Chapter 14
SAMMIE
For better or worse, I’ve reached a very specific stage of emotional exhaustion where life here in Monte Carlo is starting to feel quite normal.
It’s not normal, obviously, not one part of it, but it’s amazing how quickly you adapt.
I never would have thought I had any survival skills, but my ability to sit out here on the deck, drinking Hugo Spritzes with Nico, while our parents sit inside the cabin flirting up a storm – I’m impressed with myself.
The drink might be helping, but I’ve found a way to almost dissociate while time ticks by. You know, I actually think I’m excited to get home, to get back to work.
I’m also incredibly in denial, it would seem, because this really isn’t okay.
Of course it’s bizarre, to be sitting on the back deck (no, I can’t remember what Hank called it) of a luxury yacht while the harbour glows around us – it’s hard to say if the light is coming from the sunset or from the piles of money that everyone around us so clearly possesses.
The marina is beautiful, without a doubt, and it’s easy to forget we’re on a yacht.
This may as well be a swaggy apartment; given that it’s just parked here, we’re not actually going anywhere.
I swear, I’m too working class to understand that one.
If this were my boat I’d be zipping around all over the place (assuming none of this lot were with me, of course).
I’m strategically acclimatising, that’s what I’m telling myself, like when people live near train tracks or airports and eventually learn how to filter out the noise. Or how I ignore everyone around me in the open-plan office while I’m on Teams meetings with, well, everyone around me.
I can block out my mum’s flirting, Hank moving in on her, Nico’s presence – I just need to apply myself. I can do anything I set my mind to, I can do anything I set my mind to, I can do anything I set my mind to…
‘You’ve got an intense look on your face,’ Nico points out.
He doesn’t make it fucking easy, does he?
If he weren’t here (right now, but also generally) this moment would be perfect. I’m sitting on the fancy cushioned seats, my legs tucked underneath me, sipping my drink, taking in the view.
The sun is starting to disappear now, but the air is still warm. I actually feel cosy.
In the cabin – or the saloon, as Hank calls it – Mum and Hank are working their way through another bottle of wine.
They’re sitting at the table, their faces inches apart, gazing into each other’s eyes, chatting away.
I’m slightly curious what they’re talking about, so intensely, for so long, but I imagine I would be traumatised if I heard a word of it, so I’m better off out here, with Nico, even if he is annoying me.
‘If they get any closer, they won’t be able to finish their drinks,’ Nico says, scooting closer to me. ‘You can’t fit a wine glass in a gap that small.’
‘Speaking of small gaps,’ I say, nodding to the barely there space between us.
‘Worried you won’t be able to control yourself?’ he jokes.
‘Do you know what, you’ve got it in one,’ I reply. ‘I’m worried I’ll shove you into the water.’
This seems to have become our dynamic over the past couple of days.
This sort of playful bickering. We’re not exactly friends, don’t get me wrong, but we’ve settled into something that feels oddly adjacent to it.
Avoiding each other didn’t work, actually getting on is a non-starter, so this – I don’t know – toying with each other for sport feels bearable. It’s like target practice, in a way.
‘So, how old were you when your mum adopted you?’ he asks.
‘I’m not adopted,’ I reply.
‘Oh, my bad,’ he replies. ‘It’s just hard to believe someone so grumpy could come from someone so nice.’
‘I am nice, you dick,’ I say – and yes, I know how that sounds.
‘Yeah, you are, you’re right, no idea where I got the impression you weren’t,’ he says sarcastically. ‘Oh, boy, they’re getting closer…’
I peer in at Mum and Hank. They are. They’re so close, and yet keeping just enough distance to keep the other person on the hook. As we’re watching, Mum reaches across the table and lightly touches Hank’s arm while he’s talking.
‘I can’t look,’ Nico says.
‘Me neither, so stop pointing stuff out,’ I insist.
It’s strange, but shared suffering really does bond people. Not always in healthy ways, admittedly, but there’s something weirdly comforting about sitting next to someone who is equally horrified by the exact same thing.
I sink further into the cushions with a sigh.
‘Do you think they realise how strange this whole set-up is for us?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he replies, before taking a swig of his drink. Nico made the cocktails and, loathe as I am to give him a compliment, they’re delicious. ‘They’re in that stage where everything feels magical to them, so they assume everyone else must also be having a magical time too.’
‘Magical, yeah, like when a magician saws a woman in half,’ I point out.
‘I think he’ll stop short of that, but I take your point,’ he replies.
I swirl my drink around my glass, staring into the little vortex it creates.
‘I just wanted one peaceful holiday,’ I tell him – although I’m not sure why I’m telling him of all people. Because like he’ll care.
‘That’s all I wanted too,’ he replies. ‘My dad, even on his own, can be a bit much. Living with him, we’ve seen far too much of each other – I thought a trip away would be a good way to reset that.’
‘And yet here we are…’
‘And yet here we are,’ he agrees. ‘I overheard them talking earlier, about all the fun activities they’ve got planned – for all four of us.’
I stare at him in horror.
‘This has to stop,’ I insist. ‘I can’t play happy families, I just can’t.’
‘You think I want to?’ he replies.
‘I think we’ve both established that neither of us is into this weird arrangement,’ I remind him. ‘The question is, what do we do about it?’
We both fall silent again.
I admire the marina lights as they shimmer across the water around us.
Music from another yacht suddenly gets louder – it’s a slow, almost romantic song, in French I think, that I haven’t heard before.
It’s nice, but it does little to drown out my mum’s flirty giggle.
If she gets any closer to Hank, she’ll be on top of him.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘No. I’ve thought about it. I can’t survive a whole week of this.’
I straighten slightly.
‘So, what do we do?’ I ask. ‘Because they’re clearly very happy together, and they think we should be too…’
‘You’ve got me thinking,’ he says. ‘Do you know what the worst part is?’
‘Honestly, there are loads of strong contenders,’ I reply.
He laughs.
‘The worst part is that they think this is working, that they can be loved up in there, that we’ll play nice out here. They’re not thinking about how uncomfortable this is making us feel, because they’re comfortable.’
‘Right – so what do we do?’
‘Well, we make them feel uncomfortable right back,’ he says confidently. ‘They think it’s good for us to get on, great, we should weaponise it.’
‘Okay, but how?’
He shifts properly upright now, suddenly looking more animated than he has all evening. ‘Think about it. They’re enjoying this because they’re in a dream, we’re in a nightmare – so we give them a taste of the nightmare. We show them that, yes, we are getting on well, too well, in fact.’
‘I’m an engineer, not an actress,’ I remind him. ‘I problem-solve for a living, and even I don’t know how to counter that issue.’
‘Well, I problem-solve at work too,’ he says.
‘Your dad says you sell video games?’ I check.
He frowns at me.
‘You’re not impressed by that, eh?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ I insist. ‘I just meant that I… What problems do you solve?’
‘Do you play video games?’ he asks.
I shake my head.
‘Every part of them is problem-solving,’ he tells me. ‘Strategy, skill, execution.’
‘Execution feels like a bit of a nuclear reaction, but I’m not ruling it out,’ I manage to joke.
He smiles.
‘Look at them, in there, about to rip each other’s clothes off,’ he tells me. I daren’t look. ‘As happy as I am for them, it’s not fun to watch.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘I will,’ he replies. ‘Something you haven’t thought of. Because if they see the two of us like that, trust me, they won’t like it.’
I almost choke on my drink.
‘Hear me out,’ he insists.
‘Erm, I’m not sure about that one,’ I reply.
‘We make them feel so uncomfortable, like secondary characters in their own love story, outmatched and outpaced by their kids – they’ll hate it,’ he says.
I hate that there’s logic in that. Actual, functional logic. A solution to a problem. At work, we would probably call it ‘out-of-the-box thinking’. For me, it’s more of a desperate measure.
‘They’re acting like lovesick teenagers,’ Nico continues. ‘Fine. We become worse.’
‘Worse than that?’ I ask as I watch Hank feed Mum a grape.
‘Much worse,’ he replies.
I laugh before I can stop myself.
‘We’re capable of that?’ I check.
‘We’re on the edge,’ he reminds me. ‘We’re capable of anything.’
‘You want rid of me so bad that you could pretend to be head over heels in love with me?’
Even asking the question feels dangerous.
‘Try me,’ he says, almost flirtatiously, like he’s getting into character.
I scoot a little closer to him, bringing my body and my face more in line with his. I’m close now, really close, to the point where all I can smell is his aftershave, and it’s delicious.
It’s like I’ve said before, all of the parts that make up Nico are perfectly fanciable – it’s his personality that complicates things.
‘Just like that,’ he says.
‘Like this,’ I say, edging closer.
‘Exactly like that,’ he replies, taking one of my hands in his.
Well, this has escalated quickly.
‘How long do you think we need to keep this up?’ I ask him.
‘Surely it won’t take long,’ he replies. ‘It didn’t take long for them to make us feel uncomfortable. I reckon little more than twenty-four hours. Public displays of affection. Over-the-top flirting. Make them realise how weird this whole set-up actually is.’