Page 51 of In the Same Boat

‘He seems nice.’

‘Yeah, you keep saying that,’ I remind her. ‘Why don’t you date him?’

‘We’ll see how things go with his dad,’ she jokes.

‘I’m happy for you, Mum, really, but I’m happy enough to spend time on my own, I don’t need Nico to keep me busy.’

‘Who wants to be alone on holiday?’

‘Me – I do,’ I insist.

I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely alone. Not properly. At work there’s always someone needing something. At home there’s Mum. Even when I’m technically resting, my brain keeps spinning like a washing machine that refuses to finish its cycle.

I thought this holiday was going to be a way to quiet all of the noise.

I had imagined this holiday as space.

I sigh.

She shifts again, settling deeper into the pillows.

‘You’ll relax eventually,’ she tells me.

‘Here’s hoping,’ I reply.

‘Goodnight, darling.’

‘Goodnight, Mum.’

A few minutes pass.

Then…

‘You’re hogging the duvet a little, sweetheart.’

I give the covers an exaggerated shove in her direction.

‘Better?’ I check.

‘Much,’ she says, stifling a giggle. ‘So glad to hear you’re more chilled out.’

So glad to hear she hasn’t lost her sense of sarcasm.

Silence settles again after that, real silence, the kind that feels – silly as it sounds – loud. It’s not the silence, it’s the voice in my head, the one running simulations, imagining all the ways this trip can go wrong, and obviously not entertaining ways it could go right.

I only last about fifteen minutes before accepting that I’m not going to be able to will myself to sleep.

Mum is already lying on her side with her back to me, breathing in that peaceful way people do when they are sleeping contentedly. I stare at the ceiling for a bit, listening to the occasional faint creaks of the yacht around us and the soft lap of water outside. I just can’t settle. Like, do I need to pee? Do I need a drink? Do I even need anything? I suppose I could give both a go, see if it helps me settle.

‘I’m going to get a glass of water,’ I whisper, just in case my movement wakes her and she thinks I’m trying to abandon ship.

Mum makes a sleepy noise, confirming I haven’t disturbed her. Oh, to be able to simply close my eyes and sleep – but then when would I have my imaginary arguments with people I’m too scared to confront in real life, eh? If not while staring into the darkness when really I should be resting.

I ease myself out of bed, slip on a dressing gown – making sure to tighten the belt – and slip out into the corridor. The yacht is quiet now and the lights are low, like the whole thing has been switched to sleep mode. It’s only as I get closer to the living area that I realise I can hear a noise. It’s faint but distinct. Is that… gunfire? I think it is.

Not real gunfire, obviously, though for half a second my anxious brain sends a signal to my body and it tenses up. It’s coming from the living area, sharp and tinny and accompanied by… moaning?

Long, low moans. It sounds like someone is watching something seriously dodgy.