Page 47 of Swept Away

“When did you last have one?”

Eight o’clock this morning. I try to take less than my four cups per day—I’m conscious that Zeke is healing and must need it more than me.

“A bit ago,” I say vaguely.

“You look pale. Lexi…” Zeke sits up, bringing a hand to my cheek, looking right into my eyes.

I breathe in. The sensation of his thumb smoothing over my cheekbone as he examines my face only makes the light-headedness worse.

“Let’s get out of the sun. We shouldn’t be sitting out here.”

He levers himself up, his body brushing mine, and something flutters in my throat at the contact. I’m a bit dizzy when I stand; I try not to let Zeke see me stumble, and as I do so, I notice him doing exactly the same—catching himself on the doorframe, glancing quickly at me to check if I saw.

“I’m fine,” he says, at my expression. “You don’t need to look after me, Lexi.”

I frown. “Of course I do.”

“I can cope.”

The door swings shut behind me. It’s fusty in here—it smells of sleep and the warm, rotten fridge. I wrinkle up my nose. It isliterally impossible to get that fridge clean, for reasons I cannot understand.

“I know you can cope. That’s not what it’s about. I’m looking out for you because you’re my person.”

He goes still.

“As in,” I say, heart beginning to thud, “you’re the only person I have. You’re my one person on this boat with me. That’s all I meant.”

He looks at me over his shoulder for a long while. I hover on the bottom step, adjusting my hair, feeling my gaze slide away from him to the windows. Things must have got really uncomfortable if I’d rather look at the empty ocean than Zeke’s face.

“You’re my person, too,” he says eventually, and the corner of his mouth rises in a crooked, closed-mouthed smile.

Dayseven

Zeke

I’m watching thedarkness out here on the deck, and I’ve got this weird ominous feeling. Like something bad’s coming, maybe because actually todayhasn’tbeen bad, except for that swollen stitch, and at times I’ve felt genuinely happy. Chatting to Lexi on the deck with a coffee felt kind of perfect. And out here, perfect can never last.

I pull my blanket closer around my shoulders, my eyes gritty with tiredness. It’s so cold at night—I’m wearing all three of the pairs of socks I packed, and a jumper of Lexi’s under mine. It smells of her, lemony and sharp. I wonder if I could capture that in a lemon tart, a meringue pie, even a zingy, fresh dressing for a rocket salad.

I’ve enjoyed cooking here. Davide’s kitchen has a great atmosphere, and I’m so lucky to have got that job, but somewhere over the past year I’ve lost the excitement I get from conjuring up something beautiful with whatever I find in the fridge. Most nights I just eat at the restaurant, or get takeaway from whatever kebab shop’s still open. I’ve not cooked my own way for too long, and it’s been nice reconnecting with the part of me that just loves to play around with food. I’m getting to know Lexi’s palate a little, and I like that,too. Cooking with her in mind, seeing her love the food I’ve made her.

I take a clear, cold breath of night air. I need the toilet, and to check the corgi clock. Not having a clue of the time is so annoying, though otherwise I’ve got pretty used to not having my phone. I don’t like to look at it much anyway, back home. A couple of days ago, if she saw me sitting and zoning out the way I do, Lexi would say,You bored? Want to read the logbooks?And I’d smile about it, laugh it off, but it made me feel like a coward, because no amount of boredom would be enough to make me take that leap. She’s stopped asking now, so I guess she’s figured that out.

The miniature torch from the first aid kit in the bathroom is beside me. I grab it and head inside to the bathroom, though I hardly need the light now. I reckon I could find almost anything on this boat blindfolded.

It’s not until after I’ve used the manual pump to flush the toilet that I realize my left sock’s wet.

Really wet.

The floor’s covered in water.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

I kneel. My knees are instantly cold. It’s wet all over the floor by the shower, and my torch beam catches the way it’s darkened the bottom of the shower curtain, too, how it’s filling the base of the shower enough to overflow. I dip a finger into the cold water and press it to my tongue. Salt.

Seawater.

Lexi bursts into the bathroom, slamming the concertina door into the frame.

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