‘Everything was fine,’ I say. ‘Same old Sam.’
‘Is it possible that a fish swam between your crotches and you both just felt a fish?’
I shake my head, leaning against the wall. ‘Oh, you know what? That’s perfectly logical, isn’t it?’
‘Chill, Will. You’re on holiday. He’s not forever, is he? You’re single. For now. Why not just see what happens?’
‘But it’s Sam.’
‘You’ve never been one to relax,’ Alice says. ‘So, relax. Have fun. Enjoy your time there. Soak up the sun. Forget about us. Enjoy the wedding. Enjoy Sam.’
‘Alice.’
‘You’re the one thinking I meant sexually.’ Alice flutters her eyelashes innocently. I stare down the lens. ‘But yes, I did.’
‘You’re awful.’
‘And you’re melodramatic,’ Alice counters. ‘Chill, Will.’
Chill Will. That’s who I need to be.
Returning on the deck, Sam’s face lights up.
‘All okay?’
‘Yes, definitely,’ I say. ‘Chill.’
‘Argh, ye have returned!’ one pirate exclaims. ‘We sail back to land, but ye have one more task to face.’
Everyone gathers around the pirates. Everyone except Martha. Where is she?
‘Ye golden feather has been obtained, but it comes with a price.’
Shit. I forgot all about the golden feather. Apparently, there was a whole temple at the top of the mountain that we both missed, too.
Linen Shirt holds a golden feather in his hand.
A laugh that would never win an Oscar comes from the stairwell, and a white ghoulish face appears, black teeth bared at the small crowd.
‘It be Davy Jones’s wife,’ cry the pirates.
A small splattering of applause breaks out from Martha’s friends, who aren’t concerned that she’s missing. I eye the ocean hesitantly as if she might be swimming behind us trying to catch the boat.
‘Aye, that be right. I am Sadie Jones, and I have a prisoner in my locker.’ The woman who has been our waitress jests. ‘Ye have been here too long, and ye must pay a bounty.’
Land appears in the distance. Sweet, sweet, bustling land, with all its white buildings and Parthenon and history.
‘Help me, help me.’ From behind Sadie Jones comes Martha. My mouth drops. Seaweed holds her hands together like handcuffs, and she trails behind Sadie like a prisoner. But despite all this, she giggles, giving a performance that makes the rest of us laugh. ‘Oh, pay the golden feather and let me go.’
‘What the hell?’
‘That be right,’ Sadie calls. ‘Martha here be my prisoner. If ye golden feather does not touch my hand by the time we dock, she be dead.’
‘Oh, cruel world,’ Martha wails.
‘She was in on this the whole time?’ I gasp. Her friends laugh.
‘In on what, landlubber?’ Sadie hisses, her eyes wide. ‘This be true life.’
