I throw my hands up. “Gus. That’s very annoying. I’m just going to feel horribly guilty now!”
He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Nothing to feel guilty about, you’ve been very helpful. And,” he takes a breath, “exceptionally good company.”
Ofcoursehe’s going to be sweet about this!
“Ugh! You’re telling me youreallywant to get on some random boat and cross to Italy? You don’t think that’s insane?”
He shrugs. “I think a little crazy is good for you. Either that, or life is going to be dreadfully boring. Making decisions based on what’s sensible can really wear your soul down.”
Pfft. I don’t think he knows how much his words cut through me. It’s a throw away remark, I suppose, if you’re a wealthy superstar who can fall back into a bed of cash without harming anyone else on the way down. However, in my experience, whenever I’ve taken a risk and failed it’s hurt other people in addition to myself.
Before I started in my current role, I wanted to work in TV. I had this idea that I’d follow my passion, that I’d do something for me just this once. I took an unpaid internship for the summer instead of stepping straight out of my business economics degree into the well-paid graduate role I’d been offered. The very next week, Dad was injured at work and was on a reduced salary, Millie had driving lessons that needed paying for, Gemma and Abby wereboth at university and needed a maintenance fund to pay for their accommodation or they’d lose their housing. Just like that, one selfish choice and I was the problem.
Luckily, the graduate position was still open. And, in hindsight, the TV job wouldn’t have been for me. But it taught me a valuable lesson: it isn’t practical to dream. Not when you have people relying on you.
And yet, there’s nobody relying on me right now. If I’m going to do something risky, take a chance, maybe this is the time to do it.
“So?” Gus asks, signalling to Petar for the bill. He raises one eyebrow, a quirk in his lips. “We heading to the airport or the docks?”
I groan, running my hands through my hair. The real-world version of me would never do this. I’m the girl who plays it safe. And there’s nothing wrong with safe, right?
Right?!
I’m just fighting this feeling that heading to the airport and calling this adventure off would be something I’ll regret. If I’m being honest with myself, which I rarely am, I’m enjoying Gus’s company, with his charming humour and cheeky quips. Maybe, just maybe, I’m not quite ready to give that up just yet. Even if it does mean heading out to sea on an unknown vessel in a potentially horrific storm.
Is it reckless? Absolutely. But what if I don’t go? Will I just wonder for the rest of my life at what might’ve been? Somehow that feels worse.
“Fine,” I say, resolute, almost surprising myself as much as Gus. “Let’s do it. I mean – what’s the worst that could happen?”
Gus presses his lips together, thoughtfully. “I’d hate to say. Let’s not tempt fate.”
“Excellent suggestion. I won’t dwell on it.”
We share a nervous but excited smile.
“Luka?” he says, “Show us to the red boat!”
SeventeenCruise Location – At SeaNext Port – TaorminaTime of Arrival – 10:00 (GMT+1)
The second we arrive at the end of the dock I know we’re doomed.
The boat is only a bit rusty but it’s a small vessel. I’m used to seeing boats like this in Brighton Marina, the ones hobby fishermen use in calm conditions. It’s bigger than a speed boat but it can’t be more than twenty feet long. It has a white, sheltered helm at the top where I spot a wooden steering wheel and a random blue bucket by the door. It’s been tethered to the dock by a fraying rope; a damp broom leans against one side as if someone has been washing the deck. At least it’s clean, I suppose. Below that there are two grubby round windows to the cabin.
An old man who cannot be any younger than seventy waves for us to come aboard.
He points at himself and says, “Roko.”
Gus and I copy, offering our names and receive a lovely, toothy smile in return.
He does not speak any English at all which is to be expected. So instead, Gus and I follow him around the rickety boat, for what I can only assume is some kindof demented safety briefing, as he points things out, like the half-inflated flotation device, and a fire extinguisher that has been artfully abandoned on its side at the bow of the ship.
It’s fine. I’m being carefree.
We’ll just crash out on the floor in the cabin as we cross the Adriatic. By the time I wake up, we’ll be in Italy. I can do that.
The wild part of me isthriving.
The other part is screaming for me to abandon ship before it’s too late.
