Page 54 of In the Same Boat

I’ve always found that food makes everything better, whether it’s cooked, served or delivered. If you’ve had a bad day, if morale dips at work, if you want to celebrate or commiserate. Food is always the answer. When I was growing up, when I was frustrated or angry, my dad would always tell me: you’re not angry, you’re hungry. And do you know what? Even if I was angry, the food helped. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the burger that made me feel better, it was probably taking time out to talk about things or distract myself.

Yes, it would have been nice if he had briefed me on the mission, but I don’t mind an unexpected side quest here and there. I’m hoping this works today, because this week will be a lot easier if we all play nice.

This yacht is usually my safe space, as cringe as that sounds, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it. It’s where I usually come to escape real life, to clear my head – it’s generally not where I watch my dad crack on with women, even when we do come here together.

I might not be here alone, but I still get that feeling. The morning light pours in through the windows in soft gold stripes, catching on polished wood, the metal fixings, the glass. It always seems quiet on a morning, like we could genuinely be out at sea – I love the peace and tranquillity. This is my kind of vibe. Chilling, cooking, gaming until late. My dad would say I’m getting old but I think I just know what I like.

I’m making pancakes, because they’re a hard thing to dislike. I’ve got a variety of toppings on offer so, really, they’re as good as what you top them with, but I like to think I’ve got my base recipe down now. I slice strawberries, put out blueberries, warm maple syrup and prepare a bowl of Greek yoghurt with honey swirled through it. There’s fresh coffee, orange juice – oh, and I bought pastries, because they’re exquisite from my usual bakery, and I wondered if Sammie might refuse to eat anything I made on principle.

It’s strange between us – I can never tell if we’re arguing, bantering or flirting. I get the feeling she doesn’t like me, like we got off on the wrong foot, or she’s just genuinely repulsed by our parents dating, so that disgust filters down to me… but then we’ll have a moment, a minute or two here or there, where we seem to perfectly align. Of course, there is one thing we’re united on: this week being a bad idea.

The first batch of pancakes comes out well. The second batch is even better, though, and the third – perfection. These are the ones I need to give to the guests.

Dad appears while I’m plating up, wearing a pale blue polo shirt and a big, goofy grin.

‘Something smells good,’ he says. He comes over and peers at the stack of pancakes. ‘Very impressive.’

‘Try not to sound surprised.’

‘Well, you never do anything like this for just me,’ he points out. ‘Trying to impress someone?’

I throw a banana peel at him, which he catches and throws back.

‘Even the bread keeps its head down in the toaster when you’re around – that’s probably why you burn it,’ he jokes. You can’t beat a dad joke, unfortunately, can you?

‘Don’t eat anything yet,’ I warn him, watching him hovering around the worktop, glancing into bowls, eyeing up the strawberries.

‘I can wait, I can wait,’ he reassures me. ‘I gave the girls a knock. They should be here soon.’

‘Great,’ I reply.

‘Sammie seems lovely, doesn’t she?’

I laugh.

‘I still don’t think she’s our biggest fan, Dad,’ I point out.

‘Then we need to work on that,’ he replies. ‘Chrissy tells me a lot about her and she sounds perfect. Smart, kind, beautiful…’

‘You’re single, she’s single – have you thought about telling her how you feel?’ I say sarcastically.

‘Erm, Chrissy is the one for me,’ he announces.

There’s a noise from behind him. Sammie clearing her throat, letting us know that she and her mum are standing there. I wonder how much they heard…

Dad beams when he sees them but there’s something underneath it. He’s nervous. Not obviously, not to anyone who doesn’t know him, but I do. Dad gets bigger when he’s feeling less confident.

‘Oh, Nico, this looks lovely,’ Chrissy says warmly. ‘Did you make all of this?’

I nod.

‘I did – coffee?’

‘Please.’

Dad immediately steps forward.

‘I’ll get it,’ he insists. ‘I helped, didn’t I, son?’