‘Hugh,’ I mutter under my breath, ‘you’re going down.’
Chapter 7
Nine dives to go
I listen to Vanessa explain the boat in a daze. I vaguely register the words ‘life jacket’. I avoid looking at Hugh, wondering if I can successfully avoid him for the entirety of our trip.
I don’t remember the name of the camera-toting man although I’m pretty sure the scarf-wearing woman’s name starts with an N, something pretty and feminine sounding, like Natasha. The name Hugh Harris runs through my mind on what feels like a continuous loop.
We pull away from the pier. I force myself to take in my surroundings, looking everywhere except where Hugh is seated, which is on the same bench I am, but as far away from me as physically possible. He scoots away from me again, and I’m tempted to lift my arm and check and see if I remembered deodorant. I either smell, or he has put two and two together and figured out who I am. He won’t want to talk to me either. He thinks Millie hates him.
And he knows as well as I do that there can’t be that many marine biologists named Millie studying the Great Barrier Reef, can there? For once, I agree with Millie, cursing my mother under my breath for giving us such untraditional names.Millicent? What was she thinking? What happened to Rachel or Sarah or Hannah?
We leave the marina in our wake, the cluster of tall buildings and ships getting smaller and smaller. The mountains frame the background, huge and soft, trees rounding out their edges, so the peaks look like scales of a friendly dragon, and not like the jagged spines of a triceratops. As I relax into the rhythmic pounding of water against the side of the boat, I can’t help but smile. The water is crystal clear and where it meets the shore it turns a brilliant shade of aquamarine. The beaches of Cairns sparkle a bright white as we pull away. Grey rocks and palm trees dot the shore, swaying gently in the wind. People are already setting up chairs on the beach, and there’s a group playing volley-ball, sand spraying up around their feet as they run back and forth. Sandwiched between the vivid, electric blue sea and the lush, sloping mountains, Cairns is a tropical paradise.
But despite the view, the further we get from land the more my anxiety rises. Five days on a boat with Hugh Harris. Five days of not knowing how Millie’s surgery went. Five days of reckoning with the fact that I’m now single with hardly anything at home to return to, and that after being on a boat for five minutes I’m already happier than I have been in two years.
Vanessa and Miguel hand out instant coffee packets and pour hot water out of a tumbler. I accept both gratefully. The mix of the coffee and the sea breeze starts to clear my head. At some point I forget about Hugh. The water is bright blue and is getting choppier the further away from the marina we get. The waves have got a little bigger and the boat has leaned into a gentle swaying rhythm. I find myself smiling into the distance, at the swaying palm trees getting smaller and smaller.
This is the feeling I search for in yoga classes. Being so content where I am that I can fully be in the moment. When I’ve checked my troubles and worries at the door and for an hour, I am fully present. I am only able to be fully present right now because there is no service or Wi-Fi and no option for me to exit the boat. But I sink into it, and it feels strangely blissful.
I create a reminder in my phone for three months from now, when I know I’ll be slogging through a dreary Ohio March, that reads: ‘Do a yoga retreat.’ Then I create another reminder, this one for January, that reads: ‘Start doing more yoga to prep for yoga retreat.’
‘Millie?’
I look around in confusion, wondering where my sister is.
‘Millie?’ Vanessa asks again. She’s staring straight at me. I’m about to shake my head, I can feel my spine stiffening and my neck muscles preparing to communicateNope, you’ve got the wrong girl. But thankfully, my tongue regains movement and I parrot, ‘Yep!’ and try to ignore how much it must have looked like I was having a neck spasm. I spot Hugh giving me a weird look. I ignore it. If he’s not going to address that we might know each other, then neither am I.
Vanessa has already disappeared down the stairs and into the cabin. I follow her because no one else has got up and it appears I have been summoned.
‘Watch your head!’ she calls. Just in time, because I’m centimetres away from banging my forehead on the metal door frame. I grab onto the door with my hand and lower myself down into the first level of the ship’s cabin.
I take about six stairs down and land in a small area with three beds. Bunk beds stack on one side and the opposite wall holds a mattress piled with notebooks and papers and maps. There’s duffels and backpacks littering the space, along with various hats and sunglasses. There are dark-tinted windows that look out onto the deck. It feels homey and must be where the crew sleeps.
I follow Vanessa down another ladder further below deck. It empties out into a room with a table and a booth around it, backing up to a galley kitchen. The table is littered with suitcases and backpacks.
‘Grab yours?’ she says, making her way down a narrow hallway.
I lug my suitcase behind her, following her into an impossibly narrow room with four bunk beds. It smells slightly mildewy but seems to be clean, with worn wood bedframes and a patch of peeling paint in the corner.
‘Is this OK?’ she asks.
‘Um,’ I hesitate. Millie hadn’t mentioned I would be sharing a room with strangers. There isn’t even space in the room to put down my bag. If I drop it, I’ll have to lay it on a bed. It’s so cramped I feel like I’m having trouble breathing. As if Vanessa can sense I’m about to start hyperventilating, she steps back and lets me stand in the room myself. I feel marginally better.
‘The other two rooms just have a queen bed, and we think the couples should take those. So, if all right with you, you’ll share with . . .’ She pauses and consults her clipboard.
Not Hugh, I think.
‘Hugh!’ she says brightly.
‘Um . . .’ I trail off again. I have no idea what to say. Millie would say no, but I hate confrontation.
‘If you don’t feel comfortable,’ Vanessa says, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper, ‘we can figure something out. Sometimes we throw all the men in the bunk room, but—’ she glances at her clipboard ‘—usually the couples take the bigger beds.’
She must read the concern on my face, because she adds, ‘I thought this was explained in the waiver when you signed up, there’s usually a warning about the room situation because the boat is so small.’
‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ I say quickly. The last thing I want to do is bring attention to myself, and I can manage to share a room for four nights. I’ll take the top bunks, and Hugh can take the bottom ones. Given how tiny it is, we’ll only be in this room to sleep and change anyways. ‘This is great.’ I force a smile.
