Page 11 of Escape to the Sun

Instead of talking about the glaringly large elephants in their room, Louis pointed out the navigation system, the rotating radar beacon and satellites, the techy stuff he thought his father would appreciate.

In turn, Louis couldn’t fail to notice how stiffly his father held himself, how wary he was with his words, as though he expected Louis to launch an attack on him.

‘And this posting, this captainship, it’s just temporary then, is it?’ Edward said, breaking into his thoughts and not surprising Louis with the negativity laced into his question.

‘Captain Crowther needed a surgical procedure – he’ll be out for a couple of months, so they’re planning to let him take some leave until the next rotation. If everything goes well, I should be in post on board the Ballygowan until spring, and then I’m hoping…’

Louis tailed off. What was he hoping for? And was it something he wanted to lay bare to his father? What if his desire to remain captain, even if it wasn’t of the Ballygowan, didn’t happen? What was the point of telling his father, only to be mocked when it didn’t materialise? In that moment, Louis was ten years old again, and he’d just been outmanoeuvred during a race. He’d misjudged the wind and his little boat, an Optimist, hadn’t tacked as well as the boy who’d been, up until that point, behind him.

Back then, his father’s sarcasm had spurred him on to try harder, but now, twenty-odd years later, Louis knew it wouldn’t have the same effect. It was far more likely to escalate into another argument, and he wasn’t going to give his father that pleasure.

‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,’ he said, weakly.

His father nodded; his attention taken by something unidentifiable in the middle distance.

‘Why did it take you two days to acknowledge my being here?’ his father said, a hand bouncing on a guard rail as he turned to stare at Louis.

‘I’ve been rather busy.’

It was a weak answer. He should have challenged the assumption that it was somehow his fault – after all, he only knew his father was going to be on board because his aunt had let him know.

They stared at one another for a while, Louis breaking eye contact to greet a few passengers who wished him a good afternoon as they milled about on the deck.

Then his father shook his head. ‘I should have told you I was booking a cabin. My mistake.’

‘I genuinely have got a lot on my plate – I’d assumed you would appreciate that.’

The grunting noise his father made could have been acquiescence; it was hard to tell. It could as easily have been defiance. A wave of exhaustion crashed over Louis.

‘Tell you what – let’s go back via the art exhibition. There are some beautiful pieces on the Ballygowan this season, some are by that abstract artist Mum really liked.’ He checked his watch. ‘Then I should really be getting back to the bridge, but we could meet up again. Or I could get one of the engineers to show you the engine room…?’

They wound their way past the rows of teak sun loungers, some occupied by passengers keener than most to get a dose of patchy afternoon sun.

As with so many times before, Louis hadn’t even come close to saying what he wanted, and if his father’s tight-lipped expression was anything to go by, neither had he. But the art did seem to soften some of their hard edges.

‘Your mum loved this stuff,’ Louis’ father said, tilting his head and frowning. ‘Can’t say I ever really understood it, but Mai would go on for hours about the brushwork, the framing of the piece, the way it spoke in unstructured terms about so much more than the colours involved.’ He smiled – the first Louis had seen for a while. ‘I used to nod and agree, which made her so mad. She wanted me to understand, but I never did.’

Louis smiled too. ‘Nor did I.’

His father pulled in a deep breath. ‘At least that’s something we agree on.’

Before Louis could reply, April approached, her flowing dress and hair wafting as she walked.

‘Captain King, how lovely to see you. Let me show you around our little gallery.’

Up until this promotion, it had been possible to move about the ship without much in the way of notice or recognition – at most a few of the keenest of amateur sailors or regular cruise-takers might acknowledge him. But this was different. The mention of the word ‘captain’ had heads turning. This was a level of scrutiny he supposed he should have been prepared for but somehow wasn’t.

‘Lovely to see you, April. I’m sure my father would very much appreciate being shown around.’

Louis would also have benefitted from April’s knowledge about the art in the room, but he’d caught sight of a familiar figure in the small teaching alcove. It was Hannah Maynard – the awkwardness of their meeting on the bridge bit at Louis.

He wanted to go to her, to apologise for his clumsiness on that very first day, but an equally large part of him wanted to leave without her seeing him. He had no reason for any further contact with Hannah Maynard, could turn and exit the gallery, leave his father there chatting to April, dodge the passengers who were edging towards him, and get back to work.

Then Hannah leant towards the young girl sat beside her, saying something that made the girl laugh, and Louis swallowed a little too hard. Sucking in a deep breath and excusing himself from April and his father’s conversation, which he hadn’t even been part of, he squared his shoulders and headed for the area April had nicknamed the ‘studio’.

8

‘I’m quite keen to have a shark in mine,’ Millie was saying, paintbrush held aloft. ‘Or maybe a whale. I can’t decide which. There’s going to be a dolphin, too. Maybe a pod of them? They’re my favourites. Sometimes you can see them off the coast at home – have you ever seen one IRL?’