is only a door or two away.
I don’t know how he’s managed to get so deeply under my skin; I barely know him.
I need to keep reminding myself of that.
We’ve spent, what, a few hours together total?
A singles night, a brief run-in in my living room, now this – whatever the hell we’re calling this.
So how on earth has he managed to take up residence – rent-free, mind you – in my head already?
It only makes me feel more annoyed with him. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
He’s just so smug sometimes. And dry. And frustratingly calm in a way that I envy.
But, just between us, he’s also… easier than I expected.
Less arrogant (still plenty arrogant, though).
More self-aware. Plus, he looked just as horrified to see me as I was to see him, so at least we’re suffering equally.
Still though… I don’t want to spend time with him. To waste energy on a man I have no interest in, just because my mum thinks he’s a nice boy. That’s not a good enough reason to lean into flirting with him for sport – and especially not under parental supervision. Ew. Hell no.
‘I don’t think you hate Nico as much as you pretend to,’ Mum says suddenly, almost like she’s reading my mind.
I practically choke on the air as I hurry out a reply.
‘I absolutely do.’
‘You absolutely don’t.’
She smiles to herself. I can hear it.
‘He seems nice.’
‘Yeah, you keep saying that,’ I remind her. ‘Why don’t you date him?’
‘We’ll see how things go with his dad,’ she jokes.
‘I’m happy for you, Mum, really, but I’m happy enough to spend time on my own, I don’t need Nico to keep me busy.’
‘Who wants to be alone on holiday?’
‘Me – I do,’ I insist.
I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely alone. Not properly. At work there’s always someone needing something. At home there’s Mum. Even when I’m technically resting, my brain keeps spinning like a washing machine that refuses to finish its cycle.
I thought this holiday was going to be a way to quiet all of the noise.
I had imagined this holiday as space.
I sigh.
She shifts again, settling deeper into the pillows.
‘You’ll relax eventually,’ she tells me.
‘Here’s hoping,’ I reply.
‘Goodnight, darling.’
‘Goodnight, Mum.’
A few minutes pass.
Then…
‘You’re hogging the duvet a little, sweetheart.’
I give the covers an exaggerated shove in her direction.
‘Better?’ I check.
‘Much,’ she says, stifling a giggle. ‘So glad to hear you’re more chilled out.’
So glad to hear she hasn’t lost her sense of sarcasm.
Silence settles again after that, real silence, the kind that feels – silly as it sounds – loud. It’s not the silence, it’s the voice in my head, the one running simulations, imagining all the ways this trip can go wrong, and obviously not entertaining ways it could go right.
I only last about fifteen minutes before accepting that I’m not going to be able to will myself to sleep.
Mum is already lying on her side with her back to me, breathing in that peaceful way people do when they are sleeping contentedly.
I stare at the ceiling for a bit, listening to the occasional faint creaks of the yacht around us and the soft lap of water outside.
I just can’t settle. Like, do I need to pee?
Do I need a drink? Do I even need anything?
I suppose I could give both a go, see if it helps me settle.
‘I’m going to get a glass of water,’ I whisper, just in case my movement wakes her and she thinks I’m trying to abandon ship.