Page 104 of In the Same Boat

‘Yeah, we’ll wait for help,’ Hank says. ‘Never abandon ship. Haha.’

He’s trying to be cool, to style it out, but it’s so awkward.

Nico helps bring Mum’s case to the edge before I can stop him. Our hands almost touch on the handle, and I pull mine back quickly, terrified to make contact with him.

We do exchange a look though. A quick glance that passes so much data between us – hurt, anger, confusion, maybe even a hint of something close to love.

‘Careful there, love,’ one of the men says, snapping me from my thoughts.

It sounds like they’re all English, northern, and if they’re not all from the same sports team or something, then I need to know what they’re pumping into the water in Yorkshire.

I climb across first, helped by two of the men, who lift me like I’m weightless. Mum follows next. Then Nico passes us our cases – well, he passes them to someone much stronger than us.

Back on theCarpe Diem– aka not Hank’s boat – Hank leans on the railings looking devastated. Nico stands beside him, his eyes on me.

I make a point to look away first. I don’t look back.

As the yacht pulls away I look at my watch. Still plenty of time before our flight; no reason for us to miss it now. Crisis averted. Well, mini-crisis averted. The bigger crisis is still raging.

Mum and I sit side by side on a cushioned bench as we pick up speed. It turns out we’re crashing a stag do, and everyone on here is from a rugby team, based in Leeds. Honestly, can you think of more of a dream come true? Except I can’t enjoy it, because of the mess I’m in. Still, I happily take the drink that they give me, and toast the groom-to-be with them. Mum joins in too but the vibes are definitely in shambles.

We don’t speak for the whole journey. We just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, heading back towards land.

And back towards home.

25

NICO

The yacht keys were in with the teabags, it turns out.

No, not a place I would usually keep them, but that didn’t stop my dad.

I suppose I should count my blessings; he put them in there willingly, of vaguely sound mind, to make sure no one found them.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good strategy, I’m not above a scheme, but in hindsight, Dad’s kidnap operation was never going to work, was it? You don’t need to be an expert with women to know that they don’t like being kidnapped – and definitely not being essentially held hostage at sea. I think Dad might need to google ‘the implication’ before he sets about dating anyone else.

He retrieved the keys about two minutes after Sammie and Chrissy sailed off back towards dry land on a bigger boat full of much bigger men. I can’t blame them really. You’d take your chances with anyone, if the alternative was a kidnapper.

For a while after they leave, neither of us speaks.

Dad stands at the rail, watching the world keep turning despite everything that happened, but I can see his knuckles turning white from his grip.

The wind tugs at his shirt and he squints a little. He’s gone quiet in a way you don’t see often. It’s rare he is without a joke, never mind a word.

I don’t know what to say at first. Partly because I’m angry, and partly because I don’t trust what will come out if I open my mouth too quickly. Working with so many people, in such a high-pressure environment, you have to know how to speak to people calmly, but those skills are much easier to deploy at work, less so with your well-meaning dad who has fucked up big time.

Dad finally clears his throat.

‘Well,’ he says, really dragging out the word. ‘That could have gone better.’

I look at him and he smiles.

‘Too soon?’ he checks.

‘A bit,’ I reply. ‘But, in hindsight, commandeering my yacht, and “losing” the keys, wasn’t your smartest move.’

‘I know.’