Page 25 of Swept Away

Lexi’s mouth lifts in a quick smile. “You were very effective.”

“But I came across like a bit of a dickhead,” I finish for her.

She shrugs, moving past me to look out at the water. “We’re all dickheads sometimes,” she says, not unkindly.

I frown slightly. Her saying that, it snagged on something. Déjà vu again, maybe? Like I’ve heard someone use that line before.

“Seriously, though, I get it. Sorry if I was a bit prickly about it at first. Just, you know. A woman’s got pride.”

She’s got her back to me, hands on the railing.

“But everything you said was right.” She glances over her shoulder. “I think we’re doing pretty well, you know. Not dead yet. Not killed each other yet.” She looks at me in an evaluating sort of way, eyes narrowed a little. “You think you can survive out here for a while without me driving you nuts? If we have to?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, totally.”

I don’t even have to think about it. I like being around Lexi. She’s interesting, and she’s smart, and even when I’ve pissed her off, she doesn’t make me feel stupid.

“Same for you,” she says.

I smile, leaning against the helm. I guess this is…friendship, then? Is that what it is? It feels more comfortable than anything we’ve had so far.

“So,” she says briskly. I’m starting to get that Lexi isn’t really the dwell-in-a-nice-moment type. “Any idea what the hell we do now?”

“I did have…I did think…” I bite my bottom lip. I don’t know why I started either of those sentences. I was just thinking how nice it is that Lexi doesn’t think I’m dumb, and now I’m about to suggest something she’ll definitely think is stupid.

She turns, putting her back to the railing, arms folded across her T-shirt.

“Mm?” she prompts.

“This tarp,” I say, tilting my head to the tarpaulin I was fiddling with when I first came out onto the deck. “I was just thinking, like…could we…make a sail? Or is that ridiculous? Because I have no idea how to…”

“Zeke,” Lexi says, her eyes widening, “you’re a fucking genius.”

All right. So Lexialsohas no idea how to make a sail. This should make me feel worse, but it makes me feel quite a lot better, actually.

“I’m confident it should be triangular,” she says, standing on the sofa.

She’s trying to get a bird’s-eye view of the tarpaulin we’ve just cut from the boat with my largest knife, which kind of made me want to cry, but: priorities. Still, it’ll be totally blunt now. A blunt knife is a tragedy. A smaller tragedy than me dying at sea, but still shit.

“We can attach it to Dad’s flagpole,” I say, “but I feel like we need another pole…along the bottom, maybe?”

“Right,” Lexi says, clicking her fingers and looking around her for an obliging pole. “Sorted,” she says, pointing to the standard lamp.

I eye it. It’s quite…small.

“Don’t look at my pole like that,” Lexi says, deadpan. “It’s about what you do with it.”

That makes me snort with laughter. I see the pleased glimmer in her eye before she turns her attention back to the tarpaulin.

“You know this isn’t going to be any use right now, don’t you, given there’s zero breeze?” I say. I’m worried the idea’s going to disappoint her.

She waves that off. “Yeah, but when thereisa breeze, we’ll be ready. Is there anything useful in the bedroom? The wardrobe hanging rail?”

“It’s about thirty centimeters long,” I point out, “but I’ll check in case there’s something we’ve missed.”

She nods, not looking away from the tarpaulin. I head for the bedroom, glancing out of the kitchen window as I go. More sea, more sky, more nothing else.

I go to the wardrobe first, to take a look at the rail. But the first thing I spot when I open that door are the books.

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