Page 68 of Below the Deck

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At first, looking straight ahead, she saw nothing.

And then the beam of her torch landed in the corner of the bathroom, where her husband was standing, looming above Talia, his shape casting a warped, giant shadow on the wall, his hands wrapped around Talia’s neck.

Eleni stood frozen for a beat, mute and trembling. And in that instant, she pieced it all together, as a montage of memories and images flashed lightning-fast in front of her eyes. It was the story of her marriage, the story of the past decade of her life, whizzing through her brain in a split second: Nick, the handsome, sensitive police-officer-in-training making things exclusive with Eleni after only two dates. The long, wakeful nights he bared his soul to her, describing his harrowing upbringing with a violent, alcoholic father. The relentless calls to her at work when he couldn’t get hold of her; the constant texts on her nights out with the girls that eventually made her give up her friendships altogether.

The first time he’d slapped her was the night of their wedding, when he said she’d embarrassed him by not laughing at the right places in his speech. Then the intermittent violence, woven between months – years, sometimes – of peace, and Eleni’s desperate, futile hope that his remorse and his promises of itnever, ever happening againwould prove true.

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And then the evening only last year, when he’d grabbed her by the neck, shoved her against the wall and, for the first time in her life, Eleni retaliated – and spent a night in police custody as a result.

It was the same thing, playing out again now, in real time, on this superyacht. Only this time, his violence was turned in someone else’s direction.

I have to help her – now.

Eleni swiftly moved her phone behind her back before the glare of its beam alerted Nick that someone else was in the bathroom. She waited a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, then edged backwards and out of the bathroom as quietly as she could. On instinct, she lifted her phone again and used the torch to scan the master stateroom for something – anything – that she could use to protect Talia, to stop her husband. The wide bedside lamp, the miniature tree in its porcelain pot, the gold yacht-shaped ornament with its sharp pointed tip …

Its sharp pointed tip.

Without thinking, allowing the rushing blood pumping through her veins to propel her, she ran towards the desk next to the window, dropped her phone to the ground and picked up the sculpture with her free hand. It was heavier than it looked, but she could still lift it easily; she rushed back into the bathroom, and ran towards Nick.

The en-suite was gloomy, but Eleni’s adrenaline seemed to have sharpened her senses and she could see – at least, well enough for what she needed to do. Talia was making awful choking, gasping sounds now, and with Nick’s back to Eleni and his intent focus on what he was doing, he didn’t realize she was behind him – he didn’t hear her creep swiftly across the floor.

Don’t let him see me, don’t let him see me …

She walked softly closer, filling her lungs and holding in the air for fear he might hear her breathing. She’d stayed so quiet, she’d been imperceptible – but then, just as she was right behind him, the held breath in her throat caught with a soft wheeze.

Nick’s shoulders froze.Oh God, he’s heard me – he knows I’m here.

In the fraction of a second suspended in time as he began to swivel to face her, she saw it all: the woman she was before she met her husband, proud and bubbly and sparkling; then the small, scared life she’d had to carve out, existing every day in fear for herself and her children.

The impossible, awful strength it had taken her to do that was the same strength that came rushing back to her now.

Eleni lifted the sculpture upwards and plunged the sharp tip of the yacht’s sail into the side of Nick’s neck with all her strength.

It pierced his body near his spine, with a sickening wet sound; Eleni yanked the ornament back again and watched as her husband’s hands dropped abruptly from Talia’s throat, allowing the other woman to draw in ragged, gasping breaths.

Nick stumbled around to face her, dazed and stupefied, his hands clutching at his neck, blood dripping and coating his arms like thick crimson sleeves. When he saw who’d attacked him, he made a sound that was almost animal – and suddenly he was reaching towards her, flailing, grabbing for the sculpture. He grasped at Eleni’s hands, tried to wrestle it from them – but Eleni held onto her weapon with every ounce of strength she had.

Nick’s eyes began to roll back in his head; he was losing more blood, it was still streaming down the side of his neck, covering his shoulders and chest. He was losing strength too: Eleni could see him fading in front of her eyes.