Page 100 of In the Same Boat

‘It doesn’t have to be for you,’ I say casually. ‘You don’t have to leave because of me. I can handle my own drama. You deserve to have a good time, to stay with Hank.’

‘It’s fine,’ she says plainly.

‘Is it fine?’ I ask, because it doesn’t sound fine.

I pull myself to my feet, to walk around the bed and look her in the eye, but something catches my eye out of the cabin window. Or rather, nothing catches my eye out of the cabin window. I can’t see anything but the sea.

‘Mum…’

She looks up from her suitcase.

‘Yes?’

‘Are we…’

My voice trails off.

‘What’s wrong, darling?’ she asks, sensing something has changed.

I hurry over to the window, to look out, and, yep. We’re at sea.

No marina, no other yachts, no nothing.

Mum comes over to see what I’m looking at. When she realises, she gasps. Then she takes me by the hand, mum mode fully activated, and leads me out of the cabin, to see what’s going on.

As we pass the larger windows, I see the open water stretching out next to us, bright and endless under the afternoon sun, with no sign of land in sight.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask her.

‘Oh, no,’ she says – to herself, I think. ‘Oh, no, no, no…’

Mum bursts out onto the deck, my hand still in hers, and the wind hits us immediately, warm and salty and completely unexpected.

We’re moving, which is a relief – or is it?

I look around, taking in the emptiness. I can see Monaco, if I squint, a faint, glittering outline on the horizon.

And then there’s Hank, standing behind the controls. He hurries over to see us.

‘Hank!’ Mum shouts.

For one silly second he looks genuinely pleased to see us, as though we’ve wandered out on deck to admire his sailing or whatever.

‘Afternoon!’ he calls.

‘Why are we at sea?’ Mum asks, and her voice has gone very calm, which gives me flashbacks to when I was a kid, and I knew I was in big trouble for something.

Hank glances briefly at the water, as if he’s checking something.

‘Beautiful day for it,’ he replies.

‘You know we have a flight to catch,’ I point out.

He winces.

‘Yes. About that…’

Words and tone you never want to hear from a man steering the yacht you’re on away from civilisation.