He retreats towards our room, and I want so badly to touch him again. My hands twitch, pulled by an invisible string to reach up and place a thumb on Hugh’s bottom lip, to run my fingers through his damp hair. My hips want to find his.
My brain cuts through my body’s noise.You can’t do this to Millie!it screams. I feel like I’ve been lit on fire.
I stumble to the shower, staying under the water as long as I can before it feels impolite to the rest of the people who need to use the miniscule bathroom. I still don’t feel like I’ve scrubbed the Hugh off my skin.
The way his chest felt, so firm and strong, the way our hips locked together immediately. I feel like I just drank three cups of coffee, and yet my throat still feels dry.
I’m nervous to climb above deck. After our collision I feel vulnerable and terrified, and the shower did nothing to still my beating heart. I throw on an oversized T-shirt over a pair of baggy jean shorts, hoping to cover myself up as much as possible. I pile my hair up. When I step out onto the cabin and onto the deck Hugh looks up. For a moment, our eyes lock.
It’s going to be a long night, I think, as I gingerly make my way over to my usual spot. There is not enough room in that crowded cabin for the tension between us.
Chapter 18
Four dives to go
Hugh raises his eyes to meet mine when I sit down. My heart skips a beat. I hold my breath as I wait for what he’ll say.
‘Well, look who decided to show up with clothes on,’ he says.
I turn the colour of a tomato but manage an eye roll to at least give a semblance of not caring. ‘Shut up,’ I hiss, but I let out a sigh of relief that he seems willing to go back to our normal back-and-forth. Maybe we can pretend like that never happened.
I feign interest in the group conversation. Everyone is chatting excitedly about the shark. Andrew is already exaggerating the story, saying he could have reached out and touched it as it swam by. Most of us have showered by now, and we’re all waiting for the dinner call.
Pippa has had enough of Andrew’s antics and she soon changes the subject, chatting about the day they have planned in Cairns for when we return. There are rules for how quickly you can fly after diving, so most everyone is staying in Cairns for at least twenty-four hours after the trip. The ascent into altitude on an airplane after being under sea level can make people sick – it’s called ‘the bends’, and the bends can be really dangerous. All divers I know are really wary of it.
Every time we descend and ascend in the water, we do it really slowly, with Vanessa and Miguel, and our little BCD computers, telling us how much time we need to depressurise. This helps the nitrogen release slower in our bodies, but with each dive, our bodies absorb more nitrogen, so the more dives you’ve done in a twenty-four-hour period, the more time you need before flying. Otherwise, when you go up to altitude in a plane, nitrogen gets dumped too quickly into your bloodstream.
The rule of thumb is to wait twenty-four hours after a single dive, more time if you’ve dived more than once. But the US Navy says you can wait only six hours, so there’s not an exact guideline. It seems like everyone has followed the 24-hour rule of thumb based on their plans.
Natalie and Derek have booked a food and wine tour in the Tablelands, about an hour inland from Cairns, for the afternoon we return. Pippa has booked her and Andrew on a waterfall hiking tour, which she pressures us to join.
‘They’re definitely going to have space,’ she’s saying. ‘And you can book it from the marina! It’s supposed to leave from the docks around two-ish and will get us back by six.’ She twirls a curl around her finger. ‘Come with us! It’ll be cool!’
‘Anyone could come with us,’ Natalie suggests. She glances at me then at Hugh.
Hugh stiffens. ‘I’m not sure what I’ll do yet,’ he says casually. He glances over at me, but I keep my eyes focused on the horizon. I can’t risk being with Hugh when we’re back in service, when he could so easily google my sister and realise that there are slight differences between her and me. What if he finds her LinkedIn page and asks me about a specific job, what if he finds a recent photo and asks me why my eyes are greener, my nose rounder, my hair frizzier?
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Millie,’ Natalie says, emphasising ‘Millie’ so heavily that my stomach drops.
‘Dinner!’ I hear Vanessa call, interrupting Natalie mid-sentence.
Thank God, I think as the group immediately starts to mobilise.
‘Great! I’m starving!’ Pippa jumps up and heads straight to the stairs. I follow behind her quickly, pretending I didn’t hear Natalie’s question.
I squeeze next to Pippa in the booth and pick at my food – tonight’s dinner is rice bowls with marinated tofu – but my appetite has vanished. It doesn’t feel nice to avoid Natalie, and I know I’m being paranoid, but I can’t tell if she is malicious or curious. She seems to ask Hugh a lot of questions, I’ve spotted them talking at least twice each day. And while I’m juggling pretending to be somebody else, the less questions the better.
The conversation hums around me. Vanessa is asking people what else they are hoping to see on the reef. Andrew wants to see a manta ray now that he’s crossed octopus off his list. Pippa’s excited to see Fitzroy Island. As the boat lurches through another swell, and my plate comes sliding towards my lap, I can’t blame her. After a full day of diving tomorrow, I think I’ll be ready to rest my sea legs for a little too – and get off thistinyboat.
I don’t contribute to the conversation. Instead, I stare at my plate, feeling like I’m at a crossroads. I either come up with a plan for what to say whenever Natalie explicitly calls me out for going by two different names, that is, if she even remembers, or I can come clean. If I hadn’t messaged Hugh from our joint Instagram account, then I could have said my middle name was Millie. But it’s too late, I’ve already told him my middle name was Andi. I could say the airline used my middle name accidentally, and I heard my last name called so I went to the counter, but that excuse seems flimsy, especially on an international flight where they have my passport.
I glance over at Hugh. He’s chatting with Miguel. Miguel sees me looking and smiles in my direction, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheek. He is cute. And so much less messy. Maybe Pippa was right when she encouraged me to go for Miguel at the beginning of the trip. If I had, I wouldn’t have to worry about this Millie mess at all. But for some reason I can’t explain, Miguel feels firmly stuck in friend territory.
I smile hollowly back at Miguel while my brain churns through scenarios. If I’m going to come clean to Hugh, it should be tonight. That way I won’t have lied to him for a long time, and if he’s no longer interested in me because I’m not the person I said I was, then at least I’ll know sooner.
As soon as I decide this is the best course of action, I wonder what I’m thinking, jeopardising Millie’s career because of some stupid crush. But then I remember how Hugh’s body felt against mine, and my thoughts circle once again.
Similar to last night, we play another round of Hook Line Sinker after dinner. Pippa beats Andrew this time, much to everyone’s delight. She rubs it in his face smugly, even though he’s a very gracious loser.
