Page 5 of Below the Deck

10/06/2026 18:16

Operator:Tahiti Maritime Rescue. Please state your vessel and the nature of your emergency.

Caller:Mayday, mayday. This is Captain Sophie Taylor of theLusso di Mare, charter vessel TPF-773. Current coordinates 16.54 degrees south, 151.25 degrees west, sailing towards Raiatea, approximately three nautical miles east of the island. We need immediate help! Police – air ambulance – coastguard … whoever can get to us most quickly. I think— oh God, I think it’s too late.

Operator:Coordinates received. Please confirm, Captain: you are stating you have a serious injury on board? Is this correct?

Caller:Yes – one of the guests on this charter – I was just alerted to a commotion in the cabins. He’s suffered a major stab wound to the neck area – quick, Brett, get the defibrillator …

Operator: Captain, has medical assistance been attempted?

Caller: Yes. Hold on one moment. We’ve tried to stem the bleeding,and I carried out CPR straight away. My first officer just got the defibrillator and we’ve … stand clear! No … he’s – I think he’s lost too much blood. He’s stopped breathing. It’s too late. The passenger is … deceased.

Operator: Your passenger is deceased? Hold on, I’m dispatching immediate aid. Captain, did you say this was a stabbing? Have you managed to restrain the person responsible?

Caller: Yes – yes, of course. We will restrain the suspect in my quarters immediately.

Operator: Understood. Captain, please stay on the line. Captain, can I confirm the name of your vessel? Did you say theLusso di Mare?

Caller: I … yes. I did.

Operator:Ah … I see the air ambulance has already been called out to you in relation to—

Caller: Yes, they have – I know, I know they have! But we still need the police – we need help, urgently. This is a separate matter. I’m trying to follow protocol here, but these are exceptional circumstances …

Operator: Try to stay calm, Captain. I understand. We’ve already dispatched an air ambulance to your coordinates, and the Gendarmerie Maritime will arrive at the vessel by tender shortly. In the meantime, please ensure the safety of all guests and crew aboard. And please keep this channel open until we can reach you. Help is on the way.

[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]

SAM

Sam took a swig from his bottle of icy beer.That’s more like it.

‘Sláinte,’ he said, raising the bottle to Johanna. He turned back to lean on the railing of the yacht’s uppermost deck – the sun deck, where a few of them had headed after that dip in the heavenly hot tub – and gave a deep, satisfied sigh as he took in the view. Aquamarine blue sky, crystal-clear ocean as far as he could see, a smattering of similarly luxurious superyachts sailing in nearby waters.

I could get used to this. He had to get some decent pics for his socials; his mates back home would lose their shit when they saw this. And Claire – she still followed him on Instagram, didn’t she? She’d be bound to see them.

Looking down into the moving water, he felt light-headed. Or was it the thought of Claire? It couldn’t be vertigo – he wasn’tthathigh up.

The boat was impressive, though – somehow, on the drive to Papeete from the airport, as they’d spotted theLussoat themarina from the darkened windows of their chauffeured Merc, the yacht hadn’t looked all that big. Sleek and smooth with its white and gold exterior, it had looked neat; compact, somehow. If he was honest, he’d wondered how it could house eight people plus a crew comfortably for several days.

Seven people – not eight.His chest tightened at his mistake – he’d forgotten, for a second, that he was supposed to be here with his girlfriend, and wasn’t.And meanwhile, the man who’s to blame for Claire dumping me – he’s here, isn’t he?He gave his head a shake and necked the rest of his beer; maybe he just needed another drink.

Sam turned to look around at his companions on the sun deck. Rory and Talia were down in their cabin unpacking – Sam hadn’t bothered; he’d just shoved his suitcase under his bed and come outside – but the other four were up here with him. Lazing on a double sun lounger were Eleni and her husband, Nick. She’d tucked her legs up underneath her and was resting her head on Nick’s shoulder; his hand rested protectively on her upper thigh. They were an unreasonably good-looking pair – probably in their early thirties, a couple of years younger than him. Eleni was all highlights and toned upper arms; Nick had the physique of a man who got to the gym at least five times a week.

Don’t they have young kids? And isn’t he a sergeant in the Met? How does he even have time for a daily workout?

He’d made some small talk with Nick as they waited in the lounge at Heathrow to board their first flight – decent fella, and an Arsenal supporter too – Sam’s adopted team in England, though nothing compared to his beloved Bohemian FC back home in Dublin. Sam remembered now that Nick had said heactuallyplayedfootball – maybe that helped with the six-pack. Watching them now, curled into each other, Sam felt a flash of envy, and the hot sucker punch of hurt and anger:heshould be soaking up this trip of a lifetime with someone else. Instead, he was here alone.

He tried to brush the thought away again. Maybe this trip would distract Sam from his heartbreak and help him get to know his workmates properly, without the distractions of meetings and calls. He’d sat next to Eleni enough times in their open-plan office near Great Portland Street since she’d joined Ashworth, but he’d barely had a conversation with her that wasn’t to do with clients. Hopefully, this week would change that.

Then there was Lucy. She’d just come up to the sun deck and sat on a lounger, looking ashen, sipping a drink and twiddling with her hair. Her bloke Mark – who Sam had learned was an investigative journalist on a decent-sized paper; he’d have to chat to him, he’d always been fascinated by how they got their scoops – was lying next to her, snoozing. Lucy seemed nice enough, but it confused Sam that she’d got a place on this trip.

With Sam and Eleni, it was a no-brainer: they’d earned their places. Sam had worked his arse off to win a spot this year – his effort on the Rosenberg account; those late nights schmoozing with buy-to-let investors; the emails back and forth with commercial occupiers and the fecking local councils. Sure, there was some fortunate timing involved that he couldn’t have anticipated – but nothing else about it was luck. It was hard graft, and dedication, andrelationship managementand learning the right things to say to people to win them over.

As for Eleni – well, he knew she’d managed to beat off abunch of top developer rivals to acquire a prime London heritage site. Lucy, though – Sam couldn’t work it out. She’d only joined a few months back, and she worked indata analysis, for fuck’s sake. She was smart, no doubt, and she’d impressed Rory. She could work out wildly complicated growth ratios instantly in her head, sums that most people would never manage without a calculator.

But clever didn’t always translate to capable, did it? And it worked the other way around: you didn’t have to be book smart, or get a first-class degree – or even a degree at all – to do well in life.I’m living proof of that.