Page 56 of In the Same Boat

Oh, what is he doing? Why is he making it sound like that? Yeah, we got distracted, watching theEurovision Song Contest. It was a million years ago and Dad was there too.

I don’t know if he thinks he’s helping me, making me out to be some kind of stud – but one who needs taking care of, oddly – or what. He might need a wingman, but I don’t.

‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ I say, leaving it at that.

Sammie suddenly becomes very interested in her coffee.

And… things are awkward again. Perhaps even more so.

‘Well, you did a great job with the pancakes,’ Chrissy assures me. ‘You know, Sammie’s an excellent cook, she could give you lessons.’

Sammie visibly winces and I feel where she’s coming from.

‘Mum,’ Sammie says.

‘What? You are.’

I’m grateful when the conversation shifts to things more local. Chrissy asks about the marina, and Dad talks about a route he wants to walk later. Sammie eats the rest of her pancakes while maintaining the air of someone who has done so under protest – and yet she clears her plate, so they must have been good.

‘Right then. I’ve got a fun day planned,’ Dad says with a clap of his hands. One of those loud, single claps only dads seem to be able to do.

‘What kind of fun day?’ Sammie asks, bracing slightly.

Dad beams.

‘You’ll see.’

‘Dad, maybe Sammie wants to do her own thing,’ I suggest.

She looks at me like I’m trying to get rid of her – but that’s not what I meant.

‘Nonsense,’ he replies. ‘We’re all here together.’

Yeah, that’s the problem. The four of us here together, playing happy families, when we’re basically strangers. It feels like all three of them are crashing my time off. So much for a break from work, eh? I almost miss it, because at least the minefields in games are navigable, there’s always a route through, an obvious strategy.

Here I have no idea what I’m doing – and it’s not going to be fun at all. No matter what my dad says he has planned for us all.

13

SAMMIE

Hank’s idea of a fun day begins with a walk. Not really my idea of fun, but it is nice seeing more of Monte Carlo. It’s easy to forget that you’re on holiday, when it’s overshadowed by, well, whatever the hell this is.

The problem with Hank’s walk is that, really, it’s more of a walking tour, and therefore a chance for him to perform his local knowledge and comedic bits for us.

Honestly, for what is essentially exercise with people I’m not fond of (except my mum, of course) it’s not bad. The weather is glorious, which makes everything better. I’m wearing flat sandals, a loose skirt, cropped T-shirt and an expression that hopefully doesn’t scream: I don’t want to be here. I’ve made that plain enough with my words.

Monte Carlo is gorgeous. Under different circumstances, this would easily be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited.

As silly as it sounds, I would prefer it to be tasteless. I would prefer too much gold and obnoxious fountains and people with tiny dogs named after royals. I’m sure there are hints of that, here and there, but really? It’s just a beautiful place, with bright sun, gleaming sea, stunning cliff-side buildings stretching up the landscape. I love the colours, the creamy and pinky hues, the terracotta, the textures of the buildings, the balconies overflowing with greenery. I want to hate it here, really, I do, it would be another reason to leave, but I love it.

The marina is busy with locals, tourists – and yacht people, which is what I’m classing Hank and Nico as. They don’t live here, but it doesn’t feel like they’re visiting either. Being regulars on Hank’s yacht, it’s like their second home.

Everything and everyone here looks expensive. Women stepping off yachts with their designer bags, men wearing gigantic golden watches and mirrored sunglasses talking into their phones – even the kids look loaded, in their designer gear.

I wonder if I look out of place here. It’s like everyone has a financial aura that announces their status and my H&M T-shirt and Zara skirt probably aren’t giving off the same glow.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Hank says, sweeping one arm out towards the harbour like he built it himself.